I'm finding my way out of the jungle - one step, one friend, one dream, at a time. And I grin at my reflection when I realize that only months ago, it all seemed so far away, so impossibly out of reach. I'll be happy with what I've earned, been given, found...but not so complacent I'm not taking another step, making the next dream reality.
There are always a few more pieces to put together, but the puzzle is taking shape. I can see the picture now, and when I breathe deep - it's freedom I taste.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Monday, July 6, 2009
Lost and Found
It was a watercolor layering of "What Dreams May Come"-like intensity, and all the metaphors heaped up against my eyelids don't begin to paint the picture true. It's likely not the words that are weak, but the wielder's practice of them...when the images spin you round in their flight, and you stand gaping in astonishment that one is capable of oblivious disregard: that any breathing human is not stopped still, frozen in wonder at the unfolding spectacle.
And still I recognize that it was nothing dramatic enough to reach most of us, nothing more than vivid green on cerulean blue, fig and citrus and rose entwined in breezy exhalation, and crisp shadows backlighting the deep silence that overlay ordinary sound. Motors hummed, chain clinked on the empty flagpole, wings moved the air, and all of this could be heard so crystal clear but muted as if through water.
What was it that compelled me to soak in it, when others took no note? What did I hear? Was it something I felt? that I saw, if just in unthinking perhipheral glance? If I profess religion at all, this would be the manifestation: that life itself is honored as sacred gift. That struggle cannot truly blind those who wish to see. That sorrow feeds the soul as fully as joy, in equal measure, and neither reigns supreme in the end.
Words and pictures build the hymns, and maybe the saddest lyric ever written is as simple as this: "the day the music died." And while it's not me who will teach the world to sing, I'm not too proud to sing a little backup right out loud when a happy dance shakes me on down.
And still I recognize that it was nothing dramatic enough to reach most of us, nothing more than vivid green on cerulean blue, fig and citrus and rose entwined in breezy exhalation, and crisp shadows backlighting the deep silence that overlay ordinary sound. Motors hummed, chain clinked on the empty flagpole, wings moved the air, and all of this could be heard so crystal clear but muted as if through water.
What was it that compelled me to soak in it, when others took no note? What did I hear? Was it something I felt? that I saw, if just in unthinking perhipheral glance? If I profess religion at all, this would be the manifestation: that life itself is honored as sacred gift. That struggle cannot truly blind those who wish to see. That sorrow feeds the soul as fully as joy, in equal measure, and neither reigns supreme in the end.
Words and pictures build the hymns, and maybe the saddest lyric ever written is as simple as this: "the day the music died." And while it's not me who will teach the world to sing, I'm not too proud to sing a little backup right out loud when a happy dance shakes me on down.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
It All Comes Rushing Back Again
When they stole my children, they stole my life. Nearing three decades later, the breath still gets sucked out in a rush...that moment of discovery the only milestone that still has the power to dissolve. Have you ever heard a boxer land a power punch on the heavy bag? That sound is pure velocity - the same force that even now can make me wobble if I don't see it coming.
I could say I forgive; I could say I understand. I'd be lying. If I could comprehend why, would it free me? Would it loosen even a single knot that binds me, allow me to love without fear of loss? Could anything now undo the devastation that like a tidal wave began with that theft, washed away continents of love and hope, wiped clean the ground I would walk forevermore...that still today ripples out of nowhere, leaving happiness treading water and feeling for the shore with leaden feet? Will every wave portend catastrophic flood? How long does one have to be safe to believe it? Can I never be safe unless my life is restored to me?
I never wanted as much of the world's riches as I've had before. I never wanted more than I deserved, more than anyone could ask for...I only wanted, like Job, my son and daughter restored to me. Was it patience I exemplified, or defeat? It wasn't faith, unless certainty that ill winds bring further plague is evidence of faith. The boons of reward have been many, but the world's largesse can never bring back the life that was taken.
Late in the third act, heavy fog still threatens in the distance and the same fear and loss lay like ponderous clouds on a shelf of imagining. If I am to find freedom, how will I know it? If I am to be covered in joy, how will I see it? Will it come like the wind and I'll know it by the cool whisper, the kitty-paw breezes that tuck and dart and softly caress? or by the bounding, spread-eagled puppy feet of winter freshness that jumps up and covers with love?
