Permissions

Last January I bought a purple composition notebook (my favorite color) so I could write in it all of the miscellaneous things that I needed to know and do to make a plan for relocating.  I have it with me now, on my journey through Pennsylvania and I thought I would share with you my

 Permission Slip for Self

1.  I give myself permission to make life choices that will make me happy

2.  i give myself permission to think of my needs first

3.  i give myself permission to disappoint others when they don't like my decisions.

4.  I give myself permission to love myself

5.  I give myself permission to receive love from others.

6.  I give myself permission to ask for help\

7.  I give myself permission to accept help from others when they expect no return

8.  i give myself permission to eliminate chaos in my life by all legal means necessary

9.  i give myself permission to accept that happiness is not earned, it is accepted and taken

10.  I give myself permission to confess that I am an amazing woman

11.  I give myself permission to confess that I am an amazing mother

12.  i give myself permission to respect myself

13.  i give myself permission to not validate my choices

14.  I give myself permission to be in charge of my future and my present

15.  I give myself permission to enjoy the present without trying to write the end of my story

16.  I give myself permission to grieve my past provided I do not hurt myself or others and that I do not hinder my present

17.  I give myself permission to feel the loss of the last 39 years for as long as necessary

18.  I give myself permission to accept that because of my rocky foundation in life, I will always have weaknesses, loss and anxiety

19.  I give myself permission to overcome my weaknesses, losses and anxieties

20.  i give myself permission to share my life story unabashedly 

Yes I can, I am not alone, I am worth the effort, I am enough.

I still struggle with most of these. It is a daily effort to remind myself that all of these are fair, valid and permissible.  I still have to accept it.  Daily.  DAILY!  

How about you?  What permissions do YOU need to give yourself on your own journey?  

Talking to many friends both at home and here on my trip.  So much wisdom and insight and love and acceptance.  I am a blessed woman and I am learning that I am a blessing and a light for many in like kind.  As Cinch said, I'm awesome.  I can make friends every where I go.  

But where, exactly, do I go?  These are the new  permissions I need for today and my future:

21.  I give myself permission to make this journey in steps, to accept that there may not be one final resting place but rather some small jumps and hops toward my future.  

22.  I give permission to accept that I can not control others: not their choices, actions or words.

23.  I give myself permission to find the people whose spirits are like mine; to want to be near them and live my life with them

24.  I give myself permission to hope and dream and pray and wish.

25.  I give myself permission to make mistakes because they aren't intentional but rather causative as a result of being brave.

26.  I give myself permission to fail.

27.  I give myself permission to get up, dust of my butt and try again.

28.  I give myself permission keep knocking on doors until I know what is the right path for me and the children

29.  I give myself permission to consider ALL options no matter how odd.

30.  I give myself permission to trust myself.

SOURCE

poetry is original work of blog author.  All copyright laws apply.

The fire quietly breathes.

Flames flicker light on her face

Like dancing shadows of remembrances.

Staring into the heat of the pit

She ponders the mysteries.

Heat, source and air are all that is needed

To make the dragon come to life.

Three simple elements unite

To form the burning beast.

Oh how it burns!

One by one the elements wane

Until only air remains,

Whispering gently to the glowing coals.

Only Source is needed

To rekindle the sleeping dragon.

Be the Source.

Watch the fire grow once more.

Patience Part II

Guess this is my new Sunday ritual.  I used to go to church on Sundays but now that feels like a stupid ritual.  I prefer meditating, enjoying the peace, nature, the silence in the house while the kids sleep, the sound of the wind chimes that I have hanging at both entrances to the house, the birds chirping, the wind blowing, the clock ticking. 

*takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly*

I can't put a finger on it but Sunday mornings as a single parent are the hardest, loneliest, scariest times for me.  My bed is empty.  There's no one there to hug me or kiss me awake.  No quiet pillow talk, no snuggling, no plans for brunch, no one to make coffee for, no discussions of how to spend the day as a family, no Sunday paper to share.  Just, one more day of how to make it through without feeling lonely, overwhelmed, listening to Sissy scream at me, AB pacing and talking and pacing and hugging and pacing and WG inviting all the neighbor kids over to play until she melts down because she can't actually deal with that chaos for more than few hours.  And me?  By myself, no adults, just another week of responsibility staring me in the face, my coffee getting cold, my loneliness haunting my thoughts and hugging myself hoping that human touch from at least my own arms will warm me up.

I lie to myself until I believe it (and sometimes I still don't believe it).  I tell myself that this will pass.  I tell myself that I'm a strong, amazing woman.  I tell myself that I can do this.  I tell myself that I'm not truly alone.  I tell myself that I am worth it - worth the effort, worth the price, worth the sacrifice.  I tell myself that I'm beautiful and funny and smart and loveable.  I tell myself to look around me and see all the wonderful things I've created and done with my life.  I tell myself that I am a loyal friend, a hard worker, and that I'm patient, kind, giving and selfless. I tell myself that when people think of me, they see all of these things in me and more.

Then I collapse into a heap and cry and cry and cry because I don't believe it.  I WANT to, but I don't.  I know it's true but I don't feel it.  I hear the words but I don't see it.  I give until it hurts because I want people to give back but that's not how it works, is it?  I should be pouring into myself with the same measure of love and respect that I give others but that feels counter intuitive.  It is the nature of abuse - to never believe that I am worth anything, to take blame when things don't go well even though I've done nothing wrong.  It is the lies of the years of abuse that haunt me and tell me in a louder, stronger voice that I am flawed, unlovable, worthless, wrong on all accounts, need to atone for my misdeeds in order to get the good things I want,  to believe that if I give enough I will finally be worth something.

