I like to think I'm a grown woman..
with grown up ideas..and grown up persuasions...
truth is-
I'm not.
I'm still stuck in a 15 year old idealogy that says in order to be happy you have
to have a man.
Yes? No? What's the answer?
The answer is this...
you have to find your heart every day on your doorstep.
You have to learn to love the empty sad times
as well as relish in the alone times.
You absolutely HAVE to make friends with quiet.
You must learn to want the mistakes. Want the baggage.
And want to embrace the learning curve.
The curve that comes with newness and discomfort..
and also magic.
You have to want to put your fear aside and open yourself up..
again.
It's a new year.....
a "banner year" yes?
I'm ready to cast off old lines...raise new sails and set off into the sunset...
I have to know there is a story for me out there, right?
A "once upon a time" just waiting to be written...
a fairy tale for the masses...
I'm gonna write it.
Watch me.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Snow Angel Blue
I have a new old friend outside my door. His name is "Snow Angel Blue".
He comes to visit me almost every year, and I"m always eager for his arrival .
It's amazing how little he makes me feel...and I do enjoy feeling small again.
Approaching what will soon become known as "our spot", my heart beats a little faster and there is a rush of anticipation stirring within my belly.
Time sits suspended above me as I relinquish control and fall back into his arms....
arms that never fail. Never disappoint. And always give me enough.
I'm left with a quiet stillness as all of the sound rushes out of the world.
My eyelashes gather snowflakes as the clouds dance across a gray blue sky...
a cold and familliar embrace...
snow angel love.
He comes to visit me almost every year, and I"m always eager for his arrival .
It's amazing how little he makes me feel...and I do enjoy feeling small again.
Approaching what will soon become known as "our spot", my heart beats a little faster and there is a rush of anticipation stirring within my belly.
Time sits suspended above me as I relinquish control and fall back into his arms....
arms that never fail. Never disappoint. And always give me enough.
I'm left with a quiet stillness as all of the sound rushes out of the world.
My eyelashes gather snowflakes as the clouds dance across a gray blue sky...
a cold and familliar embrace...
snow angel love.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Memory banks and forged deposits
It's snowing in Seattle.
A lot.
Not "a-Seattle-lot" but really quite a lot!
We aren't used to this kind of weather in the Pacific Northwest.
I've spent a lot of time in the midwest and it feels like Minnesota in Washington.
As I unload the groceries from the car tonight, I'm on the phone to my mother who just now got her water back after her pipes froze for ten hours.
It's cold and I assure her that, not only did I pay my electric bill, but I've also purchased an entire case of logs for the woodstove.
"We won't freeze" I promise her.
"Remember that time when you were little and we had to burn the furniture to keep warm?" she asks me.
"Um. No. I actually don't." I reply.
(I'm wondering with all of my storytelling banks, how could I have missed this deposit???)
"You really don't?" she asks again.
"No. I honestly don't. Tell me.".
"Well," she begins...
" We got this coffee table from my inlaws one Christmas and since your father wasn't working, we decided it would be more useful as firewood. It was maple and it kept us warm for three days."
I ask her why she didn't tell me this before, it would have been fantastic writing material.
"I thought you knew." Was her retort. "You were there after all."
She was right, I was there. But I don't remember this.
Everything else I remember with crystal clarity but this has escaped me.
How does that happen? How do those significant things manage to slip by unnoticed? And what else had I conveniently forgotten?
Maybe she was protecting me all this time. Making sure I thought it was firewood back then and turning the clocks back when she knew I could handle it. I guess that's the beauty of persuasion. Like a magician, you can alter a reality with the imperceptible slight of hand tricks.
But maybe it was something else, something a bit more- selfish.
Maybe she didn't want me to tell everyone we were burning furniture to stay warm.
After all, I did have that strange habit of bringing people from the bus stop home for dinner quite often.
I guess there are some things that never change.
A lot.
Not "a-Seattle-lot" but really quite a lot!
We aren't used to this kind of weather in the Pacific Northwest.
I've spent a lot of time in the midwest and it feels like Minnesota in Washington.
As I unload the groceries from the car tonight, I'm on the phone to my mother who just now got her water back after her pipes froze for ten hours.
It's cold and I assure her that, not only did I pay my electric bill, but I've also purchased an entire case of logs for the woodstove.
"We won't freeze" I promise her.
"Remember that time when you were little and we had to burn the furniture to keep warm?" she asks me.
"Um. No. I actually don't." I reply.
(I'm wondering with all of my storytelling banks, how could I have missed this deposit???)
"You really don't?" she asks again.
"No. I honestly don't. Tell me.".
"Well," she begins...
" We got this coffee table from my inlaws one Christmas and since your father wasn't working, we decided it would be more useful as firewood. It was maple and it kept us warm for three days."
I ask her why she didn't tell me this before, it would have been fantastic writing material.
"I thought you knew." Was her retort. "You were there after all."
She was right, I was there. But I don't remember this.
Everything else I remember with crystal clarity but this has escaped me.
How does that happen? How do those significant things manage to slip by unnoticed? And what else had I conveniently forgotten?
Maybe she was protecting me all this time. Making sure I thought it was firewood back then and turning the clocks back when she knew I could handle it. I guess that's the beauty of persuasion. Like a magician, you can alter a reality with the imperceptible slight of hand tricks.
But maybe it was something else, something a bit more- selfish.
Maybe she didn't want me to tell everyone we were burning furniture to stay warm.
After all, I did have that strange habit of bringing people from the bus stop home for dinner quite often.
I guess there are some things that never change.
Friday, December 19, 2008
August 2005
I was looking for it.....a breakthrough.
You know, that moment when everything in your life falls neatly into place?
I found it, in a place I would have never expected.
It was August of 2005 and I had just moved out of my three story “dream house” into a dingy but cute three bedroom apartment. I had changed jobs twice and was drinking almost every night.
I was also single handedly raising two teenagers, a fulfilling, but oftentimes, exhausting task. My days were what any working mom could describe: frantic, frenzied, stressful. There wasn’t one part of the day I had become friends with.
Well, that’s not entirely true.
My favorite part of the day had become my first shot chased by my first beer. When I could feel the alcohol hit my belly and numb my buzzing senses.
We would meet after work for our “quickie”- my best friend and I. “A shot and a beer???” I’d ask her, calling from my cell phone on the way home from work. “Yes-but it HAS to be QUICK!” she’d reply.Sometimes it was. Sometimes it wasn’t. Sometimes we drank so much so fast, we put the men in the bar to shame. Even they couldn’t keep up with us. We were in a race they didn’t know existed, running furiously from a demon that no one could see. We’d both been raised during tough times by one “good” parent. She had an absent mother and my father had long gone crazy.
Life had not been easy for us as kids. Little money and sparse resources often left us alone at the hands of lunatics playing dangerous family babysitters. Innocent girls we became lost women, victims to bad touches and unyielding blows. We hid our tears from the world and muffled our sobs with whiskey. We drank to escape. We drank to find ourselves and then to lose ourselves again, our path to self destruction growing more certain with each bottle we consumed. I guess we were each other’s safe harbor. When we were together, words were superfluous. We understood each other, without explanation and without apology.
We were caught in the typical abuse cycle that showed no end and enormous propulsion.
That was at least, until the day Derek died.
*************************************************
My best friend Rachel and I worked not one job- but two. I suppose the idea was if we didn’t slow down, we couldn’t catch ourselves. Well, that and we got free meat.
“Working for Jesus” we were told.
The “meat store” was a different kind of store, like no place I had ever worked. It was an old school butcher shop run by the same man for over 30 years. He started there as a boy and worked his way up to the top, eventually owning the place. With his wife and daughter they processed meat like a well oiled machine. It had to be efficient for Lester or he’d have your ass. Literally. A man of few words, even less of them repeatable, he was the patriarch of the crazy meat family. We were a hodgepodge, a melting pot. We were all so different and yet so frighteningly the same.
Kim was Lester’s daughter and she was sweet as hell. She was always friendly, even if she didn’t like you very much. She was contagiously funny. You might think she was the most innocent of the bunch until she told a dirty joke and made herself blush.
Bonnie was Kim’s mother and probably the strongest woman I’ve ever known. She raised a gaggle of kids and was busy raising some of her grandkids as well. She was the only one capable of keeping Lester in line and she knew all the tricks. Her love for him was immense and you could see it in her eyes. On their 40th anniversary I asked her how she did it- what was the secret was to a long lasting marriage?
“You have to like being around them and you can’t forget to dance”.
Bonnie had the kind of soul that drew you in and made you love her. Her wisdom and her humor imparted a warmth all its own and you felt like a better person just being in her presence.
