Ireland

I feel you, Ireland. I feel you. Just looked into the eyes of a young man, a teenager as he walked past...and he brought me right back here to you. I don't know why. I don't know why.

My brother mentioned how no one cares about the elderly. I don't think anyone cares much about anyone unless it's their own and even then, you're left to wonder.

I don't think he cares at all about me, except superficially. He'd be the first in church though, to speak at the altar about who he thought I was, about how he misses me, how he'd wished he'd been there, done more. Too late. Being two steps ahead has always been painful. Information is freedom, yes. The other side of that is, "The truth hurts." I see the truth of things as they are.

These thoughts seem to matter now. They carry weight right over my shoulders. And I'm already carrying a heavy load. Burdens help you see the truth. They help you remember how much you long for lightness, how you've forgotten how great things used to be but you failed to see it, experience it fully. 

It's not that no one tells you or warns you about what's coming. It's that it just doesn't compute or register in the moment. It can't. You're over there...and you can't fathom what it might mean to be over here. You can't see that far ahead. Thank goodness for some mercy.

Then it's as if mercy takes a back seat. Or is it faulty perception? Is it a lack of faith that I wallow in self-pity? Is it that I never felt carried? Is it that I didn't want to be carried? Is it that I feel too heavily? Is it that I'm not light enough? Well yeah, I seem to have established that.

My Name Is Rose

I can’t stand him. The way he turned on a dime. What a piece of work. Nothing worth buying or hanging on my wall, that’s for sure. To have so little respect for me, I’m still shocked. I didn’t deserve that. I deserved a response. That’s all. And, apparently that was too much for the guy. 

Now, when I look back, I can’t believe I overlooked his arrogance and lack of depth. Why would I do that? What’s wrong with these men? To think they’re God’s gifts to the world. What a fake. What a heartless, cold and insecure little shit. What a huge turn off. I’m glad I’m turned off. There’s no turning back from this. There’s nothing he can say or do to change my mind about him. Absolutely nothing. He showed me who he is. And even if it wasn’t intentional, the fact that he doesn’t see he owed me a response, suggests to me, he isn’t the kind of person I want to share anymore time with. No way. I say, “Never!”

I don't know what I expected. I thought you might turn out to be more of a friend than some kind of professional acquaintance. I don't know about you, but this is old. The excitement, possibility, anticipation of joy...it's all gone. The tone is flat. No one's humming. No one's singing. There's nothing here.

It's just me and this worn out dress. The colour has faded from an emerald green. But you know, the arrangement of flowers I willed here in this space more than makes up for my lack of lustre. You don't know how hard I try in my waking life to crack a smile so my light shines through my eyes. I think my light is trapped behind fragile bones. I'm always 45 here. I like that age. Estrogen is still my friend.

I'm so free here. My body takes on a new shape. Tiny stars make up the periphery of this form. There's no way you'd mistaken me for a nobody. Only a few are welcome here, as I drag my sword across the abyss. If I can stay long enough with the truth, I'll overcome. I may even grow wings and fly to far away places, places you've never been, places people like you need psychedelics to get to. 

I never asked him to touch my hair or caress my cheek. I never asked he buy me pretty things or take me out for dinner. I never asked him to cross a line. I couldn't bear waking up the next morning feeling the silence of rejection after having given him the opportunity to have his cake and eat it, too.

Standing there, so close and yet so far, stings. It's another drop of poison after a long hiatus. My body just doesn't bounce back as quickly despite the time lapse. 

I just wanted to know you wanted me. I know my place. I know your place. I'm not that woman. I wanted, secretly. Putting myself in your shoes prevented me from making a mistake. I can't tell you how badly...ah, never mind.

He has no clue what I am. I’m the world. Nothing gets in because I’ve mastered the art of shutting the wrong people, out. While I’m dancing in my circle, in my circle for one, I twirl and I jump and I swing from side to side, without a care...in the world. 

I’m the high priestess. I know but I don’t tell what I know. Secrets stay with me. The truth is already there long before I’ve caught on. And, I catch on, and before it’s too late. Because I’m also the princess of stones, tending to my garden, while you try to take a sneak peek, only to realize to your utter dismay, that I don’t need you and never have. Never will. It’s not in my nature...to need you. 

That must rub you the wrong way. Yes, it does annoy you. I know that it does...because I’m the high priestess who knows and stays quiet...about what she knows. I don’t take initiative because I’m a Lady. A Lady won’t dare go to anyone...let alone any man. She belongs to the heavens where she can’t be defiled. Do you even know what the word means? You and your house and your cars and your money? Making money your goal, your god, diminishes your worth as a man. How can you not see that?

You can’t carry a flame to my name...because my name is Rose. It’s not that I’m too sweet for you...that isn’t it. It’s that you haven’t earned a space in my life to be worthy of my pricks...

You, Again

I'm not sure whether I like you anymore. The Ashwagandha supplement I've been taking is contributing to my most recent vivid dreams. 

There you are again. We're sitting side by side but you don't say a word. It's a cold day. Again, all I can see are greys and shades of navy blue. There are so many people gathered together, as though we're all friends. I can't make out where we are but I find out quickly that behind this place is a body of water with huge rocks. On the other side, is where most people are hanging around, including you, sitting on a chair on a porch with your feet up. 

I look at you but you don't look up at me. I know that you can see me looking at you. But, it doesn't make a difference. You're not the same guy I remember. You're distant and vacant, like no one's home.

I head for the water...because that's my home. It feels like a storm is coming. Or has it already come and gone? I make my way back to the other side where you are but when I take a quick glance, you're no longer sitting on the porch. I feel a weight again in my stomach. A sadness washes over me, the kind I should have let the water handle.