Which is why church doesn't really fit in my thought process anymore - Christianity as whole is set on the premise that if we do good, we will have good things.  It's one more abusive paradigm in my already challenged, hurting soul.  I can't. I just can't do that anymore.  I fight so hard to keep my head steady as it is.

I wrote this poem in November.  It still applies.  I wish it didn't. I wish I could get past this hurt but no matter how hard I try to shake it off, it just keeps hurting, I keep feeling lonely, I keep feeling scared, I keep feeling like I'm missing something that will make this life turn around for me at last.  I know that just last week I was writing about hope.  I still have that hope, but today that river in my soul is muddied and murky with all the sediment and runoff from the hard things in life.

PATIENCE  (11/26/13)

copyright laws apply, this original work is the property of this blog owner.  Copying, claiming ownership or redistributing is an infringement of the author's rights and will be prosecuted.

Just hold my hand a little while
let the fear leak out my shoes.
Hold a tissue to my tears
Let the trees be my muse.

Don't say a word, the wind will talk
It whispers hope to me.
Please don't look me in the eyes
I fear what you might see.

A warm embrace might do the trick
Then I can smell your love.
The fear pummels my every thought,
A punishing iron glove.

I'm sorry that I'm broke this way,
Filled with doubt and anxiety.
I know you're never out of reach
But alone, don't let me be.

So hold my hand a little more
Please don't leave my side.
And tomorrow I will laugh again
My smile bright and wide.
 

PATIENCE

*long, drown out exhale*

deflated balloon much?  yeah.

I thought the universe had given me a green light several months ago, thought that my life had found it's course and direction finally, FINALLY and then KABLAM!

Universe is so snarky.  Pulled the carpet out from under me just as I was standing tall on my feet.  Now I'm back down on my arse and in think, plan, do mode but a little more wounded and weary.

I could get my head stuck up my butt and curl into a ball and fuss it out.  (ok, i've done that a bit already) but, all around me my friends, both virtual and real-world, have had one hell of a time lately.  It's as though universe is blowing up on all of us.  Maybe universe needs some of the love and energy back?  Kinda hard for me to do that when she's been so wretched to me.

vague enough for ya?  Wish I could be more specific.  Don't feel like I have the liberty to be brutally honest on this blog anymore.

Sissy is spiraling down again.  She will likely get another short-term placement in the next few weeks like she had in November.  Which, all things considered, is good for all of us.  I know the next few years with her as she wends her way through puberty are going to be hell but I don't really want to do it.

AB is so tall now.  So grown.  So teenager.  *rolls eyes*  But really, I can't complain.  He's a good son.  He tries hard most of the time.  he loves unconditionally.  He helps without being asked.  He just needs a lot of direction.  And redirection...and redirection.  and please, PLEASE do not put that young man in running pants because when he starts pacing, the *swish swish swish* drives me absolutely insane.

WG is all energy. I wrote this poem for her today:

 a whimsy, a sprite
she jumps with delight.
with gossamer wings
she bounces on springs
and ascends into flight

And Jennie?
Pissed.  Mad as hell.  Tired of life crapping out on me.  Tired of fighting, fighting, fighting for what I want and need.  Tired of having to reevaluate.  Tired of having to stand up for myself and my rights.  Tired of being the one with the short end of the stick.  *sigh*

Sometimes I get a premonition or "vision" or insight.  I have an intuitive nature.  Call it whatever you want to.  I know that many times I have dreams or random thoughts that pop into my mind that give me hope or energy to carry on when it gets dark (and sometimes to send energy, prayers and love to people I that are hurting).  The first week of December I had one of those premonition events.  I was in my thinking spot (the bathroom), stepping out of the shower and this:

hold on.  It's about to get really bumpy.  Everything that is working right now is going to look like it is getting turned off, shut down, like you are getting blocked out and cut off.  All of the universe's "Yes's" are going to become "No's" and it will look barren through the end of February.  Then it will turn around and the "yes's" will return but modified and better than they are now.

I don't subscribe to my intuitions as a exact measures but I also use them for hope and sometimes, guidance.  The thought of "better" yes's is good but yeah, it's dark right now!

So to all of you, because I know I'm not the only one that is hurting, in fact, just about everyone I know is hitting some gosh darned hard low spots right now, hang on.  Just hang on.  The tide will turn and we will all get back on our intended courses once more.

Just take my hand and sit with me
Make joy and mirth from misery.
We'll dance as though the day has come
When happiness joins the setting sun.

For Red 

Beloved Tennessee Walker

You made us all smile

What will I find?

I dream I had two weeks ago has stayed with me.  It has given me hope and strength.

It began at a church gathering in a fellowship hall of sorts.  People were just arriving and without any specific task to complete, they were standing around greeting one another and laughing.  I had been assigned a task but didn't know where to go as I had never been to the church before.  And because the task was nonspecific, I didn't know what I was expected to do or what person was supposed to give me directions and put me to work.

I stood in the background, assuming the proverbial wall flower posture.  A gentleman was laughing and getting along with everyone, making the social atmosphere light and easy.  Someone came up to me and said, "your husband is so funny!"

I looked at her quizzically and said, "He's not my husband."  Then I walked away, following the hall to a stairway that led me downward.  The stairwell opened into a vast, open space with floor to ceiling windows on three sides.  The view out of the windows was breathtaking.  There was a pond with manicured gardens surrounding it, a stone walkway to the left, tall reeds in the back obscuring the surrounding city vistas and an overwhelming sense of tranquility.