Then there was Cindy. When I first started working there I always thought she was mad. She’d have these episodes where she would flail around the store, arms flapping like a lame duck, cussing and swearing because “there was no backup bacon made!!” Apparently she “never had time for that shit”….or so we were told by her on several occasions. A tough lady- in a former life she worked on a fishing boat in the Bering Sea. She was one of those people that didn’t take you in just by being in her space. You had to earn her trust and respect. It took awhile but when you did, she was solid- friends for life.
John was Lester’s right hand man. He had worked for Lester for so long that Lester treated him like a son. John was someone who had fire in his eyes and anger in his heart. Exposed to a life of hardship had left a boy trapped in the body of a man with fire in his belly. He struck out when mad with fist or tongue and his words could split you in two. He loved to laugh if only he could find occasion to do it more. The trouble with John was that even when he laughing - he wasn’t. His heavy heart was unmistakable. It made you want to hold him. Hug him. Let him know that he was lovable.
Derek was young and frenetic. Battery charged. The kid was amazing. On my very first day of work I opened the door to the cooler to find Derek's upper body exposed. It was his favorite pastime- showing his abs to the eager young girls. He was famous for his T-shirts and I always stopped to read his latest addition. He and I would have these staring contests where we would “death stare” each other into submission. I lost every time, no match to his unwavering gaze. Even when I thought I might win he would get this little gleam in his eye that would launch me into fits of laughter. He was adorable in every way but had absolutely no idea just HOW adorable he really was. This of course pushed his cute meter far ahead of other boys his age.
Rachel and I had always promised him debauchery on his 21st birthday but when the day came around, we were unable to converge for cocktails. Tomorrow we promised.
The next day we received a phone call explaining that Derek had been the victim of a freak drowning accident.
15 minutes underwater. Coma. Possible brain damage. ICU.
Although we didn’t want to, we knew we had to do it. We had to go to the hospital and see our friend for what would likely be the last time.
Stepping through the hospital doors was like stepping into a nightmare. There were family members everywhere speaking in hushed tones and frantic whispers….
“…running some tests now………” “……she’s in there with him………” “………tragic accident…………” “……leg cramp……………”
My feet felt like lead weights. My movements were too loud and I felt as if every gesture was inappropriate. I watched his mom in silent awe. Grief stricken and strong she remained stoic amidst the possibilities that threatened to penetrate her perimeter. I wanted to say so many things to her that day-as a mother, as a friend of Derek’s…as a human being, but the words dissolved in my mouth. There was nothing worth uttering in those moments and instead I chose to leave her alone with her sadness.
We went entered his room in shifts of three, quiet and carefully. Derek lay, peaceful and sleeping - his arm wrapped protectively around his favorite childhood teddy bear. Pink Floyd played softly on the radio above us- a gift from his younger sister. It was HIS music and it swirled around us like magic “Derek smoke”, letting us know he was still right there among us.
We took turns hugging and holding him…
He looked positively gorgeous lying there and his tan skin contrasted perfectly against the white sheets. He would have been happy to know he could look so handsome in a hospital bed. I touched his forehead, his cheek. I held his hand and told him my secrets. I told him I was sorry for never buying him that beer I promised him on his 21st birthday.
Rachel leaned over and held him. She swore she would kiss him if he would just wake up. She held his hand and studied it for a long time before gently placing it back around his teddy bear.
John didn’t say anything - he just stood over Derek, expressionless. In one desperate moment he grabbed him- shockingly- and cried out to him to come back, tears spilling over Derek’s face and chest and then he gently released him and walked away.
We had said goodbye. It was time to let him go.
For days and weeks after Derek passed, we would toast him whenever we all went out for drinks. We could feel his presence around us and would see him in various places, always with that same loping, adorable walk.
In the face of Derek’s death something happened to me. and I began to wonder - if Derek had known what was going to happen to him, would he have done anything differently? Would he have lived his life another way? The answer that I kept coming back to was NO. He probably wouldn’t have. Derek didn’t just exist…HE LIVED.
He laughed hard he worked hard and he played hard.
He took life and wrung the shit out of it.
It may not have always been “traditional”, but it was undeniably Derek. His death made me realize that I was pissing it all away - getting drunk every night, not dealing with my shit, bellyaching over events that happened a lifetime ago. I didn’t want to wake up one day and discover my time was over and I had done absolutely nothing redeeming with it. I wanted to wring the shit out of it too!
Derek touched a lot of people- both in life and death. His friendly smile and affable nature made it easy for him to make friends, and he had many.
If I were his mother, I would have felt blessed to have had a son like Derek. He lived every day completely, imparting a magic spirit to everyone he met.
Today I don’t allow myself to go to bed angry. I tell my kids that I love them every day. I let people cut in front of me on the freeway and I try to make people smile often. Material things aren’t as important to me and I live for big belly laughs, good music, my family and my friends. I don’t drink to escape anymore. I am alive to celebrate and live -to feel the pulse of life and drink in the very nectar of my existence.
Every day that I see Derek’s picture pasted to my refrigerator I think of the tremendous gift he’s given to all of us and I smile and thank him.
As the days go on and his death moves farther away from me, I make sure and allow myself to feel inspired every day. By my friend, by our angel, and the boy who changed my life.
You know, that moment when everything in your life falls neatly into place?
I found it, in a place I would have never expected.
It was August of 2005 and I had just moved out of my three story “dream house” into a dingy but cute three bedroom apartment. I had changed jobs twice and was drinking almost every night.
I was also single handedly raising two teenagers, a fulfilling, but oftentimes, exhausting task. My days were what any working mom could describe: frantic, frenzied, stressful. There wasn’t one part of the day I had become friends with.
Well, that’s not entirely true.
My favorite part of the day had become my first shot chased by my first beer. When I could feel the alcohol hit my belly and numb my buzzing senses.
We would meet after work for our “quickie”- my best friend and I. “A shot and a beer???” I’d ask her, calling from my cell phone on the way home from work. “Yes-but it HAS to be QUICK!” she’d reply.Sometimes it was. Sometimes it wasn’t. Sometimes we drank so much so fast, we put the men in the bar to shame. Even they couldn’t keep up with us. We were in a race they didn’t know existed, running furiously from a demon that no one could see. We’d both been raised during tough times by one “good” parent. She had an absent mother and my father had long gone crazy.
Life had not been easy for us as kids. Little money and sparse resources often left us alone at the hands of lunatics playing dangerous family babysitters. Innocent girls we became lost women, victims to bad touches and unyielding blows. We hid our tears from the world and muffled our sobs with whiskey. We drank to escape. We drank to find ourselves and then to lose ourselves again, our path to self destruction growing more certain with each bottle we consumed. I guess we were each other’s safe harbor. When we were together, words were superfluous. We understood each other, without explanation and without apology.
We were caught in the typical abuse cycle that showed no end and enormous propulsion.
That was at least, until the day Derek died.
*************************************************
My best friend Rachel and I worked not one job- but two. I suppose the idea was if we didn’t slow down, we couldn’t catch ourselves. Well, that and we got free meat.
“Working for Jesus” we were told.
The “meat store” was a different kind of store, like no place I had ever worked. It was an old school butcher shop run by the same man for over 30 years. He started there as a boy and worked his way up to the top, eventually owning the place. With his wife and daughter they processed meat like a well oiled machine. It had to be efficient for Lester or he’d have your ass. Literally. A man of few words, even less of them repeatable, he was the patriarch of the crazy meat family. We were a hodgepodge, a melting pot. We were all so different and yet so frighteningly the same.
Kim was Lester’s daughter and she was sweet as hell. She was always friendly, even if she didn’t like you very much. She was contagiously funny. You might think she was the most innocent of the bunch until she told a dirty joke and made herself blush.
Bonnie was Kim’s mother and probably the strongest woman I’ve ever known. She raised a gaggle of kids and was busy raising some of her grandkids as well. She was the only one capable of keeping Lester in line and she knew all the tricks. Her love for him was immense and you could see it in her eyes. On their 40th anniversary I asked her how she did it- what was the secret was to a long lasting marriage?
“You have to like being around them and you can’t forget to dance”.
Bonnie had the kind of soul that drew you in and made you love her. Her wisdom and her humor imparted a warmth all its own and you felt like a better person just being in her presence.
Then there was Cindy. When I first started working there I always thought she was mad. She’d have these episodes where she would flail around the store, arms flapping like a lame duck, cussing and swearing because “there was no backup bacon made!!” Apparently she “never had time for that shit”….or so we were told by her on several occasions. A tough lady- in a former life she worked on a fishing boat in the Bering Sea. She was one of those people that didn’t take you in just by being in her space. You had to earn her trust and respect. It took awhile but when you did, she was solid- friends for life.