Even when I think I see the rainbow, I find it difficult to call out to the leprechaun. I stand, instead, and wait in awe for color to settle its vivid mantle all on my shoulders and lift me to the skies.
I don't know why they stole my children, why they killed my life. I may never forgive, or understand. I breathe so that someday I might recognize redemption if it comes: to see my babies' eyes shine, to know their smile is mine. If I believe there's any reason at all to move one foot after the other...it's nothing more than this: my babies loved me, and I love them. They may not remember, but I do and it haunts me. I want them to know it was true, that it never wasn't true. That the taking, and everything that followed, was never a choice I had any part in, that I could change, or undo.
It's not that I don't think I could forgive - it's just a path I never faced. It never felt necessary or promising. Wrapping my soul around it now, it almost pains me: an act of betrayal, of disloyalty, of denying that primal heartbeat that still pounds. It's in the pictures never taken but envisioned with such bright clarity in my mind's eye, the moments only I saw, that only I can remember, but that are no less real without photographic proof.
They may forgive, they may understand. They have their own peace to seek, and I so deeply believe the truth is the elemental part of that. I've worn it in my skin, tattooed in brilliant blue, through all the years that came after. Pain is like fire, but it's hope that cleanses, love that resurrects...and I've kept mine safe all this time. My talisman is a vision I couldn't be sure I really had, but it buoys me up - a hand, a smile, a hug that can't quite end.
I learned to live again. I'm learning to love without fear. But some days, it all comes rushing back again.
I could say I forgive; I could say I understand. I'd be lying. If I could comprehend why, would it free me? Would it loosen even a single knot that binds me, allow me to love without fear of loss? Could anything now undo the devastation that like a tidal wave began with that theft, washed away continents of love and hope, wiped clean the ground I would walk forevermore...that still today ripples out of nowhere, leaving happiness treading water and feeling for the shore with leaden feet? Will every wave portend catastrophic flood? How long does one have to be safe to believe it? Can I never be safe unless my life is restored to me?
I never wanted as much of the world's riches as I've had before. I never wanted more than I deserved, more than anyone could ask for...I only wanted, like Job, my son and daughter restored to me. Was it patience I exemplified, or defeat? It wasn't faith, unless certainty that ill winds bring further plague is evidence of faith. The boons of reward have been many, but the world's largesse can never bring back the life that was taken.
Late in the third act, heavy fog still threatens in the distance and the same fear and loss lay like ponderous clouds on a shelf of imagining. If I am to find freedom, how will I know it? If I am to be covered in joy, how will I see it? Will it come like the wind and I'll know it by the cool whisper, the kitty-paw breezes that tuck and dart and softly caress? or by the bounding, spread-eagled puppy feet of winter freshness that jumps up and covers with love?
Even when I think I see the rainbow, I find it difficult to call out to the leprechaun. I stand, instead, and wait in awe for color to settle its vivid mantle all on my shoulders and lift me to the skies.
I don't know why they stole my children, why they killed my life. I may never forgive, or understand. I breathe so that someday I might recognize redemption if it comes: to see my babies' eyes shine, to know their smile is mine. If I believe there's any reason at all to move one foot after the other...it's nothing more than this: my babies loved me, and I love them. They may not remember, but I do and it haunts me. I want them to know it was true, that it never wasn't true. That the taking, and everything that followed, was never a choice I had any part in, that I could change, or undo.
It's not that I don't think I could forgive - it's just a path I never faced. It never felt necessary or promising. Wrapping my soul around it now, it almost pains me: an act of betrayal, of disloyalty, of denying that primal heartbeat that still pounds. It's in the pictures never taken but envisioned with such bright clarity in my mind's eye, the moments only I saw, that only I can remember, but that are no less real without photographic proof.
They may forgive, they may understand. They have their own peace to seek, and I so deeply believe the truth is the elemental part of that. I've worn it in my skin, tattooed in brilliant blue, through all the years that came after. Pain is like fire, but it's hope that cleanses, love that resurrects...and I've kept mine safe all this time. My talisman is a vision I couldn't be sure I really had, but it buoys me up - a hand, a smile, a hug that can't quite end.