I walked slowly toward the glass and whispered, "wow.  that is so beautiful"  Then I saw that the room was actually the pastoral staff's private study.  I backed up and returned up the stairwell, still remarking how amazing the view had been.

At a landing on the stairway, I took a turn and ended up in a hallway filled with tables of desserts.  A frantic woman dressed in her Sunday best was talking hastily on her phone about some issue with the food preparation.  She was agitated and annoyed.  She gesticulated for me to start tending to the problem at hand, pointing in the direction of the dessert table.  I could not see any issues there which made her frustrated with me because I was clearly no help and therefore one more annoyance.  While she argued with the caller and rolled her eyes at me for not tending to her problems, I shrugged and walked away.

Feeling lost and confused but knowing I had a purpose, I wandered into a sitting room that was occupied by four women in a heated debate over some biblical study they had been doing together.  No one was in agreement and the debate went in circles with each person simply restating the ideas expressed but insisting her wording wasn't saying the same thing as the other.  I chose to interrupt, knowing I was needed somewhere to be helpful.  Asking if they could please point me in the direction of someone that was in charge, i got only blank stares.

All of these scenes and encounters left me bewildered.  A husband that wasn't mine.  I breathtaking scene that I should not have been privy too.  An angry woman that wouldn't be pacified.  A group of women arguing the same point.  A job to do but no information for how to do it or where to go or what it was or from whom I might get direction.  An overwhelming sense of loneliness and being lost but at the same time knowing I have a purpose, I needed only to keep searching on my own.

I continued to wander the seemingly endless rooms and halls.  It was as if the church was one addition after another with no true architectural clarity.  There were people hustling and bustling about or talking amongst themselves but none of them noticed me, or at the least, none were concerned that I looked lost.  Then, I entered the original sanctuary for the building.  That is to say, like some old churches, the original sanctuary is not torn down but remodeled and repurposed but the congregation meets in the new, improved sanctuary after renovation.

I stood in the empty room, the vaulted ceilings high above me.  The room was barren and plain and had a feeling of sadness, as though it had acquiesced to being an all purpose room after so many years of hand bells, pipe organs and acapella choirs.  I sighed heavily.  The contrast of the beauty in the sequestered pastoral study that was off limits to all to the ordinary, dull, now lifeless sanctuary struck me viscerally.  A sound, something like a gasp or a cry or an echo of emotion from deep within me escaped my mouth inadvertently.

Then the plaster walls began to dissolve and fall away, silently.  The ceiling drifted slowly to the floor like snowflakes.  People began to enter the room but said nothing.  They just watched with me.

Falling, falling, the room around me was transformed.  Above me ascended the most ornate and breathtaking masonry.  Chiseled archways high above the pews, stained glass windows even higher still, a belfry and pipes from a long since forgotten organ, all of it, for everyone, covered up, hidden and taken for granted.

"Wow" someone said.

"I didn't know all of this was here." another said.

"did YOU do this?" another asked of me.

Slowly, a smile crept across my face as the last of the plaster fell to the floor, the dust still floating in the air, now illuminated by the sunlight filtering through the stained glass windows.  I had found my purpose: to find the hidden beauty in the loss and pain and give it back to everyone that needs it.



I'm not sure what the dream means but it fills me with so much hope.  I know that as my immediate future looks uncertain and I approach huge changes with trepidation, it will be beautiful ... for everyone that needs it.  I know that the wandering and the feelings of loss and loneliness, uselessness and frustration, thinking that I don't belong - that I'm a fish out of water, will fade away and though there be special places for a select few, the more beautiful things in life are those that are available to everyone.  The discovery and revelation is what makes the journey, though it be hard and long, worth it.

Toward beauty I will set my path
To things of good and not of wrath.
To Hope and Grace,
With gentleness
I will find my joy at last.

Darkness Leads to Happiness

I didn't know what to do.  Oddly, climbing into the back of the closet in the master bedroom, arranging the hanging clothing over me so I could not be seen, made sense.  I sat with my knees drawn up to my chest, hugging them tightly.  A shoe or boot was wedged under my bottom, creating a dull pain and slight tingling sensation from localized numbness.  I didn't move it to get more comfortable.  The constant ache was comforting because it meant I was still alive, still feeling, still real.

I sat in the closet for what seemed like hours, in the darkness, listening to myself breathe.  I tried to think.  I couldn't.  All I wanted to do was sob until the end of time.  I had gotten myself into a real jam and I didn't know how to get out.  Well, I did know.  I just didn't think it was an acceptable life path.  I feared further human disdain.

Fear.  That is my Shadow.  Gandolf the Grey didn't want to go into the Mines of Moria because he feared Shadow.  He was so paralyzed that it nearly claimed his life on the tower in his confrontation with Sauron. Uncertain of his strength, he allowed Frodo to decide the path the Fellowship would take when they were being tracked by the eye of Sauron.  Frodo led them into the mines.   Shadow took Gandolf into Darkness on that journey.

I knew, sitting in that closet, breathing as quietly as I could so I would not be heard or found, that one day I would survive and, though scathed, become like Gandolf the White, having conquered my Shadow.  I knew it.  I didn't feel it, couldn't see it or taste it.  I only heard my heart pounding in my ears as the fear consumed me once more.  Because he found me.  And demanded to know why I was hiding, that I was being childish - wives don't hide in closets from their husbands, they deal with the issues at hand.  Husbands don't make their wives so afraid that they need to hide, bad wives run.  Bad wives ask for a divorce.  Bad wives call things abuse when they are afraid because they don't know any better.  And that is slander and ridicule and how dare I accuse him of such an offense and didn't I know how that looked for him and how it made HIM feel?