John was Lester’s right hand man. He had worked for Lester for so long that Lester treated him like a son. John was someone who had fire in his eyes and anger in his heart. Exposed to a life of hardship had left a boy trapped in the body of a man with fire in his belly. He struck out when mad with fist or tongue and his words could split you in two. He loved to laugh if only he could find occasion to do it more. The trouble with John was that even when he laughing - he wasn’t. His heavy heart was unmistakable. It made you want to hold him. Hug him. Let him know that he was lovable.
Derek was young and frenetic. Battery charged. The kid was amazing. On my very first day of work I opened the door to the cooler to find Derek's upper body exposed. It was his favorite pastime- showing his abs to the eager young girls. He was famous for his T-shirts and I always stopped to read his latest addition. He and I would have these staring contests where we would “death stare” each other into submission. I lost every time, no match to his unwavering gaze. Even when I thought I might win he would get this little gleam in his eye that would launch me into fits of laughter. He was adorable in every way but had absolutely no idea just HOW adorable he really was. This of course pushed his cute meter far ahead of other boys his age.
Rachel and I had always promised him debauchery on his 21st birthday but when the day came around, we were unable to converge for cocktails. Tomorrow we promised.
The next day we received a phone call explaining that Derek had been the victim of a freak drowning accident.
15 minutes underwater. Coma. Possible brain damage. ICU.
Although we didn’t want to, we knew we had to do it. We had to go to the hospital and see our friend for what would likely be the last time.
Stepping through the hospital doors was like stepping into a nightmare. There were family members everywhere speaking in hushed tones and frantic whispers….
“…running some tests now………” “……she’s in there with him………” “………tragic accident…………” “……leg cramp……………”
My feet felt like lead weights. My movements were too loud and I felt as if every gesture was inappropriate. I watched his mom in silent awe. Grief stricken and strong she remained stoic amidst the possibilities that threatened to penetrate her perimeter. I wanted to say so many things to her that day-as a mother, as a friend of Derek’s…as a human being, but the words dissolved in my mouth. There was nothing worth uttering in those moments and instead I chose to leave her alone with her sadness.
We went entered his room in shifts of three, quiet and carefully. Derek lay, peaceful and sleeping - his arm wrapped protectively around his favorite childhood teddy bear. Pink Floyd played softly on the radio above us- a gift from his younger sister. It was HIS music and it swirled around us like magic “Derek smoke”, letting us know he was still right there among us.
We took turns hugging and holding him…
He looked positively gorgeous lying there and his tan skin contrasted perfectly against the white sheets. He would have been happy to know he could look so handsome in a hospital bed. I touched his forehead, his cheek. I held his hand and told him my secrets. I told him I was sorry for never buying him that beer I promised him on his 21st birthday.
Rachel leaned over and held him. She swore she would kiss him if he would just wake up. She held his hand and studied it for a long time before gently placing it back around his teddy bear.
John didn’t say anything - he just stood over Derek, expressionless. In one desperate moment he grabbed him- shockingly- and cried out to him to come back, tears spilling over Derek’s face and chest and then he gently released him and walked away.
We had said goodbye. It was time to let him go.
For days and weeks after Derek passed, we would toast him whenever we all went out for drinks. We could feel his presence around us and would see him in various places, always with that same loping, adorable walk.
In the face of Derek’s death something happened to me. and I began to wonder - if Derek had known what was going to happen to him, would he have done anything differently? Would he have lived his life another way? The answer that I kept coming back to was NO. He probably wouldn’t have. Derek didn’t just exist…HE LIVED.
He laughed hard he worked hard and he played hard.
He took life and wrung the shit out of it.
It may not have always been “traditional”, but it was undeniably Derek. His death made me realize that I was pissing it all away - getting drunk every night, not dealing with my shit, bellyaching over events that happened a lifetime ago. I didn’t want to wake up one day and discover my time was over and I had done absolutely nothing redeeming with it. I wanted to wring the shit out of it too!
Derek touched a lot of people- both in life and death. His friendly smile and affable nature made it easy for him to make friends, and he had many.
If I were his mother, I would have felt blessed to have had a son like Derek. He lived every day completely, imparting a magic spirit to everyone he met.
Today I don’t allow myself to go to bed angry. I tell my kids that I love them every day. I let people cut in front of me on the freeway and I try to make people smile often. Material things aren’t as important to me and I live for big belly laughs, good music, my family and my friends. I don’t drink to escape anymore. I am alive to celebrate and live -to feel the pulse of life and drink in the very nectar of my existence.
Every day that I see Derek’s picture pasted to my refrigerator I think of the tremendous gift he’s given to all of us and I smile and thank him.
As the days go on and his death moves farther away from me, I make sure and allow myself to feel inspired every day. By my friend, by our angel, and the boy who changed my life.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Protection
I find it mildly ironic that the room I do all of my writing in, was Tony's old room.
Tony lived here years ago.
He still lives here sometimes but I'm working on setting him free.
I feel he appreciates that.
There is no doubt in my mind I was meant to find this house. By all rights I shouldn't have moved in, but the forces were greater than me.
I came across this house for rent via Craigslist. Particulary important to me was the fact they accepted pets. My dog is also my co-pilot.
I wasn't really looking for a house, just more or less just seeing what was out there when the time came.
I was living with my soon to be ex boyfriend and to make matters worse, we were just served with a "notice of foreclosure" on the house we were renting.
Even though our housing was tenuous, legally we couldn't break our lease. I wasn't doing a lot of research but I wanted some sort of back up plan in case we were kicked out onto the street.
My best friend Rachel and I went to look at this house. The owners had bought it at auction (in complete and utter disrepair) with plans to remodel prior to the new tenants moving in.
It was a sad sight indeed. Previous owners had burned holes in the floor and the ceiling, and the bedrooms were literally drenched in years of old cigarette smoke.
It was hard to see the potential....aesthetically it was painful. But as soon as I stepped into the back yard, I knew in my gut this would be my home someday soon.
Lush green grass, blooming cherry blossoms and lilac trees...all standing there as if pleading with me to come and take care of them again.
I left there that day with no real hope of moving in. My lease with my current landlord was two months from expiring and I knew these people wouldn't wait for me.
About a month later, I sent an email off asking if the newly remodeled house had been rented. Indeed it was. I knew it. I was sad but not devastated. It wasn't meant to be.
Two weeks later while perusing Craigslist I came across an ad for the same house. I called the landlord and was told the tenants had backed out at the last minute for no reason. He asked me if I wanted to see the house and all of the changes they made to it. I did and two weeks later, it was mine. I was moved and settling in.
One morning, with the kids still sleeping, I decided to put up curtains to cover the sliding glass door from the patio. As I was standing on a chair I saw one of the patio chairs rocking back and forth. Just one chair. Nothing else was moving. I looked around and there was absolutely no wind. With no forethought or pretense I said out loud "I'm going to take care of your house. You don't have to worry anymore".
I was surprised at myself because it wasn't something I had even intended to say. I was confused but had to go to work so I shook it off and forgot about it.
A few days later a neighbor shows up at my door with "welcome wine". My favorite kind!
I was having a few friends over for dinner so we all gather around him to talk and laugh and get to know each other. He began to tell me about the people who lived in the house before me.
Drug dealers, addicts, vagrents...all kinds of undesirables he says. They completely trashed the house. There was garbage everywhere...holes in the walls and the floor. Police calls at all hours. They just let the house go completely.
I ask him if anyone lived in the house before them.
He tells me there was a man named Tony who lived here. He loved his house and took great care to make it a home.
I looked him straight in the eye and said "Tony died in this house didn't he?"
It was more a statement than a question. And you could tell from his gaze he didn't want to tell me the truth.
He didn't have to tell me, I already knew. But he did anyway, almost like an apology.
I told him about putting up the curtains. And the rocking chair. And the assurances about taking care of the house.
You could tell he was the type of guy who wouldn't give you lipservice and say things if he didn't mean it. He said he understood and that he believed me.
Hours later I walked him to the door, thanking him for all of the wine, the stories and the company. As he was leaving I asked him again "What was the name of the man who used to live here again?"
"Tony" he said and then stopped. He turned around, looked at me quizzically and said "He used to sit outside on the patio and rock in his chair every evening".
I was overcome.
I went in the house, tears streaming down my face and tried to explain to my friends what had happened.
What HAD happened?
I had no idea how I knew or saw these things but there was absolutely no denying that I saw and felt them.
Weeks later I got funny feelings in my house. Up until then it had always felt as if "my ghost" (as I lovingly started to refer to it) was a "protector". But I began to feel uneasy and unsettled all of the time.
