The Table

I'd just finished reading Nick Cave's latest Red Hand File Issue this morning before dozing off to sleep again. After I'd read it, I had asked Isis or Mother Mary or any Goddess who might hear me, to remove you from my heart...because I'm not doing well having you there. You don't deserve to be there. You don't get me. If you got me, you'd know not to hurt me. 

I woke up to get ready for work and as I lay in bed for a couple of minutes, I realized I'd had a dream. You and I were sitting side by side again outside at some table. The weather was overcast again, like me, but it didn't bother me all that much. In front of us, was a person I recognize...my brother? A friend? Someone who knows me but I was sure they didn't know you.

I gave you some attitude at first...because you know, well, you had hurt me. And I wondered why it didn't occur to you to apologize. I know you wanted to be close to me. I could feel it, the way you positioned your body and put your arm around my chair as though it was an extension of my body. We both knew it was time to say good-bye...though, it didn't feel like it was 'for good'. I mean, it didn't feel like it was a forever good-bye. 

You brought your head forward to give me a kiss on the forehead. But that wasn't enough for you. You kissed my cheek and then your lips made it to my lips...like you were stealing one before I could understand what you were doing. Then it felt like you were giving me as many kisses as you possibly could. Like when a parent showers their child with kisses. I could feel your lips each time on my skin and wondered how that was possible since it suddenly occurred to me, I might be dreaming. 

Anyway, it all felt a bit overwhelming, though welcoming, because we were exposed and not sitting privately somewhere. I whispered your name with some concern, "People are watching." You turned your head to look at the person at our table. I then looked around, worried that others might catch me in this intimate moment with you.

But inside, you know, that place no one can touch or bruise or wound...I was on cloud nine. Because I thought it was real. I swear, I thought it was real. I knew that while you and I weren't together, that I would remain exactly where I was in my current lot and life, and that I could use that dreamy energy to see me through to the end, that it would be the right kind of fuel to keep me light and afloat in this life, that naively, it would be enough.

Then I noticed I had taken off my shoes under the table and when I went to get up, I'd forgotten to put them back on. The weather outside was now winter. And as I walked with my husband, I was amazed at how my feet weren't cold against the snow, that I was somehow protected from feeling it. Upon closer examination, it wasn't snow at all, just a sheet of shiny white paper. Yet, I could feel a chill in the air. 

I went back to the table to retrieve my shoes and that's when I realized, I suddenly had shoes on and was holding the other pair in my hands...Even I was perplexed as it was unfolding.

I went into a shop to buy something. I noticed a register that was no longer functioning or even in use and I wondered how people were 'buying' items without being cashed out. The light was a fluorescent white, the kind you see in hospitals. It was a dirty, old, run-down, shop. I then saw two older males of Mexican decent walk out of the store and it made me feel that I wasn't in Toronto anymore but somewhere far.

All that to say, I don't believe the Goddess heard me...

The Soundtrack

I swear I think I'd live a better life to a soundtrack. I paint myself over with a, "Don't fuck with me," brush. Then one of  Matthew Goodband's songs from the 90's plays and I suddenly feel more compassionate, more melancholic but still dreamy. I tell myself that life is good despite all the bad.

I recall my University days as I cross the street at Harbord. I want to run as the music reaches its climax. I soar. I do a little dance as I pick up speed. It feels exhilarating. The trees are talking. They notice me. I notice them. We're in this together. I'm not shutting the world out. I'm only shutting out the senseless noise. Because the 'noise' in my ears right now is music. And we understand eachother. 

The wind roars a touch more like it's syncing with the beat of this new song I've never heard before. It's slightly more demanding...this song. I'm blending with the scenery now. I'm a bird in the sky. I'm taking off my clothes in my mind. My hair blows every which way. You can't see my eyes but I can see you. 

I'm powerful as I walk to the beat of the drum, my heart, the rhythm and pull of the sun. Who can stop me now? The sound of a woman's voice takes over. It's soft but direct. No need to yell. Her words do all the work...but in union with the music. Without the music, an element, a kind of gravitas or meaning, would be missing. The music carries the message. I hear her too. She says, "Fuck you. I'm still standing." I feel the same way. I have a spring in my step. Try to stop me, fool!