Not once did he ask what would make me so upset that I felt like hiding was the best option.  Not a hug, not a "we'll sort this through", not "i love you.  Let's get help".  Not a back rub or a warm meal or a pot of tea.  No comfort.  No love.  Just more hate and hurt.

That was six months into my marriage. Christmas Time.

Fifteen years later, I finally had the strength to go into the Darkness and take back my life.  Christmas Time.

Why didn't I fight for my freedom sooner?  Because of religion and abuse. Divorce is against God's way.  Divorce means marrying another is adultery.  Divorce means sin and unforgiveness.  Divorce means I made a mistake and didn't follow God's path for my life.  I didn't know that divorce because of abuse absolved me of all of that.  I didn't understand that my fear of confrontation and what he kept telling me was just my simple misunderstanding of his needs, was  actually because the relationship was abusive. I didn't understand that every time I was happy and he got angry or sullen, it was abuse.  I didn't know that abuse had eight levels.  I didn't know that I suffered on all levels.  I didn't know anything beyond I was being a bad christian because I was hurting and seeking an answer that wasn't God's Way.

What I ultimately internalized, inadvertently, is that religion is also abusive.

....................................................................................................................................................

In the nine months that this blog was inactive, I was still finding my way out of Darkness.   I didn't know it would take me all the way down to seeking the end of my life.  The finalization of the divorce was very difficult.  The judge was cruelly unfair.  Not one person doesn't still shake their head in a preponderance of confusion over the judge's final decisions.  It left me stuck.  Stuck to continue facing my tormenter, in my home, three and four days a week and for weekend visitations with the children every other month.  It has me bound to this house with his name still on the mortgage.  It has me paying accrued marital debts. It cut me to the core of faith, of hope, of everything that gave me reason to live.

On the eve of my annual trip to Orlando with the ETAAM/BeTA group, I begged to die.  I was left alone in my house with the children, my self-help reminders, written, taped and painted on my bedroom walls serving as one more reminder that I was never to be happy.  Never.  I'm not allowed to be happy.  I'm not allowed freedom. I'm not allowed hope or health or healing.   I had written Phil 4:3, "Do not be anxious about anything but in everything by prayer and petition submit your requests to God and the peace of God which transcends all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus."

I went to the garage, grabbed a can of white paint and a brush and proceeded to blot it out, starting with "submit your requests to God".

I proceeded to the bathroom where I had painted, "Change = Good" and "Live, Laugh, Love, Pray"  They were blotted out too.

I tore down all of the mandalas I had colored for therapy.

I ripped up my "Who Am I" poster.

I scratched out all the proverbs and verses I had written in pen on whatever spare patch of wall I could find.

I paused when I ripped the drawing I made with the Chinese proverb, "my barn having burned to the ground, now I can see the moon"

I had employed tools from every faith and walk of life, every religion, every positive ounce of energy I had collected like broken shells and river rocks with marbleized patterns and it gained me nothing.  I was trapped.  Stuck.  Never to be free.  Justice had not served me at. all.  Mankind, MAN, had failed me once more.  And religion? It didn't save me either.

I was back in that bedroom closet, hiding, sheltering myself from a storm I couldn't protect myself from.  A storm that had no end.  My honesty, my kindness, compassion and hope meant nothing.  It gained me NOTHING.  Why be good? Why pray?  Why believe?  Why?  There is no out.  If you are meant to suffer in this life, then suffer you will.  

I ripped up the drawing in a blind rage.  Shreds. There was nothing left but tiny scraps to gather later.  I collapsed in a heap and sobbed for hours.  I was convinced I would never be happy.  That it was my lot in life to suffer and endure and pay for my past sins from a former life or for someone else in my ancestry or just because the cosmos willed that I should be in the fire until I disintegrated, literally burning until I ceased to exist.

The next day I drove to the airport to pick up one of my friends from the ETAAM/BeTA group so we could drive to Orlando together.  She slept in my bed with me that evening, the torment and pain still very fresh on bedroom walls.  She let me cry.  She didn't stop me.  She didn't tell me it would be O.K.  She was just there.

When we arrived in Orlando, I went to my room in the Villa, crawled into a corner of the room, half under the bed, and sobbed, begging to die.

Another amazing woman got me and held me until I could breathe.

A third woman slept in my bed for the weekend so I wouldn't be alone because I was afraid I would hurt myself.

A fourth woman gave me her beautiful scarf.

A fifth woman said I had such a peaceful nature about me, and she meant it.

I made it through the weekend.  I drove home.  I drove my friend back to the airport.  I resumed my life.  For better or for worse.

I took one day at a time, sometimes one minute.  Sometimes I could go a full hour without needing to call someone for comfort and love.

The days turned into weeks.  The weeks turned into a month, then two.

I was still living.  Still surviving.  Still breathing.  I had made it through Darkness.  I had conquered Shadow.  I had become Jennie the White.  I didn't even know it had happened.  It just did.

In May I redid my bathroom and my bedroom, the hallway and replaced all the doors.  All of the holes my ex had punched in, patched.  The broken door jamb from his angry slamming in one fight, repaired.  The house became mine.  I breathed it in - my beautiful energy created beautiful things in my home.  And that was only possible because I am beautiful, to my core.  Despite what I have suffered, I am beautiful to my very last cell.

Summer came and with each day, as I closed and opened my new doors, as I slept in my new bedroom and showered in my new bathroom, as I swam in the pool with my children, as I breathed and lived and laughed, I found happy. A tentative, cautious, careful happy.  A real happy.  A happy I had never had before.