I realized that the energy was coming from the back bathroom. I tried to turn the energy around placing plants, fountains and stones around the perimeter. Nothing seemed to work. Every time I walked in there felt like walking into a cooler. It occured to me it was very possible, this was where Tony had passed away.
I decided I needed to smudge. And smudge BIG. It was time to free his spirit.
I poured over the internet for the next three days making sure I knew how to do it the right way. I had the sage, I had the bowls, the instructions and Rachel. It was a Monday.
Straight away we took three shots of bourbon and set to it. We opened every door, every window and every drawer to begin the smudging.
Rachel walked over to "the bathroom". She flung the door open and started to walk away.
It slammed shut.
She walked over to me and pointed to the door.
"It's shut itself" she said.
"No worries" I say, and waltz over to the door, giving it a tug.
Locked.
After we removed the doorknob and all of it's hinges, the smudging was underway.
It took us just over an hour to do the whole house, the perimeter, the garage, even the crawlspace. Every square foot of my house and the property it sits on was smudged.
Since then I have noticed beautifully strange inexplicable things.
Not only was the space in the house "lighter", but it was more peaceful too. Less agitated.
More importantly were the things I found outside of the house...
I have collected agates for years. I love them. I find them at the beach, usually when I"m combing for sea glass (which I also passionately collect). They are all over -on every shelf, in every plant and on every sill. I've read that agates provide natural protection.
One summer day while digging up weeds in the front yard, I was drawn to a corner of the earth just next to the house. I started to dig and what I came up with was amazing.
A garden of agates. All sizes and shapes...and utterly beautiful. I dug up about 200 that day. I carried them into my kitchen, scrubbed them clean and put them in a treasure box near the front door. My neighbor was out in his yard so I went over to the fence and showed him my discovery, told him about my collection.
"It looks like you're where you're supposed to be then, doesn't it?"
A few days later in the same spot, I noticed more. And then more. And more.
Every day there are new ones- they never go away. They go on forever.
I do have a sense that they are supposed to remain HERE. I don't let anyone take any with them. I have no idea why I feel this, but I do and the feeling is strong.
So it makes me wonder, why are there so many "protection stones" surrounding this house?
And if I'm "supposed to be here", why?
I've always belived that everything happens for a reason...that life is not made up of "coincidence". I wonder if Tony has become my guide...
And while I'm pondering life's biggest questions and blogging about dreams and life, I'm sitting on the other side of the wall to the bathroom that started this whole thing.
I've always been sensitive to energy and I've always believed in "spirits" but I've never really believed in the physical aspect until now.
It makes me think about life...and spirits...and guides.
Tony was stuck in this world and wanted to go home. He needed my guidance - even if he got scared along the way.
If you think about it, it's is very similliar to the mortal life we live.
We have to embrace the magic and let it carry us ever forward.....
We cannot shut our eyes and close our ears but we must also learn to hear and see with our soul. Let our spirit guide us but never lose sight of the compass....
Even if we become fearful we must follow these guides.... and our spirit...
in the end if we do that, we'll always be free.
Tony lived here years ago.
He still lives here sometimes but I'm working on setting him free.
I feel he appreciates that.
There is no doubt in my mind I was meant to find this house. By all rights I shouldn't have moved in, but the forces were greater than me.
I came across this house for rent via Craigslist. Particulary important to me was the fact they accepted pets. My dog is also my co-pilot.
I wasn't really looking for a house, just more or less just seeing what was out there when the time came.
I was living with my soon to be ex boyfriend and to make matters worse, we were just served with a "notice of foreclosure" on the house we were renting.
Even though our housing was tenuous, legally we couldn't break our lease. I wasn't doing a lot of research but I wanted some sort of back up plan in case we were kicked out onto the street.
My best friend Rachel and I went to look at this house. The owners had bought it at auction (in complete and utter disrepair) with plans to remodel prior to the new tenants moving in.
It was a sad sight indeed. Previous owners had burned holes in the floor and the ceiling, and the bedrooms were literally drenched in years of old cigarette smoke.
It was hard to see the potential....aesthetically it was painful. But as soon as I stepped into the back yard, I knew in my gut this would be my home someday soon.
Lush green grass, blooming cherry blossoms and lilac trees...all standing there as if pleading with me to come and take care of them again.
I left there that day with no real hope of moving in. My lease with my current landlord was two months from expiring and I knew these people wouldn't wait for me.
About a month later, I sent an email off asking if the newly remodeled house had been rented. Indeed it was. I knew it. I was sad but not devastated. It wasn't meant to be.
Two weeks later while perusing Craigslist I came across an ad for the same house. I called the landlord and was told the tenants had backed out at the last minute for no reason. He asked me if I wanted to see the house and all of the changes they made to it. I did and two weeks later, it was mine. I was moved and settling in.
One morning, with the kids still sleeping, I decided to put up curtains to cover the sliding glass door from the patio. As I was standing on a chair I saw one of the patio chairs rocking back and forth. Just one chair. Nothing else was moving. I looked around and there was absolutely no wind. With no forethought or pretense I said out loud "I'm going to take care of your house. You don't have to worry anymore".
I was surprised at myself because it wasn't something I had even intended to say. I was confused but had to go to work so I shook it off and forgot about it.
A few days later a neighbor shows up at my door with "welcome wine". My favorite kind!
I was having a few friends over for dinner so we all gather around him to talk and laugh and get to know each other. He began to tell me about the people who lived in the house before me.
Drug dealers, addicts, vagrents...all kinds of undesirables he says. They completely trashed the house. There was garbage everywhere...holes in the walls and the floor. Police calls at all hours. They just let the house go completely.
I ask him if anyone lived in the house before them.
He tells me there was a man named Tony who lived here. He loved his house and took great care to make it a home.
I looked him straight in the eye and said "Tony died in this house didn't he?"
It was more a statement than a question. And you could tell from his gaze he didn't want to tell me the truth.
He didn't have to tell me, I already knew. But he did anyway, almost like an apology.
I told him about putting up the curtains. And the rocking chair. And the assurances about taking care of the house.
You could tell he was the type of guy who wouldn't give you lipservice and say things if he didn't mean it. He said he understood and that he believed me.
Hours later I walked him to the door, thanking him for all of the wine, the stories and the company. As he was leaving I asked him again "What was the name of the man who used to live here again?"
"Tony" he said and then stopped. He turned around, looked at me quizzically and said "He used to sit outside on the patio and rock in his chair every evening".
I was overcome.
I went in the house, tears streaming down my face and tried to explain to my friends what had happened.
What HAD happened?
I had no idea how I knew or saw these things but there was absolutely no denying that I saw and felt them.
Weeks later I got funny feelings in my house. Up until then it had always felt as if "my ghost" (as I lovingly started to refer to it) was a "protector". But I began to feel uneasy and unsettled all of the time.
I realized that the energy was coming from the back bathroom. I tried to turn the energy around placing plants, fountains and stones around the perimeter. Nothing seemed to work. Every time I walked in there felt like walking into a cooler. It occured to me it was very possible, this was where Tony had passed away.
I decided I needed to smudge. And smudge BIG. It was time to free his spirit.
I poured over the internet for the next three days making sure I knew how to do it the right way. I had the sage, I had the bowls, the instructions and Rachel. It was a Monday.
Straight away we took three shots of bourbon and set to it. We opened every door, every window and every drawer to begin the smudging.
Rachel walked over to "the bathroom". She flung the door open and started to walk away.
It slammed shut.
She walked over to me and pointed to the door.
"It's shut itself" she said.
"No worries" I say, and waltz over to the door, giving it a tug.
Locked.
After we removed the doorknob and all of it's hinges, the smudging was underway.
It took us just over an hour to do the whole house, the perimeter, the garage, even the crawlspace. Every square foot of my house and the property it sits on was smudged.
Since then I have noticed beautifully strange inexplicable things.
Not only was the space in the house "lighter", but it was more peaceful too. Less agitated.
More importantly were the things I found outside of the house...
I have collected agates for years. I love them. I find them at the beach, usually when I"m combing for sea glass (which I also passionately collect). They are all over -on every shelf, in every plant and on every sill. I've read that agates provide natural protection.
One summer day while digging up weeds in the front yard, I was drawn to a corner of the earth just next to the house. I started to dig and what I came up with was amazing.
A garden of agates. All sizes and shapes...and utterly beautiful. I dug up about 200 that day. I carried them into my kitchen, scrubbed them clean and put them in a treasure box near the front door. My neighbor was out in his yard so I went over to the fence and showed him my discovery, told him about my collection.
"It looks like you're where you're supposed to be then, doesn't it?"
A few days later in the same spot, I noticed more. And then more. And more.
Every day there are new ones- they never go away. They go on forever.