I learned to live again. I'm learning to love without fear. But some days, it all comes rushing back again.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Funny How Time Slips By
I was a child, and didn't have a best friend yet. So I learned to read...and we went everywhere together. I learned to write...and took others with me. The plowhorse had his day, but my lullaby still led it to slumber.
She came in the 6th grade, my rival, my best friend...separately and together we charted the teen waters. When she moved across the country the summer before our senior year, my heart broke. I couldn't fathom life without her. But with baby steps, I found my path - out of high school, out of the neighborhood, and learned to swim in the deep end. I didn't know it then, but adulthood was still miles ahead.
That year was my milestone. I couldn't see it but I was coming into my own, drawing people to me, and beginning to find and choose my lifelong friends. Wannabe rebel who couldn't quite shake the goody-two-shoes mantle. Enthusiasm carried the day. Not one, but two Musketeerships - one of the guys, and not believing even decades later I was really anything more. I'm that same girl now...gift and curse of middle age.
She came in the 6th grade, my rival, my best friend...separately and together we charted the teen waters. When she moved across the country the summer before our senior year, my heart broke. I couldn't fathom life without her. But with baby steps, I found my path - out of high school, out of the neighborhood, and learned to swim in the deep end. I didn't know it then, but adulthood was still miles ahead.
That year was my milestone. I couldn't see it but I was coming into my own, drawing people to me, and beginning to find and choose my lifelong friends. Wannabe rebel who couldn't quite shake the goody-two-shoes mantle. Enthusiasm carried the day. Not one, but two Musketeerships - one of the guys, and not believing even decades later I was really anything more. I'm that same girl now...gift and curse of middle age.
Monday, April 20, 2009
With Age
There are riches I didn't treasure enough when they were new, and those I treasure more that they are old, and the ones I was afraid of losing - that I lost. I keep them still, if only in hope and dream and endless memory.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Second Sight
It's abundantly clear you have great happiness. Would I have made you as happy? Could I? We can never know, much as we might like to think so.
I can fall on convention and say, as I did, that you've got the life you have now, that you so love now, because of all the things - including me - that have gone before. Whether it's absolutely true, that too, we can never know for sure.
What we know for sure is you did deserve better than what I did. And what I've learned...slowly and painfully...is that I deserve to have happiness too. But I've also learned that as much as we "create" our own lives, I can't just snap my fingers and tell the wizard to conjure me up a soulmate. Would that I could.
Until I stumble over him on the road to wherever it is I'm going, I'll be grateful for the love of friends, the joys of family, and the hope of having time enough to be forgiven and get it right someday.
I can fall on convention and say, as I did, that you've got the life you have now, that you so love now, because of all the things - including me - that have gone before. Whether it's absolutely true, that too, we can never know for sure.
What we know for sure is you did deserve better than what I did. And what I've learned...slowly and painfully...is that I deserve to have happiness too. But I've also learned that as much as we "create" our own lives, I can't just snap my fingers and tell the wizard to conjure me up a soulmate. Would that I could.
Until I stumble over him on the road to wherever it is I'm going, I'll be grateful for the love of friends, the joys of family, and the hope of having time enough to be forgiven and get it right someday.
It's Time To Do Something About It
I was just a kid, in grownups' clothing, masquerading as someone who knew what she was doing. It took decades to realize we're all impostors of a sort, playing at becoming adults, trying on one costume after another until we figure out who we were all along. Only now it's the end of the 5th decade, and I realize I still feel like the kid trying on Dad's uniform shirt and hat and knowing they'll never fit me.
I had knowledge, but never owned the hard-won wisdom. I had love, but disavowed my worthiness to receive it. I'm told I had beauty, but never believed it, choosing instead to hear the one voice that told me different. How old did I think I'd have to be to claim I could be deserving of such riches?
I have a decent job making a decent salary. Not as much as most make in the same job with the same skills and experience in this market niche in this part of the country - but more than a great many people in these crazy scary economic times.
I try to keep a balance between frugal and reclusive. My financial situation is on its way to feeling more stable than it has in decades, but I don't own a home, and a layoff now would be a catastrophe.
I'm single; have been for a long time now. I don't really want to be, but it's difficult to just "go out and find someone" or even to just "go out and let myself be found."