Trees look greener and taller now. That southern drawl means nothing to me if it weren't for the backdrop. Oh that backdrop...a music that flows in the veins of such a man. When he opens his mouth, you can feel the romance, the devotion, the sexiness with which he carries himself. Hope springs eternal yet again. 

The buds come off. Was I just trying to escape reality? Do you know how hard it is to infuse music into one's own life? To access it from within? I'm afraid the reservoir is empty. People are ordering their dairy-free lattes because you know, dairy is apparently really bad for you. On the other side are two students talking about water sports...I don't care.

I'd rather keep the buds in. I love people but not that much, only one on one. In general, most people are lame. We haven't evolved much. 

There's hope when I'm listening to music. There's hope. I'm human again. I'm a super being. I belong to the stars. I'm made up of stars. I can feel it. When I turn off the music, the world's upside down again. It feels all wrong...the things people do, the things we pursue, the things we've made our gods. It's just nonsense. Just more dust to return to the earth after we're incinerated because of a lack of real substance. Do you know how sad that is? Probably not. You're consumed by all the wrong things. It takes lifetimes to peel away at that onion...

So, I'll sit here and wait and observe in my usual way. I'll ensure I'm anchored good and strong. Fuck you and your bullshit. It's not enough to be told we're made of stars. You have to know it. But who cares to really know that? 

I do. I care. Keep your inauthentic self away from my orbit. I'll devour you whole. 

Because I know I'm made up of stars...

 

The Picnic Table

You and I sat together in the corner of the park under a tree at a picnic table. The weather was overcast, like me. My initial thought was, "I can't believe we're sitting together here like this." You grabbed hold of my left hand and placed it in yours. 

I wondered whether I'd missed the memo about us. Because there's an entire piece missing up to this point...of you and I sitting side by side at a picnic table.

I could feel the clamminess of our hands together. I imagined your hands dry and strong. But here, the essence of us dominated. There was no room for judgment or ego. I saw that you accepted me.

You yawned and then I wondered why you didn't look like you. Something about you was different. You told me you had to tell me something. I wondered whether it was about your family or the lunch plans that never transpired.

A woman came to the table. She was supposed to fill me in. We kept getting distracted by people, which bothered me. You finally mentioned having to go to Texas...for good. I wasn't sure how to respond because right before that you had said, "I have something to tell you but you're not going to like it."

I wish I didn't miss who I thought you were. 

I told you how it made me sad to see you go and then forced myself to tell you I was happy for you.

My Pen Is My Sword

There's something about suffering in silence. The more you endure, the more it becomes obvious that you don't need certain people in your life. They say that it's important to talk to someone. I think that's true, but only with those people who genuinely care about you. Anyone else? It all falls on deaf ears. I'm convinced no one cares. If I had accepted this one truth many years ago, I'd be so much better off now. 

Better off, how? I'd have less expectations now. Yet, it feels paradoxical, too. Because I don't want people - family, included, except for my mother - in my business. I didn't realize how private I really am. 

I also didn't realize how much people actually don't care and that includes, certain family members, too. It becomes crystal clear who accepts you - flaws and all. It's obvious who understands you. Blood is not always thicker than water. 

There are times when a rage fills me up that I convince myself my words can pierce and maim, that my mighty pen can wound. That no action in all the world can affect the outcome than my pen, my words, my word. Because my pen is my sword and some deserve to be deeply cut. Some deserve to bleed.

I thank them all - the inconsiderate, the petty, the fake, the superficial, the arrogant and the stupid. What did they say about blessings in disguise? About wolves in sheeps clothing? How good can come from bad? I always think the understanding is going to come to me like a punch in the face. It doesn't. 

It comes over time. It's a slow, persistent and consistent growth that turns out to look like resilience. One builds resilience over time. Despite all the chaos, despite the hurt, despite the feeling of invisibility, there's an inner strength that grows larger and wider. And it roots and anchors itself in what's true and real and always alive, that cannot be extinguished easily, if at all. So that it no longer matters that you feel unloved by those you thought 'should' love you. It no longer matters.

I let that realization sink, good and hard, until it resembles a faint pang from the past. Until nothing you do or don't do, can hurt me anymore, at least, not in the same way. How can it hurt you, anyway? When you're no longer the person you used to be...