I do have a sense that they are supposed to remain HERE. I don't let anyone take any with them. I have no idea why I feel this, but I do and the feeling is strong.
So it makes me wonder, why are there so many "protection stones" surrounding this house?
And if I'm "supposed to be here", why?
I've always belived that everything happens for a reason...that life is not made up of "coincidence". I wonder if Tony has become my guide...
And while I'm pondering life's biggest questions and blogging about dreams and life, I'm sitting on the other side of the wall to the bathroom that started this whole thing.
I've always been sensitive to energy and I've always believed in "spirits" but I've never really believed in the physical aspect until now.
It makes me think about life...and spirits...and guides.
Tony was stuck in this world and wanted to go home. He needed my guidance - even if he got scared along the way.
If you think about it, it's is very similliar to the mortal life we live.
We have to embrace the magic and let it carry us ever forward.....
We cannot shut our eyes and close our ears but we must also learn to hear and see with our soul. Let our spirit guide us but never lose sight of the compass....
Even if we become fearful we must follow these guides.... and our spirit...
in the end if we do that, we'll always be free.
Monday, December 15, 2008
We
are a constellation of luminous snowdrift dust dancing about like whirling dervishes on the cold winter pavement....
The Space Between Dreams
My dreams can be relentless.
Disturbing.
Strangely technicolor.
I suppose I've always been pretty good at keeping the mask firmly in place.
But put me to sleep and thoughts wash over me like a tidal wave.
I'm trying to make friends with that place "between" my dreams.
When I was a kid I spent a lot of time in trees seeing how high I could climb...
or in empty school playgrounds determining my running speed and distance..
or at the lake in the summertime trying to find out how long I could hold my breath under water.
I guess back then I wanted to be ready for anything. I was also pretty sure I was a superhero...
and so confident in my assessment I launched myself from the roof once...only to discover my powers not fully developed quite yet.
I knew that someday I would need to draw upon my strength and my powers to make things right with the world. And in doing so managed to bury everything else "for the good of mankind".
Writing is a funny thing because you have to reach into your gutts and pull the words out like a magician with his hat.....once those hankerchiefs are pulled out...the stream can be endless.
A friend of mine blogged about fear and I didn't understand it until I was resting in it...
it's a roadblock you just have to muscle through and I think I've finally found the place I can write without being afraid.
You have to take the mask off and allow the tidal wave to wash over you.
Your dreams will find their peace with you but you can't be afraid to meet them.
As twisted and as odd as they are...they are fragments of you.
I started this blog with the intention of putting the magic of my life to words...
all of the cosmic connections and luminous discoveries I've made...the soulmates I've met...
the rare moments we've captured and suspended in time....the revelations of space and a power I never knew existed before.
England says..."Your faith has to be greater than your fear".
So this is where the trajectory has landed...its up to me to take off and run with it...
I do, after all, have the superpowers.
Disturbing.
Strangely technicolor.
I suppose I've always been pretty good at keeping the mask firmly in place.
But put me to sleep and thoughts wash over me like a tidal wave.
I'm trying to make friends with that place "between" my dreams.
When I was a kid I spent a lot of time in trees seeing how high I could climb...
or in empty school playgrounds determining my running speed and distance..
or at the lake in the summertime trying to find out how long I could hold my breath under water.
I guess back then I wanted to be ready for anything. I was also pretty sure I was a superhero...
and so confident in my assessment I launched myself from the roof once...only to discover my powers not fully developed quite yet.
I knew that someday I would need to draw upon my strength and my powers to make things right with the world. And in doing so managed to bury everything else "for the good of mankind".
Writing is a funny thing because you have to reach into your gutts and pull the words out like a magician with his hat.....once those hankerchiefs are pulled out...the stream can be endless.
A friend of mine blogged about fear and I didn't understand it until I was resting in it...
it's a roadblock you just have to muscle through and I think I've finally found the place I can write without being afraid.
You have to take the mask off and allow the tidal wave to wash over you.
Your dreams will find their peace with you but you can't be afraid to meet them.
As twisted and as odd as they are...they are fragments of you.
I started this blog with the intention of putting the magic of my life to words...
all of the cosmic connections and luminous discoveries I've made...the soulmates I've met...
the rare moments we've captured and suspended in time....the revelations of space and a power I never knew existed before.
England says..."Your faith has to be greater than your fear".
So this is where the trajectory has landed...its up to me to take off and run with it...
I do, after all, have the superpowers.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Scarlet Heart
Sometimes it just hurts to write it all down.
The vault starts to open and honestly I'm fearful of what's lurking inside.
Everything that's been locked away tight and tidy begins to seep out...
and as it picks up momentum it overwhelms me...
like an avalanch.
A wise man once wrote that words are supposed to be cathartic and with great suffering
come great thoughts...
but that suffering can be pretty painful and often I don't know what I'm doing here...
writing it all down,
guts wide open.
Isn't there supposed to be some "mystery" to it all??
I'm not even entirely sure I know what I want to say...
or why I'm saying it.
I know that sometimes I wonder if I'm really just in love with an idea and reality is a place I haven't found a foothold to yet....
Ever since I was a little girl I felt there was a bigger place for me
and for some inexplicable reason I had to remember EVERY detail so I COULD document it someday.
I guess I'm still trying to figure out what it all means
and why it's come to me in this form.
Sometimes it feels like the world is spinning around me and there's no way to slow down the trajectory...
I pretend that I'm not afraid...
but I am.
I'm afraid of what it is. And also what it's not.
How big it is to me.
Sometimes it's too much for a tenderheart.
I just want to just stop feeling for a little while...
stop suffering...
stop thinking...
and go back to being mysterious.
Sometimes I'd like to believe that this really is just a dream
and that soon I'll wake up and see that my story has already been written...
that I can go back to being a vault with all of my treasures and heartache
locked neatly inside...
But that's not me...
and the realization is starting to set in that life is a series of chapters...
in order to move forward we have to honor the memories and write the story.
Accept the pain, make friends with the suffering and live without vaults.
The vault starts to open and honestly I'm fearful of what's lurking inside.
Everything that's been locked away tight and tidy begins to seep out...
and as it picks up momentum it overwhelms me...
like an avalanch.
A wise man once wrote that words are supposed to be cathartic and with great suffering
come great thoughts...
but that suffering can be pretty painful and often I don't know what I'm doing here...
writing it all down,
guts wide open.
Isn't there supposed to be some "mystery" to it all??
I'm not even entirely sure I know what I want to say...
or why I'm saying it.
I know that sometimes I wonder if I'm really just in love with an idea and reality is a place I haven't found a foothold to yet....
Ever since I was a little girl I felt there was a bigger place for me
and for some inexplicable reason I had to remember EVERY detail so I COULD document it someday.
I guess I'm still trying to figure out what it all means
and why it's come to me in this form.
Sometimes it feels like the world is spinning around me and there's no way to slow down the trajectory...
I pretend that I'm not afraid...
but I am.
I'm afraid of what it is. And also what it's not.
How big it is to me.
Sometimes it's too much for a tenderheart.
I just want to just stop feeling for a little while...
stop suffering...
stop thinking...
and go back to being mysterious.
Sometimes I'd like to believe that this really is just a dream
and that soon I'll wake up and see that my story has already been written...
that I can go back to being a vault with all of my treasures and heartache
locked neatly inside...
But that's not me...
and the realization is starting to set in that life is a series of chapters...
in order to move forward we have to honor the memories and write the story.
Accept the pain, make friends with the suffering and live without vaults.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Musings...
Yes.
It IS hard being the one left behind.
Time takes on a rather bleak and dismal hue "post departure".
You wait what seems like an eternity for the day to arrive when you finally get to meet....
then it's over in an instant...
and there you are......
alone once more.
Although this time the lonliness is amplified by absence.
An absence that grips you and feels, at times, completely unbearable.
You want to escape it.
You try to ignore it.
You find things to occupy the time...
numb the pain..
and fill up your empty spaces.
The honest truth is that there is only person who can bridge that gap....
and they're no longer there.
But everywhere you look is a constant reminder they were there once.
Lonliness is a funny thing...
you can be surrounded by literally dozens of people that love you on a daily basis
and still feel utterly and completely alone...
if the one person you long to stand next to
is standing somewhere alone too.
It IS hard being the one left behind.
Time takes on a rather bleak and dismal hue "post departure".
You wait what seems like an eternity for the day to arrive when you finally get to meet....
then it's over in an instant...
and there you are......
alone once more.
Although this time the lonliness is amplified by absence.
An absence that grips you and feels, at times, completely unbearable.
You want to escape it.
You try to ignore it.
You find things to occupy the time...
numb the pain..
and fill up your empty spaces.