Hope followed it.
And health.
Healing.
Dreams.
Singing.
Music.
Love.

It is Christmas Time.  I am not inside a church because I haven't figured out how to reincorporate that element yet, but I have life.  I am happy.

If there is one gift I can give, it is that you find this HAPPY somewhere.  Anywhere.  Please.  Just find it.  And don't let it go.  Do all you can to keep it.  Forever.

Life

For Sissy who got angry at her backpack this morning

LIFE

Life is funny

Life is weird.

Life makes women

Grow a beard.

Life is scary 

Life is fun.

Life won't end

With the setting sun.

Sometimes life gets

The better of you.

Just laugh out loud

And chuck a shoe.

On days when life
Lets you win
Put on a dress
And spin, spin, spin!

Life never says
What's coming next
But that makes living
Life the best.

So turn your frown
Upside down
And live this life
In your nightgown!


Poetry original work by author of this blog.  Copyright laws apply.

 

Slow it Down

Slow it Down

poetry is original work by author of this blog.  Copyright laws apply.

 

Oh where are you happy day?

When will you find me

In my bed, gently waking

Slowly opening to the new dawn

As the chirping sweetly sings

And the chiming softly rings?

Eroded by the rain,

Heavy mists linger, sinking lower.

Weighing heavy on my mind

And my heart

While the light grows dark;

Despair silences the lark.

Slow it down.

Slow it down.

Not one sound.

Time is without meaning.

Let the mind capture one finite moment

Then make it stop.

Frame the droplets one by one

In perfectly anchored images

Of hope, dangling in suspended animation

Above the chaos of the world.

In the weight of the burden

There is beauty and life.

Still the weary soul

Slow it down, just one beat.

Mark time, march onward

Through chaos as it swirls.

Sing, oh my soul, in the midst of fear.

Run to the freedom of the river.

Fly on winds of change, fly

Through the night and into the dawn.

Slow it down until I find me

In my bed, gently waking

Slowly opening to the new dawn

As the chirping sweetly sings

And the chiming softly rings.

Plus Some

Original poetry by author of this blog. Copyright laws apply

Purpose a journey in life

Walking tall and sure.

Stride the rocky paths

With footing secure.

Onward toward the setting sun,

Downward, run.

Wind stings the face,

Warm tears trace.

Go! Yield not to never.

Anger, fear, loss, pain

Tangle the weary soul

Nothing shall they gain.

Through desert sand,

Cross grassy weeds.

To mountain tops,

Trudge swampy reeds.

Stand upon the ocean shore,

Dare the sea to swallow.

Laugh with glee

When waves roll back, hollow.

Breathe deep the salty air

Closed eyes, take it in.

When purpose driven

The elements never win.

Be granite on a mountain top,

A cedar in forests deep.

Butterfly across the meadow,

An owl that does not sleep.

There is nothing I can not reach

Nor plague will I succumb.

I purpose in my journey

To touch many, plus some.

To touch many, plus some,

To touch many,

plus some.

Up with the Birds

~Coldplay

Just Breathe

Original poetry by author of this blog. Copyright laws apply

JUST BREATHE
Bits.
A synapse of the neural net,
Capturing a moment and recording it
For no one to see
None to know.
It is a piece of the puzzle
That remains locked away
In the mind of only one
Until it is revealed.

Risk.
Share the fragments of the mind.
Unwanted, cast off, ignored
For all to see
All to know.
The pieces of the puzzle
Shown like a child reveals
A pill bug in her hand.

Wretched.
The hands of time turn
Though time will never move.
Space is the vastest piece
Of this puzzle to riddle through.
It is known by all
Yet never seen.
Electric charge of a thunderhead
Zapping ions to and fro,
An exchange that changes nothing.

Stand.
The wind blows past my face
Shut my eyes and listen.
A warm embrace that cools,
Peace settles on the surface of my skin.
I squeeze my eyes that it might linger
The gentle caress lasts just one moment
Never long enough
To satisfy my thirst
For hope.

Sleep.
Close the eyes, shut out the noise.
Eyes hear, ears feel, body sees.
Racing synapses chase bits
Sorting pieces, fragments of a day
Lightning fires electrical impulses
In the subconscious.
Oh fiendish fire that burns
Without heat, oxygen or fuel.
Dreams are endless puzzles.
Chase them.
Chase forever.

Dream.
Dead, a willow's branches
Stretch toward the stormy sky.
Stop. Breathe in the moment.
Drink the lifeless energy from the
Images of decaying fibers.
Puzzle this piece,
This tree yet lives;
Lightning strikes the core.
That the master may carve out beauty
In the brokenness.

Life.
An ascending stairway of love
Lighting a path toward the sky.
I take the first step
Followed by another.
Beckoned upward by hope,
Lights guide my way
Love blows across my face
On stormy winds of desperation.
I see all
None see me.
Silent voices speak pieces of the puzzle.

Capture.
A still image
Of children laughing,
gaiety rings in the air.
No one is there.
It can not be.
It is a dream of peace
I stand upon, begging life
To dream up a bit of risk for me.

Breathe.
The air escapes my lungs
With no path for return.
Lights fade out.
The synapses in the neural net
Cease their lightning ions
Skipping from hemisphere to hemisphere.
The eyes no longer hear,
The ears stop feeling,
The body can not see.

Piece of peace find me
That I might breathe through this pain;
That the precious bits I capture
Might be shared,
That all might know
And all may see
This puzzle inside of me.
A chastising peace that escapes
Unless I stand or dream or risk
To record the bits of life I breathe
On lightning synapses of ions
Dancing music in my mind:
Love is the only message
I want to carry home.