Ignore Me

You hurt me. I hate that I let you. I read over your last text and now I see it with new eyes...more pessimistic ones. You're so wishy-washy. Why did you think it was okay to leave me in the dark? Is it because I'm a woman? Is it that you'll only deal with boys?

You must have been annoyed to hear from me then. It's not like you to give me the last word. It made me feel empty and unimportant. I knew something had changed. No more Mr. Nice Guy or something? I don't think you'll ever understand how sweet this taste from the gods in my mouth is now that you've shown me who you are. Your machismo has made it so that I can sit quietly right here in my corner of the earth. I don't think you get how comfortable this spot is for me. I'm not like other women. I don't need you.

It feels like a burden's been lifted, now that the ball is definitely in your court. I'll never walk over to your side for some attention. I'm still right here tending to my flowers and growing a soul. I like knowing my place. You didn't have to put me in it... You don't deserve to hear from me, or for me to accommodate you. I don't deserve to be lathered in your ego. I don't care. I have my own money. I'm a classy lady. I lather myself up just fine with my bubbles. You can't imagine all the places I can go to all by myself.

I've been ignored by those people who claim to care about me the most. I've been overlooked. I've been an after thought. I've been second choice. I've been too short. Not pretty enough. It's all helped bring me to this place of realization, the realization that I'm too good for them. I'm definitely too good for you.

I'll be sure to remain quiet and silent. After all, it's in my nature to wait. But it's not in yours. So you'll wait...and wait forever. I'll give you a taste of your own medicine without ever giving you a taste...

Never To Return

I shouldn't be feeling this way. When you feel like you don't have the support from the one parent you thought would never let you down with their pettiness and unreasonable demands.

I'm trying my best. You'd never know I was hurting. You'd never know I feel like I'm falling apart. You would never know it unless I shared it with you.

As I sit here, I'm ready to let it all flow. I'm just afraid, it wouldn't be a peaceful stream but a gushing waterfall ...reaching for places I've never touched. I know it could be worse. It could all be worse. I'm just so unhappy. Ironically, I feel so dried up. 

I'm going to have my say. In this life. These moments are zipping by. If only I could slow it all down. I don't mean to be a party pooper. Please tell me though, where IS this party ? 

I screwed up somewhere. I took a wrong turn...a wrong turn I keep trying to make right. I've adorned the street with pretty flowers and lush greens. I managed to make ugly, beautiful. Do you know how much energy it took? I don't know if I have it in me anymore. I just don't know.

Get me out of here. Make it the last time I go and never to return. 

Hope Is Leaving

I'm going to change this trajectory before the universe figures out I'm taking too long and decides to create some havoc in order to make this change happen. 

I had a horrifying thought this morning or was it in the middle of the night? I broke down in tears thinking about all the ways I can't be my parents daughter. I know I'm their daughter but this feeling that envelops me every time I'm around them projects a kind of other worldly reality. Not fantasy. I feel big. Large. Wide. Tall. Expansive. 

I don't require their comfort in times of sorrow. I don't require their acceptance when I'm feeling rejected. It feels like I'm operating from two places simultaneously - here on earth and from the ether. 

It's not that I don't belong. It's that they don't 'fit' with me. I don't fit with them. I have to shift spaces around inside me to have a relationship with them that I can feel proud to say they're my parents and I, their daughter. But then I ask, "Who am I"?

Oh God, I see all the ways my mother suffers. I have it, too, a kind of suffering that never leaves, embedded in my very being. I need to transform it. She's resigned to it. But there are times, like me, I see how badly she wants to break free except unlike her, I know what it looks like...to be free. 

My father is so small now. He keeps comparing himself to the pope - how he's the kindest person, how he envies and despises no one. He keeps insisting he's a good person. He yells it in the hopes we hear him. I just cry a little cry from within because it's obvious he's dealing with a sadness he doesn't know how to express...maybe even one he doesn't fully recognize is dictating his reactions. 

It kills me, as it strengthens me. How can that be? How did it come to this? I hate having to admit that's all there is, all there'll ever be. Do you get that? There is no more growing upward and forward. It's moving forward only to head backwards, downwards, into the grave. Hope is leaving this place.