The honest truth is that there is only person who can bridge that gap....
and they're no longer there.
But everywhere you look is a constant reminder they were there once.
Lonliness is a funny thing...
you can be surrounded by literally dozens of people that love you on a daily basis
and still feel utterly and completely alone...
if the one person you long to stand next to
is standing somewhere alone too.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Juxt-suppose
You could say life changed for us after the fire.
My dad was well crazy by this point so it didn't take much to convince my mom to leave him. An idea that I had championed for years.
She gathered her strength and the insurance money and bought a 31 foot sailboat for our new home. Since we had lost pretty much everything in the fire, it wasn't all that difficult to move straight on to the boat.
You might think a 31 foot boat is huge...until you try living in that space every day. It just gets smaller and smaller until you feel like you're losing your mind. It was just the two of us and our dog but sometimes it felt like a family of 12.
Try taking a shower sitting on the toilet in a 2x2 bathroom - and you'll see what I mean. One wrong move and you've got a bilge pump handle straight up your hoo-ha.
Or making quesadillas during a storm. Or hot chocolate. Or anything. A gimbaled stove is a great invention but it doesn't mean anything if your legs aren't gimbaled too.
In many ways I didn't appreciate the boat or what it took my mom to make a leap like that.
You might say that I was a "hateful little bitch" when I was 13.
You might say that...if you were my mom.
I was, I'll admit it.
NOW.
But not back then.
Back then I was angry because I wasn't like the other kids at school.
For chrissakes I lived on a BOAT. How weird was that!?
While everyone else had a DINING ROOM, a KITCHEN - actual ROOMS, I had a aft cabin and a 6x3 bunk. I couldn't even sit up, I had to lay flat ALL the time. Sometimes if I had a nightmare I would sit bolt upright in bed and find goose eggs on my forehead that would put Willy Wonka to shame.
It was pretty tough in inclement weather schlepping our groceries all the way down to the end of the dock (of course we lived at the END of the dock. Of course).
Not only that but we didn't have the traditional refrigerator like most people did. We had what they called in the boat business, a "cooler".
Essentially it was a hole in the counter you could put ice in and then throw your food on top of. A novel invention but not for the faint of heart. Things got lost in there and it was NOT pretty when they were discovered again. Sometimes months later.
At any rate, the blocks of ice were close to 15 pounds apiece and melted pretty fast. We would have to make several trips a week just to keep food semi-cold. I got good biceps those years.
And water? Well now, water was another story.
For that we had a water tank which needed manual filling. It was quite tricky.
You had to take a regular garden hose, hook it up to a water spout somewhere on the dock, then stick the other end into the resevoir and fill it to capacity. Wait approximately four days for the water to get hot then take a shower. On the toilet.
All in all, living on the boat was a lot like camping. Every day.
I really shouldn't complain I mean, it WAS truely beautiful all the time. Even when it was raining there was something stunning happening around me.
And when we were out on the open water, it was a completely different world.
There were many times I would be sitting on the bow of the boat, listening to music or reading a book, and look down to see pods of porpoise playing in the wake trying to get my attention. Talk about oneness with the world! They would look up at me with their sweet little eyes and (being the perverbial "cloudtalker" that I was) I was pretty sure I could read their thoughts.
I felt like I grew a lot in those four years living on the water. It really does do something to your blood.
Not only did it show me how little material possessions mattered (and they don't, not when your bunk is 6x3) but how much magic there is in the natural world around us. How much life, how much spirit, how it's all interconnected.
How if you listen with your heart and look with your soul you really can hear and see everything.
Even as a hateful 13 year old girl I was able to see it.
Maybe- just maybe, it was that juxtaposition of light and dark. The yin and yang. The good vs. evil.
I went from a place of darkness and bad energy to the most beautiful place in the world. From Satanic rituals and soul grippers to earth and wind and water and freedom.
What does this mean then? That there's hope for everybody? I guess in a sense it does.
They say that you can't appreciate the light without the dark, a rose without the thorns, or a rainbow without the rain. And that which doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
It's taken me a long time to get there but I think I can finally see the forest through the trees.
The secret is taking all of the things that didn't kill me and putting them in their proper places.
To guide myself and others with our light, our roses and our rainbows.
And to once and for all, get strong.
My dad was well crazy by this point so it didn't take much to convince my mom to leave him. An idea that I had championed for years.
She gathered her strength and the insurance money and bought a 31 foot sailboat for our new home. Since we had lost pretty much everything in the fire, it wasn't all that difficult to move straight on to the boat.
You might think a 31 foot boat is huge...until you try living in that space every day. It just gets smaller and smaller until you feel like you're losing your mind. It was just the two of us and our dog but sometimes it felt like a family of 12.
Try taking a shower sitting on the toilet in a 2x2 bathroom - and you'll see what I mean. One wrong move and you've got a bilge pump handle straight up your hoo-ha.
Or making quesadillas during a storm. Or hot chocolate. Or anything. A gimbaled stove is a great invention but it doesn't mean anything if your legs aren't gimbaled too.
In many ways I didn't appreciate the boat or what it took my mom to make a leap like that.
You might say that I was a "hateful little bitch" when I was 13.
You might say that...if you were my mom.
I was, I'll admit it.
NOW.
But not back then.
Back then I was angry because I wasn't like the other kids at school.
For chrissakes I lived on a BOAT. How weird was that!?
While everyone else had a DINING ROOM, a KITCHEN - actual ROOMS, I had a aft cabin and a 6x3 bunk. I couldn't even sit up, I had to lay flat ALL the time. Sometimes if I had a nightmare I would sit bolt upright in bed and find goose eggs on my forehead that would put Willy Wonka to shame.
It was pretty tough in inclement weather schlepping our groceries all the way down to the end of the dock (of course we lived at the END of the dock. Of course).
Not only that but we didn't have the traditional refrigerator like most people did. We had what they called in the boat business, a "cooler".
Essentially it was a hole in the counter you could put ice in and then throw your food on top of. A novel invention but not for the faint of heart. Things got lost in there and it was NOT pretty when they were discovered again. Sometimes months later.
At any rate, the blocks of ice were close to 15 pounds apiece and melted pretty fast. We would have to make several trips a week just to keep food semi-cold. I got good biceps those years.
And water? Well now, water was another story.
For that we had a water tank which needed manual filling. It was quite tricky.
You had to take a regular garden hose, hook it up to a water spout somewhere on the dock, then stick the other end into the resevoir and fill it to capacity. Wait approximately four days for the water to get hot then take a shower. On the toilet.
All in all, living on the boat was a lot like camping. Every day.
I really shouldn't complain I mean, it WAS truely beautiful all the time. Even when it was raining there was something stunning happening around me.
And when we were out on the open water, it was a completely different world.
There were many times I would be sitting on the bow of the boat, listening to music or reading a book, and look down to see pods of porpoise playing in the wake trying to get my attention. Talk about oneness with the world! They would look up at me with their sweet little eyes and (being the perverbial "cloudtalker" that I was) I was pretty sure I could read their thoughts.
I felt like I grew a lot in those four years living on the water. It really does do something to your blood.
Not only did it show me how little material possessions mattered (and they don't, not when your bunk is 6x3) but how much magic there is in the natural world around us. How much life, how much spirit, how it's all interconnected.
How if you listen with your heart and look with your soul you really can hear and see everything.
Even as a hateful 13 year old girl I was able to see it.
Maybe- just maybe, it was that juxtaposition of light and dark. The yin and yang. The good vs. evil.
I went from a place of darkness and bad energy to the most beautiful place in the world. From Satanic rituals and soul grippers to earth and wind and water and freedom.
What does this mean then? That there's hope for everybody? I guess in a sense it does.
They say that you can't appreciate the light without the dark, a rose without the thorns, or a rainbow without the rain. And that which doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
It's taken me a long time to get there but I think I can finally see the forest through the trees.
The secret is taking all of the things that didn't kill me and putting them in their proper places.
To guide myself and others with our light, our roses and our rainbows.
And to once and for all, get strong.
Spiritspeak
You could say life changed for us after the fire.
My dad was well crazy by this point so it didn't take much to convince my mom to leave him.
An idea I had championed for years.
She gathered her strength and all of the insurance money and bought a 31 foot sailboat for our new home.
Since we had lost pretty much everything in the fire, it wasn't all that difficult to move straight on to the boat.
You might think a 31 foot boat is huge...until you live in that space every day.
It just gets smaller and smaller until you feel like you're losing your mind.
It was just the two of us and our dog but sometimes it felt like a family of 12.
Try taking a shower sitting on the toilet in a 2x2 bathroom every day - and you'll see what I mean. One wrong move and you've got a bilge pump handle straight up your hoo-ha.