Full Score

When the heart is empty

But the head is full

There is much to be thought

There is taffy to pull.

When the heart is empty

The thoughts have no end

Neither song will lift the spirit

Nor a hug from a friend.

When the heart is empty

Nothing slakes thirst

The mouth gets dry

and drier still;

The emptiness might burst.

When the heart is empty

It solicits overflowing;

All beauty in the universe

Wanes though it be glowing.

When the heart is empty

No river satisfies;

An ocean full of salt

Denigrates and denies.

When the heart is empty

The struggle is the mind.

Overtake the brooding

That causes sight to blind.

When the heart is empty

It robs the eyes that see

Of colors, vibrant, flourishing

Of visions to be free.

Yet though I try to stop the mind

From draining my poor heart

By filling it with pretty thoughts,

With beauty and with art,

My heart beats slow

And slower still;

Nary a drop

Of blood will fill

Til oxygen flees from ev'ry part

Slowing the mind

To the very start.

In the distant rumbling

Paces of life march on.

A beat that echoes tirelessly

Be thou ugly duck or swan.

The steady thrum is pulling

Beseeching the weary soul

To come alive once more

To not surrender the whole.

Answering the engaging call

Is a heart not yet laid bare.

Beating tandem with the throng

A pulse of love flows there.

Beat, heart, beat I say!

The end is not so near.

Though dark the hour still may be

There is less and less to fear.

Find a rhythm strong and fierce

Awaken the darkened wit.

Embolden the colors of life anew

With wisdom you must admit

The mind is the enemy

It out thinks delight

It burdens the soul with heaviness

It blocks out the light

Until the heart does cease and quit;

To feel the pulsating beats within

To know the life that it has lit.

So beat the drum with fists of rage

Til the heart is full once more.

Squelch the zealous, pensive mind

With love and life full score.

Stretching Grace

It takes GRACE to be kind

When faced with hatred.

 


Stained Glass at local historic Jesuit church

It takes GRACE to love

When you are despised.

grace (noun)
1.a : unmerited divine assistance given humans for their regeneration or sanctification b : a virtue coming from God c : a state of sanctification enjoyed through divine grace
2a : approval, favor b archaic : mercy, pardon c : a special favor : privilege d : disposition to or an act or instance of kindness, courtesy, or clemency e : a temporary exemption : reprieve
3a : a charming or attractive trait or characteristic b : a pleasing appearance or effect : charm c : ease and suppleness of movement or bearing
4. used as a title of address or reference for a duke, a duchess, or an archbishop
5. a short prayer at a meal asking a blessing or giving thanks
6. plural capitalized : three sister goddesses in Greek mythology who are the givers of charm and beauty
7. a musical trill, turn, or appoggiatura
8. a : sense of propriety or right b : the quality or state of being considerate or thoughtful

GRACE makes it possible to find beauty

Among thorns and brambles.

More glass from historic church

reminds me of dresden wheel in quilting

If you try hard enough

You can stretch the limits of GRACE

to the least among us.

grace(verb)
1: to confer dignity or honor on
2: adorn, embellish

How often has GRACE 

been extended to you

without  request for a return?

Stained Glass at Jesuit Church

For Grace are ye saved through faith, and not of yourselves it is the gift of God not of works lest any man should boast. Ephesians 2:8,9

If GRACE alludes you

perhaps it is because you have

alluded being found.

U2 - Grace

In this life, GRACE makes beauty

out of ugly things.

Our dog, Grace

GRACE finds goodness in everything.

The alter at a local historic Episcopal church

Give a little GRACE

Even though it be thrown back in your face.

More glass from the Episcopal church

Stretch GRACE beyond 

your limits

Because GRACE 

is limitless.

Fight for Life

Fight for Life

original poetry by blog author, copyright laws apply

 

Fighting for an unseen cause

Hoping just to finish the race.

Suffering gives me great pause

But a win for me I still chase.

Standing outside the fray

Breathing deeply sun-shining life.

Raging chaos all day

I refuse to engage in strife.

Wholeness is what I seek

Healing, a trophy in my sights.

Restore; this soul is weak

Shelter of peace set me to rights.

Strength comes like tidal waves

Surging, pulling, tugging my soul.

Slowly my heart behaves

Stirring, waking, life makes me whole.

Quietly, I'll not go

The dark night will not o'er take me.

Though the journey be slow

Perfection I will one day see.

Phoenix die and rise again,

My soul is ash and life anew.

Embrace rebirth and then

I'll soar on wings to the great blue.

Blue sky, expanse unknown

Boundless hope of life eternal

I soar o'er fields I've sown

To see the rage burn infernal.

An incense burns sweetly

All that is death has been destroyed.

My beating heart freely

Glides on new wings deployed.

Breathe deep, be overjoyed

A new spirit clearly

Apart from the raging annoyed

Now loves this life wholly.

Steps, weary steps

STEPS WEARY STEPS
original poetry by blog author, copyright laws apply
Dedicated to Lori

It's just a step away
This day that's called "tomorrow."
A short arm's distance
Will remove me from the sorrow.

It's just a step away.
On the horizon, I can see
A different way of living
A better way to be.

It's just a step away,
The nightstand books all say.
I read the printed words
Yet it remains today.

Step over step
I trudge endlessly on
Step, one more step
The horizon is gone.
Step, stomp, step
It's further still.
Steps, weary steps,
All up hill.

It's just a step a day
But it's further, further away.
Peace and hope are floating
On winds that sting my face
As they bluster by with race,
A speed the defies pace.
Peace and hope are gloating
I can't catch them today
They are still a step away.