These are the three foundations of my "current status" tripod, which I'm wobbling atop while swiveling my head madly, because I'm convinced I can't choose between Door #1, Door #2, and Door #3 unless I can see them from here. Equally convinced that seeing the door will give some clue as to what's behind it. Sure that Doors 4-99 will reveal themselves the very second I've committed to choosing 1, 2 or 3. Knowing that some choices lock certain doors behind us (it's true...but needs an essay of its own to describe in any detail), I hesitate ridiculously long to make this one. Why does it seem so important this time? Because of my age? Because of the times? Because I really want to take solid action toward the kind of life I want and not just settle for what I get? Because I've learned the difference between what I can change, and what changes me? Because I'm afraid it's easier to choose what makes us comfortable rather than reach for something new?
Deferral has not served me well. I have been lucky and I have been strong. But I have let fear and doubt chart too many of my routes. The path is longer than I imagined, but still speeds beneath my feet. I won't reach the end wishing for one more day to work harder for one more paycheck.
Some say "no regrets" but I maintain no such pretense. I have the same regrets I've carried all along. All unchangeable, but most diffused through the lense of time. Those that still burn do so with an intensity that only deepens beneath that same lense. Pain continually invents new ways to burrow deep, to best the thresholds previously thought unscalable.
With fierce naivete, I bound myself to the stake of principle until, blackened to my knees, I fell to them in defeat. When I could rise again, I learned to step lightly again from day to day, running headlong into the face of every wind. You can't drop the baggage, but you can practice and learn to carry it without dragging down.
I learned to circle the track. But I'm a road racer...give me top down, tunes blasting, and long back roads every time. Give me at journey's end someone to love, to share the moments high and low. "Wrap me in colors to keep me warm."
Make more time for living. Start living. More.
I had knowledge, but never owned the hard-won wisdom. I had love, but disavowed my worthiness to receive it. I'm told I had beauty, but never believed it, choosing instead to hear the one voice that told me different. How old did I think I'd have to be to claim I could be deserving of such riches?
I have a decent job making a decent salary. Not as much as most make in the same job with the same skills and experience in this market niche in this part of the country - but more than a great many people in these crazy scary economic times.
I try to keep a balance between frugal and reclusive. My financial situation is on its way to feeling more stable than it has in decades, but I don't own a home, and a layoff now would be a catastrophe.
I'm single; have been for a long time now. I don't really want to be, but it's difficult to just "go out and find someone" or even to just "go out and let myself be found."
These are the three foundations of my "current status" tripod, which I'm wobbling atop while swiveling my head madly, because I'm convinced I can't choose between Door #1, Door #2, and Door #3 unless I can see them from here. Equally convinced that seeing the door will give some clue as to what's behind it. Sure that Doors 4-99 will reveal themselves the very second I've committed to choosing 1, 2 or 3. Knowing that some choices lock certain doors behind us (it's true...but needs an essay of its own to describe in any detail), I hesitate ridiculously long to make this one. Why does it seem so important this time? Because of my age? Because of the times? Because I really want to take solid action toward the kind of life I want and not just settle for what I get? Because I've learned the difference between what I can change, and what changes me? Because I'm afraid it's easier to choose what makes us comfortable rather than reach for something new?
Deferral has not served me well. I have been lucky and I have been strong. But I have let fear and doubt chart too many of my routes. The path is longer than I imagined, but still speeds beneath my feet. I won't reach the end wishing for one more day to work harder for one more paycheck.
Some say "no regrets" but I maintain no such pretense. I have the same regrets I've carried all along. All unchangeable, but most diffused through the lense of time. Those that still burn do so with an intensity that only deepens beneath that same lense. Pain continually invents new ways to burrow deep, to best the thresholds previously thought unscalable.
With fierce naivete, I bound myself to the stake of principle until, blackened to my knees, I fell to them in defeat. When I could rise again, I learned to step lightly again from day to day, running headlong into the face of every wind. You can't drop the baggage, but you can practice and learn to carry it without dragging down.
I learned to circle the track. But I'm a road racer...give me top down, tunes blasting, and long back roads every time. Give me at journey's end someone to love, to share the moments high and low. "Wrap me in colors to keep me warm."
Make more time for living. Start living. More.
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