Or making quesadillas during a storm. Or hot chocolate. Or anything.
A gimbaled stove is a great invention but it doesn't mean anything if your legs aren't gimbaled too.
In many ways I didn't appreciate the boat or what it took my mom to make a leap like that.
You might say that I was a "hateful little bitch" when I was 13.
You might say that...if you were my mom.
I was, I'll admit it.
NOW.
But not back then.
Back then I was angry because I wasn't anything like the other kids at my school. For chrissakes I lived on a BOAT. How weird was that!?
While everyone else had a KITCHEN and a DINING ROOM and actual ROOMS, I had a aft cabin and a 6x3 bunk. I couldn't even sit up, I had to lay flat all the time. Sometimes I had nightmares and sat bolt upright and the next morning found goose eggs on my forehead that would put Willy Wonka to shame.
It was pretty tough in inclement weather and we had to trek all the way down to the end of the dock with our groceries (of course we lived at the END of the dock. Of course).
Not only that but we didn't have the traditional refrigerator like most people did. We had what they called in the boat business, a "cooler".
Essentially it was a hole in the counter you could put ice in and then throw your food on top of. A novel invention but not for the faint of heart. Things got lost in there and it was NOT pretty when they were discovered again. Sometimes months later.
At any rate, the blocks of ice were close to 15 pounds apiece and melted pretty fast. We would have to make several trips a week just to keep food semi-cold. I got good biceps those years.
And water?
Well now, water was another story.
For that we had a water tank which needed manual filling.
It was quite tricky really.
You had to take a regular garden hose, hook it up to a water spout somewhere on the dock, then stick the other end into the resevoir.
Fill it to capacity then wait approximately four days for the water to get hot enough to take a shower. On the toilet.
All in all, living on the boat was a lot like camping.
Every day for four years.
I really shouldn't complain I mean, it WAS truely beautiful all the time. Even when it was raining there was something stunning happening around me.
And when we were out on the open water, it was a completely different world.
There were many times I would be sitting on the bow of the boat, listening to music or reading a book, and look down to see pods of porpoise playing in the wake trying to get my attention.
Talk about oneness with the world! They would look up at me with their sweet little eyes and (being the perverbial "cloudtalker" that I was) I was pretty sure I could read their thoughts.
I felt like I grew a lot in those four years living on the water. It really does do something to your blood.
Not only did it show me how little material possessions mattered (and they don't, not when your bunk is 6x3) but how much magic there is in the natural world around us. How much life, how much spirit, how it's all interconnected. How if you listen with your heart and look with your soul you really can hear and see everything.
Even as a hateful 13 year old girl I was able to see it.
Maybe- just maybe, it was that juxtaposition of light and dark. The yin and yang. The good vs. evil.
I went from a place of utter darkness and bad energy to the most beautiful place in the world.
From Satanic rituals and soul grippers to earth and wind and water and freedom.
What does this mean then? That there's hope for everybody? I guess in a sense it does.
They say that you can't appreciate the light without the dark, a rose without the thorns, or rainbow without the rain. And that which doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
It's taken me a long time to get there but I think I can finally see the forest through the trees.
The secret is taking all of the things that didn't kill me and put them in their proper places.
To help myself and others with our light, our roses and our rainbows and to once and for all, get strong.
My dad was well crazy by this point so it didn't take much to convince my mom to leave him.
An idea I had championed for years.
She gathered her strength and all of the insurance money and bought a 31 foot sailboat for our new home.
Since we had lost pretty much everything in the fire, it wasn't all that difficult to move straight on to the boat.
You might think a 31 foot boat is huge...until you live in that space every day.
It just gets smaller and smaller until you feel like you're losing your mind.
It was just the two of us and our dog but sometimes it felt like a family of 12.
Try taking a shower sitting on the toilet in a 2x2 bathroom every day - and you'll see what I mean. One wrong move and you've got a bilge pump handle straight up your hoo-ha.
Or making quesadillas during a storm. Or hot chocolate. Or anything.
A gimbaled stove is a great invention but it doesn't mean anything if your legs aren't gimbaled too.
In many ways I didn't appreciate the boat or what it took my mom to make a leap like that.
You might say that I was a "hateful little bitch" when I was 13.
You might say that...if you were my mom.
I was, I'll admit it.
NOW.
But not back then.
Back then I was angry because I wasn't anything like the other kids at my school. For chrissakes I lived on a BOAT. How weird was that!?
While everyone else had a KITCHEN and a DINING ROOM and actual ROOMS, I had a aft cabin and a 6x3 bunk. I couldn't even sit up, I had to lay flat all the time. Sometimes I had nightmares and sat bolt upright and the next morning found goose eggs on my forehead that would put Willy Wonka to shame.
It was pretty tough in inclement weather and we had to trek all the way down to the end of the dock with our groceries (of course we lived at the END of the dock. Of course).
Not only that but we didn't have the traditional refrigerator like most people did. We had what they called in the boat business, a "cooler".
Essentially it was a hole in the counter you could put ice in and then throw your food on top of. A novel invention but not for the faint of heart. Things got lost in there and it was NOT pretty when they were discovered again. Sometimes months later.
At any rate, the blocks of ice were close to 15 pounds apiece and melted pretty fast. We would have to make several trips a week just to keep food semi-cold. I got good biceps those years.
And water?
Well now, water was another story.
For that we had a water tank which needed manual filling.
It was quite tricky really.
You had to take a regular garden hose, hook it up to a water spout somewhere on the dock, then stick the other end into the resevoir.
Fill it to capacity then wait approximately four days for the water to get hot enough to take a shower. On the toilet.
All in all, living on the boat was a lot like camping.
Every day for four years.
I really shouldn't complain I mean, it WAS truely beautiful all the time. Even when it was raining there was something stunning happening around me.
And when we were out on the open water, it was a completely different world.
There were many times I would be sitting on the bow of the boat, listening to music or reading a book, and look down to see pods of porpoise playing in the wake trying to get my attention.
Talk about oneness with the world! They would look up at me with their sweet little eyes and (being the perverbial "cloudtalker" that I was) I was pretty sure I could read their thoughts.
I felt like I grew a lot in those four years living on the water. It really does do something to your blood.
Not only did it show me how little material possessions mattered (and they don't, not when your bunk is 6x3) but how much magic there is in the natural world around us. How much life, how much spirit, how it's all interconnected. How if you listen with your heart and look with your soul you really can hear and see everything.
Even as a hateful 13 year old girl I was able to see it.
Maybe- just maybe, it was that juxtaposition of light and dark. The yin and yang. The good vs. evil.
I went from a place of utter darkness and bad energy to the most beautiful place in the world.
From Satanic rituals and soul grippers to earth and wind and water and freedom.
What does this mean then? That there's hope for everybody? I guess in a sense it does.
They say that you can't appreciate the light without the dark, a rose without the thorns, or rainbow without the rain. And that which doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
It's taken me a long time to get there but I think I can finally see the forest through the trees.
The secret is taking all of the things that didn't kill me and put them in their proper places.
To help myself and others with our light, our roses and our rainbows and to once and for all, get strong.
The Stranger
The Stranger 08-07-1999
The stranger sees me and his gaze penetrates my soul.
Time sits suspended above me like a pendulum ready to fall.
People move around the periphery of my vision but it's a surreal passing...
as if my existence is separate and my presence unknown to everyone except the stranger.
He's been waiting for me...
he's hiding in the shadows of darkness in a place I dont even know of yet.
Always watching.
Waiting.
To come for me.
I don't know his name of if I'll even know his face when I see it.
Perhaps he'll be a vision familliar to me. Whole and complete.
His voice will stir my soul and sieze my heart.
He will say things with meaning yet speak the truth.
He won't even know what lipservice is.
He will love me without condition or judgement or pretense.
His love will not define me but complete me.
It will erase the painful memories and clear away the blackness that threatens to encompass me.
His laughter will encourage me and give me hope for a brighter future. One without deception. Without suffering.
Without "I'm sorry".
His embrace will leave me with longing-I but a mere servant to his touch.
He will be honest and kind and true to his heart.
This stranger I see will embody the greatest love of all time...
where past present and future collide.
This stranger I see is a man that I've never met...but one my heart longs to know.
Be it a dream, be it unreal or be it false hope...
if it is a dream I'll choose to sleep forever...
just so that I can know him
The stranger sees me and his gaze penetrates my soul.
Time sits suspended above me like a pendulum ready to fall.
People move around the periphery of my vision but it's a surreal passing...
as if my existence is separate and my presence unknown to everyone except the stranger.
He's been waiting for me...
he's hiding in the shadows of darkness in a place I dont even know of yet.
Always watching.
Waiting.
To come for me.