Stars

My mom and sis-in-law live in the country. I like it there. A lot. I'd move in a skinny minute if we didn't need to have access to resources like pdocs and therapies and such. I've always been a country gal at heart which is funny because my sisters prefer the city life.

Not me. Give me green. OK, not pine pollen green, but anything green and living and photosynthesizing. Give it to me. And give me big open spaces and wide vistas. And sky! Lawdy, I need me some SKY! Huge fluffy clouds or evil, brooding storm clouds, I don't care. Just give me sky that meets the earth in a 180 degree panoramic view and I'm happy as a clam. Just slap-my-fanny-and-call-me-nanny happy. LOVE it.

The best part about sky? Stars.

Oh.my.stars. In the country there are stars. The kind of stars where you go outside and your eyes adjust to the night light and you look up into the black of the night and at first only a few stars pop out and twinkle. Then you breathe deep and let out a slow exhale all while gazing at the sky and five hundred more stars appear and they have depth and dimension, color and variation. If you stay out there long enough you'll hear some bats and an owl, see the glowing eyes of some possums and you'll see even more stars. So many stars that the sky seems bright, heavy and almost crushing because it is so full of STARS!

And if you like to do some existential thinking (which i do), you can look up at those stars while you get a little goose-pimply chill from the cool night breeze and maybe an absentminded slap on the left arm to whap the thirsty mosquito that has considered you as his dinner and you can ponder life. Hundreds of thousands of solar systems in hundreds of thousands of galaxies in hundreds of thousands of universes all hanging among those stars. And you're sitting on a stoop, very much alive, very much surrounded by other living things so much so that the air is heavy with the scent of green and life and you think there just HAS to be more to this life than this stoop in the country. Those stars. Just look at all those stars!

Then a dog will bark you out of your reverie and someone will come looking for you because they need something and you'll snap back to reality, shuffle your aching, stiff bum off the stairs and go back in, in to life.

Sissy being gone is like sitting on that stoop in the country, gazing at the stars and thinking grandiose, existential thoughts. I feel so huge and so tiny, so capable and strong yet so frail, so full of life and also so empty. I feel like everything is out there for the taking, nothing is unavailable to me, the world is my oyster and I can accomplish anything. I feel so alive, so energized, so safe, so free.

Eventually, I'll have to go back inside.

I wish it was possible to have this vitality with Sissy as part of the picture. I wish she wanted that reality for herself. For now, I'll just enjoy the stars.

my favorite poem - which I have also sung with my college choir in what now seems like another lifetime. Ever since, I've not been able to read this poem without hearing the tune we sang it to. eight part a capella chamber music. amazing.

Choose Something Like a Star

by Robert Frost - 1947

O Star (the fairest one in sight),
We grant your loftiness the right
To some obscurity of cloud --
It will not do to say of night,
Since dark is what brings out your light.
Some mystery becomes the proud.
But to be wholly taciturn
In your reserve is not allowed.

Say something to us we can learn
By heart and when alone repeat.
Say something! And it says "I burn."
But say with what degree of heat.
Talk Fahrenheit, talk Centigrade.
Use language we can comprehend.
Tell us what elements you blend.

It gives us strangely little aid,
But does tell something in the end.
And steadfast as Keats' Eremite,
Not even stooping from its sphere,
It asks a little of us here.
It asks of us a certain height,
So when at times the mob is swayed
To carry praise or blame too far,
We may choose something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid.

Fix This

Prose and poetry original works by blog author, copyright laws apply
Lately I've taken to imagining what life will be like later, when we're not in the throes of raising preadolescent, medically disabled children that are raging and screaming and metabolizing meds too quickly. AB is actually rushing headlong into puberty, pulling ahead of Sissy as if it's a race to the finish line. Sissy has stalled out and I'm finding myself desperately hoping she'll hurry up and get menses over with already. I've got it in my head that once she jumps this hurdle in her hormones she'll be moderately manageable because right now? Right now it's hellatious.

In my imagination, my house is quiet, peaceful even. If my house could talk, it would weep. All the anger and rage that has reverberated off these walls for the last few years would just seep through the sheet rock and puddle in pools of black tar on the floor. Then I'd get a shop vac and suck it all up and dump it down the drain, good bye forever, hate. Bye-bye scream fests. Adios primal rage. Au revoir head banging on the padded walls. Auf weidersehen psycho crazy crap. In my imagination, a soft, warm glowing light in the front window guides me home, to tranquility, to love's waiting arms, to warmth, to hope, to beauty.

In my imagination the sky is blue with wispy clouds gently floating on cool breezes and it's safe to smile at them. No one is going to scream at me for being happy.

In my mind the phone rings and I have a pleasant conversation without interruption and my conversation has NOTHING to do with doctors, medications, therapy, respite or waivers.

When I daydream of my future I'm preparing a meal for The Dad that is nutritious, delicious and enjoyed. No one is screaming that it tastes yucky, no one is vomiting it up at the table because of sensory issues. No one is screaming that they won't eat it, ever, that I'm mean for making them try it.

In the future I pretend that Sissy is all better and AB isn't stimming. I imagine that a fairy godmother has appeared out of thin air, waved a magic wand and suddenly The Dad and I are no longer solely responsible for their well being because we've done a good job and they are self-sufficient.

When I close my eyes, I've created something beautiful with my life. It's really all that I wanted in the first place, to live on this planet and know that the path I've lead has created more lovely things than ugly; that for knowing me and being a part of my life people are better, not worse. I see a gorgeous stained-glass tapestry of colors, something that takes your breath away and makes you say, "oh my," in a hushed tone followed by a sigh of "wow."