I don't know his name of if I'll even know his face when I see it.
Perhaps he'll be a vision familliar to me. Whole and complete.
His voice will stir my soul and sieze my heart.
He will say things with meaning yet speak the truth.
He won't even know what lipservice is.
He will love me without condition or judgement or pretense.
His love will not define me but complete me.
It will erase the painful memories and clear away the blackness that threatens to encompass me.
His laughter will encourage me and give me hope for a brighter future. One without deception. Without suffering.
Without "I'm sorry".
His embrace will leave me with longing-I but a mere servant to his touch.
He will be honest and kind and true to his heart.
This stranger I see will embody the greatest love of all time...
where past present and future collide.
This stranger I see is a man that I've never met...but one my heart longs to know.
Be it a dream, be it unreal or be it false hope...
if it is a dream I'll choose to sleep forever...
just so that I can know him
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Soul Fire
When I was a little cloudtalker, I didn't have very many friends. There was the girl down the street but she was a little bit weird and her family always smelled like salmon. I did like her dog though. He was a big white malamute and would pull me around the neighborhood in a laundry basket. I was thrilled about it and he didn't seem to mind. He got tired easily though..being a big dog and all.
It's amazing what made me happy when I was nine. Give me a gray laundry basket and a dog and I was happy for hours. My white trash royal chariot.
I remember riding in the car on the way home from anywhere. I would pray that my friend would be home for me to kidnap her dog to pull me around again. Being the good catholic I was, I reasoned if I prayed extra hard in the car and said ten Our Fathers, God would look kindly on me and grant my wish. It didn't always happen that way and that confused me. I wasn't entirely sure what I had done wrong. Perhaps I hadn't repented enough to warrant my chariot that day. Or maybe I needed to throw in a few Hail Mary's. I wasn't sure. Either way I didn't like being in the dark and this made me question my salvation.
I mean, I had been going to Catholic schools for years and I was told this was "the way".
You pray- you're saved. Done and done.
You lead a good life, turn the other cheek, abide by the golden rule and the world is your oyster.
Well let me tell you...there were no oysters where I lived.
I didn't like the street we lived on. At the time I didn't know it (it would be years before I understood "energy") but suffice it to say, it was always dark there. The people were dark, the houses were dark, the light was dark. Evil lurked there..and that's not even me being dramatic. It really did. Bad things happened in my house. You could tell as soon as you crossed over the threshold. Rumor had it satanic rituals were held there before we bought the house at auction. I wouldn't be surprised. I had feelings about bad spirits and recurring nightmares of dying. It made me wonder if that's what ultimately drove my father insane.
The house burned to the ground when I was 12 and with it all of the "badness". Throw in some sage and you'd have one great big smudging.
Shit- I wish I'd been woo woo back then.
I remember walking up to the house the day after the fire and seeing a giant pit in the middle of the floor. It stretched up through the ceiling, out the attic and into to the sky. It dropped through the floor all the way to the cement basement below. Like a giant cavity.
Standing before the charred remains of the house, there was a feeling of sadness but it was fleeting. Sure I''d miss all of my stuffed animals and my books, and for sure I'd never find another laundry basket like the grey one.
But moving on is always better than looking back and when we do, we're usually smarter for it.
I took comfort in the fact the house and the soul grippers in it had perished...like spirts reaching for the sky they were free. And in a sense I suppose, so was I.
It's amazing what made me happy when I was nine. Give me a gray laundry basket and a dog and I was happy for hours. My white trash royal chariot.
I remember riding in the car on the way home from anywhere. I would pray that my friend would be home for me to kidnap her dog to pull me around again. Being the good catholic I was, I reasoned if I prayed extra hard in the car and said ten Our Fathers, God would look kindly on me and grant my wish. It didn't always happen that way and that confused me. I wasn't entirely sure what I had done wrong. Perhaps I hadn't repented enough to warrant my chariot that day. Or maybe I needed to throw in a few Hail Mary's. I wasn't sure. Either way I didn't like being in the dark and this made me question my salvation.
I mean, I had been going to Catholic schools for years and I was told this was "the way".
You pray- you're saved. Done and done.
You lead a good life, turn the other cheek, abide by the golden rule and the world is your oyster.
Well let me tell you...there were no oysters where I lived.
I didn't like the street we lived on. At the time I didn't know it (it would be years before I understood "energy") but suffice it to say, it was always dark there. The people were dark, the houses were dark, the light was dark. Evil lurked there..and that's not even me being dramatic. It really did. Bad things happened in my house. You could tell as soon as you crossed over the threshold. Rumor had it satanic rituals were held there before we bought the house at auction. I wouldn't be surprised. I had feelings about bad spirits and recurring nightmares of dying. It made me wonder if that's what ultimately drove my father insane.
The house burned to the ground when I was 12 and with it all of the "badness". Throw in some sage and you'd have one great big smudging.
Shit- I wish I'd been woo woo back then.
I remember walking up to the house the day after the fire and seeing a giant pit in the middle of the floor. It stretched up through the ceiling, out the attic and into to the sky. It dropped through the floor all the way to the cement basement below. Like a giant cavity.
Standing before the charred remains of the house, there was a feeling of sadness but it was fleeting. Sure I''d miss all of my stuffed animals and my books, and for sure I'd never find another laundry basket like the grey one.
But moving on is always better than looking back and when we do, we're usually smarter for it.
I took comfort in the fact the house and the soul grippers in it had perished...like spirts reaching for the sky they were free. And in a sense I suppose, so was I.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Waiting for the magic
I'm sitting here in front of a white screen with literally thousands of ideas swirling around in my head...and none of them will come out and play...
I just can't seem to get them FROM my head TO my computer.
How frustrating.
Perhaps I should just go to bed and wait for them to settle into my dreams.
Oftentimes that is where I do my best work...when I'm not thinking about it.
Does that mean I think too hard? Most of my friends would say "YES!" I DO think too hard...
I'm quite sure I don't obsess though. That would mean I was really a "girl"...
and we all know how I feel about THAT.
I've discovered whiskey is a fantastic remedy for thinking too hard.
Whiskey is my co-pilot.
I just can't seem to get them FROM my head TO my computer.
How frustrating.
Perhaps I should just go to bed and wait for them to settle into my dreams.
Oftentimes that is where I do my best work...when I'm not thinking about it.
Does that mean I think too hard? Most of my friends would say "YES!" I DO think too hard...
I'm quite sure I don't obsess though. That would mean I was really a "girl"...
and we all know how I feel about THAT.
I've discovered whiskey is a fantastic remedy for thinking too hard.
Whiskey is my co-pilot.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Cloudspeak
This is a trajectory.
That's exactly what it is.
What I'm experiencing right now is a path that I've never known but for sure is my destiny.
When I was a little girl I used to talk to the clouds. I thought they gave me strength, great power and amazing energy. No one knew I could communicate with the natural world and that I was terribly special.
I had something to believe in. Something to ground me firmly into the solar system.
I guess I've never moved very far from that little girl with the big imagination, believing that the predetermined path is illuminated by the chaos around us.
I still talk to the clouds but I'm older now and I understand the language. It used to be the magic would have to find me...now I know where to look.
It's in everything and everyone around me...it's in the trees against a backdrop of a great blue sky....
a cloud of starlings spinning from the rooftops....random connections and fated meetings with strangers.....
They are the intricate workings of an ever moving world...weaving a tapestry of the spiritual realm I'm only now begining to understand as divine inspiration.
Socrates said reality is unavailable to those who use their senses and if you only see with your eyes, you are blind.
I'll choose intuition over reality any day and ride this trajectory to the end.
And promise to see the world and everything in it with my eyes wide shut. Always.
That's exactly what it is.
What I'm experiencing right now is a path that I've never known but for sure is my destiny.
When I was a little girl I used to talk to the clouds. I thought they gave me strength, great power and amazing energy. No one knew I could communicate with the natural world and that I was terribly special.
I had something to believe in. Something to ground me firmly into the solar system.
I guess I've never moved very far from that little girl with the big imagination, believing that the predetermined path is illuminated by the chaos around us.
I still talk to the clouds but I'm older now and I understand the language. It used to be the magic would have to find me...now I know where to look.
It's in everything and everyone around me...it's in the trees against a backdrop of a great blue sky....
a cloud of starlings spinning from the rooftops....random connections and fated meetings with strangers.....
They are the intricate workings of an ever moving world...weaving a tapestry of the spiritual realm I'm only now begining to understand as divine inspiration.
Socrates said reality is unavailable to those who use their senses and if you only see with your eyes, you are blind.
I'll choose intuition over reality any day and ride this trajectory to the end.
And promise to see the world and everything in it with my eyes wide shut. Always.
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