Then I sit at the table with The Dad and serve him breakfast with fresh coffee and he reads the paper and I thumb through a quilt magazine and we maybe play footsies under the table without even looking at each other or saying a word.

And I smile. A warm, slow, happy smile.

Then I open my eyes and i see a tornado barreling toward my house like a Tasmanian devil hell bent on destroying everything, roaring in fury that I shouldn't be. All I can do is scream back, my mouth opens spontaneously and an ungodly noise escapes my body. It looks like a toxic black tar.

My life is stuck in reverse.
I've loved someone and it's gone to waste.
The tears stream down my face
And it only gets worse.

Lights are guiding me away from home
Because there's no fix for this.
It can't be fixed.
It can't be undone.

This will mar my eternity.
I will never know what I'm worth
The rage has shattered my stained-glass tapestry
Into millions of lead-filled shards hell bent on hurting.

And I scream with the walls
In silent horror
The depth of pain and despair
Would obliterate the dry wall
Returning it to piles of dust;
A cataclysmic explosion of pain and anguish
Reducing all tangible things to microscopic particles
Floating on the wind in suspended animation.

I've got neither what I want nor what I need.
I'm so exhausted but I can't sleep
I've tried my best but I'll never succeed.
I can't replace what I've invested.
I've gone too far and I can't go back.

The rage destroys what I construct
Every chance it gets.
The lights lead me away
This can't be fixed
It can't be undone.
I'm stuck in reverse.

I close my eyes and i try to sleep.
I block the rage that engulfs this reality.
I see a light that guides me
To a home, a future I'll never know.
I smile a slow, warm smile of happiness in defiance
As I sob a torrent.

Blind

When I can't make
the words come out
It's just because
I want to shout.

Sometimes the words
Are not enough
Only screams
Will have the stuff.

I want to punch
Kick and yell
This mounting angry
Sure can swell.

I used to be
So very kind
Now I know
I was just blind.
-------------------------------------------------------------

The Dad and I had the same dream last night which I have to admit, is really freaky but telling of our anguish. We both dreamed that wee were kidnapped by a dark haired man with tan skin. In my dream, he was part of a family group from the mafia. In his dream, he was a hill billy. In both, we knew that to attempt to scream or escape would be death. The tan skinned man held a gun to my head when I tried. When I explained that I had no money, no cash, no credit cards on me, no valuable possessions, NOTHING worth kidnapping me for, he laughed.

-------------------------------------------------------------
pdoc says we could try hospital homebound education for Sissy. I just laughed. Right. And give her the opportunity to harrass me 24/7? I don't think so. We are all worried about Sissy's unabated weight gain on the resperidal. We are titrating her on geodon over the next 10 days. do I think it will make a difference in her ability to control her rage? Not for a skinny minute.

out of resolve

I'm all out of resolve.

the AC is not working. again.
it is too hot for this.
And now I'm broke.
More broke than the AC.
I'm all out of resolve.

The dog is dying.
She's suffering needlessly.
We'll say our goodbyes
Then let her rest.
I'm all out of resolve.

Sissy has escalated
Twice just this week
Third week of the school year
what's the point of all the therapy anyway
if she never uses those tools?
I'm all out of resolve.

All three kids
were sick yesterday
WG has a fever and an earache
and she's a hyper patient.
I'm all out of resolve.

I'm tired of looking
on the bright side of life
there really doesn't seem to be one
except for the blazing hot sun
that keeps heating my house
past 83 degrees
at 12 am midnight
so i can't even sleep
without sweating
or stewing
or fuming
or wanting to scream
in full Sissy fashion.

I'm all out of resolve.

Ode to Sissy

Oh Sissy, fair of face
With hair of chestnut brown
Every morning when we awake
In your screaming we will drown

Your mouth, it opens oh so wide
Your pearly teeth laid bare.
It seems as though sound emanates
Even from your hair.

When you attempt to get my goat
By waking me this way
I will thrust the chore tub in your hand
"pick a job, I say!"

You'll have to take out all the trash
Wipe down the counters too
But first let me kiss your face
And shout, "How I love you!"

You stamp and hedge and do a jig
Your fists are balled up tight
You shout "it's dark in the bathroom!"
I quip, "Turn on a light!"

With huffing, puffing, daring glares
Stampeding like a bull
You cinch up all the trash and whine
"The kitchen can is full!"

"So get a clean bag then my dear"
I sweetly sing to you.
You glower back with, sideways stare
Snatch a bag, then stew.

How you fester, how you moan
It makes my heart aflutter
All I really need from you
Is to take out the rancid butter!

"this bag won't open!" You declare
While holding the bottom end.
"Find the blue pull ties," I say
But you stand there and pretend.

You pretend that you don't know a thing
About the bags and the strings.
You fiddle, fidget, whine and scream
"You never show me all these things!"

"Oh, but yes, indeed my dear,
I showed you just last time.
you've done the trash with ease before
with savoire faire sublime!"

"I don't know what that means,"
You growl through your gritted teeth.
"It means you can open up that bag,
You adorable little peach!"

"fine!" you scream as you shake it free.
"Hooray!" I clap with glee.
You're not amused but I am glad
You did the trash for me.

"Just one more thing" I gently coo
As she carries out the sack.
"When you start our day by screaming
The consequence will bite you back."

"It's all about the choices, dear
I hope that you'll soon see.
Now carry out that trash
Then give a hug to me."

And when it's all said and done
Her gusto fading fast,
She smiles when she accepts
I'll love her to the last.