I leave this place now and reach the street waiting for the lights to turn green. As I wait, I look behind me to see where you might be. You're no where. I turn my head back to the lights. I notice two guys playing with some ice along the street. It's left-over ice, filled with dirt and debris, the kind that takes the longest to disappear before spring claims the scene. One of the guys takes my hand to help me to the other side of the street so I don't slip and fall. I let him. He's kind. A stranger. He doesn't know me. And I don't know him. It's pleasant. A gesture of warmth on a cold day. He adds some much needed colour. Because you've managed to take it all away. And you didn't have to do much. You only had to do nothing. That upsets me.

It's time for me to get into the backseat of a car. There you are on the right. Someone else joins us. I don't know who it is but he's not doing well. I let him get in first so I don't sit in the middle of the two of you and to avoid sitting so close to you. That bothered you. In a way, it bothered me, too. Because I wanted to sit next to you. But the thought of being rejected again by you felt unfair and not bearable. Better like this, I thought. Yes, better like this.

It's just my mind working things out. I'm not sure it's doing a good job. How many more of these dreams do I need to have in order to see who you are? I know who you are. You're cruel. You're arrogant. You're so full of yourself. But, you're empty. An empty shell. Once I get that into my thick skull, once I really see this about you, the dreams will stop. 

And then I'll resume happier and more powerful dreams of flying in the air in my gorgeous gown, like a priestess whispering spells in the air, recalling times such as these as being nothing more than leaves changing color and falling to the ground, devoured by winter knowing full well, it's all just itching towards a brighter and more freeing day. It's coming soon. Very soon. I'll be ready.

Heart

My heart. My poor heart. And all the secrets it keeps. More than this, there really is nothing. Maybe more than this should be more than enough. It should be enough. I'm just mourning what cannot be. That's all. Just grieving over endless endings, the concept of beginnings and endings. It's another day, a new chapter.

Why does it feel like the same chapter? I must have only taken a detour. Had a look at the scenery, those bright green leaves, felt how the air expanded my lungs, how my feet enjoyed the soil, under the bright sun, or in the shadows of the moon. Yes, it was only a detour.

Now I'm back, back to the life I created. It's not so bad. It's not so bad. I'll find excitement here again. I will. It's just faulty perception, I tell myself. Yes, faulty perception, a faulty outlook, a faulty way of being. I can fix this.

No, I can't. I'm helpless against this. I have to admit I'm sad, sad, sad, to the core. I have to accept that there are places in my mind I'll go to that he won't or can't. There, here, the sadness grips me more. As long as I'm on this page, I'll have to surrender to it.

I take off my clothes and slip into bed. I imagine you there. You don't make a sound because like my dreams, I won't let you. In my dreams, I'll dream about all the things I want to do but won't let myself.

I keep staring at you as I doze off to sleep. I whisper that I miss you. I miss what never was and say good-bye. Good-bye. It was nice knowing you.

That way when I wake up, I can tell myself I have it all figured out.

Stone

I don't understand what happened. Was it the look of my stained tooth when I opened my mouth to talk to him that made him behave so badly? That made him exit like a coward? Why would he do that? Why would he not get back to me? 

We're not friends. We're not lovers. He isn't family. Oh, is that why? Because I'm not important? Does that give him permission not to keep his word? What kind of man is this? Aren't family men and women supposed to be decent? 

Why can't people use their words? What's wrong with men who can't communicate directly? I'm shocked...but, I called it. I called it right from the start. I saw the truth, him in his King of Pents manner. They know how to flaunt. They know how to impress. But, they have no staying power. It's only ever about their money. I find it all so boring, so empty, vacant of real meaning.

I'm mad at myself for seeing something that wasn't there, a kind of sincerity. It wasn't ever there. He was never there. He doesn't exist. He never existed. He's just some average guy trying to make it in this world.

I wasn't asking for his hand in marriage. I'm already spoken for. Just for him to keep his word about something so innocent...like a friendly lunch between three parties. That's all!

So, here I go again dragging my sword against the cold stone ground. No one complains about the scraping and screeching sounds because, well, I'm the only one here. Which suits me just fine.

Sins Of The Father

Why didn't it occur to me that there's a label for people like me, a legitimate word, to explain how being sensitive isn't perceived as a flaw or something to change but rather as a gift and a kind of beauty to be harnessed and respected? 

I'll go ahead and give myself all the kindness and respect I deserve. It's not my fault you don't understand. It's not their fault they don't understand. I just see and feel in ways others might not. 

I could be sitting here thinking of you, and an impression comes up. Impression isn't the right word or complete word to encompass what I'm trying to describe. An atmosphere enveloping that person will fill my space - in my mind and in my body. It's kind of like a photograph, a snapshot of that person's current environment. It includes a mish mash of colour, lines and shapes...but it's never still. It moves like water...a stream. The water can be muddy. It doesn't matter, it gives me an understanding of a situation. It helps answer my questions.

I'm free. I say, "I want to be free." Today, I am free. Free of you. Free of him. Free of her. Free of all of you and your cruelty. You are average. You are mean. You are shallow. Even the word shallow, how it rolls of the tongue, sounds so innocent. But, you're not innocent. You are as shallow and superficial as the deepest depth that might reside in you.

I told Mother Mary to only bring good people into my life and to keep the toxic away. Even family can be toxic and she managed to keep them at bay, too. That way, I can get back to loving those parts of myself that others reject. Why would I give these people any power when that which they don't like in me is exactly all the good parts they lack in themselves?!

You're not winning. You've already lost any respect that I might have had for you. You arrogant sharks who think you're good people because you love and care for your children. You, the entitled ignorant, who believe others owe you because you chose to have children. You, the judgmental Christians (what an oxy moron that is!), who think you're better than the rest of us. 

The sins of the father will catch up to all of you. 

The Table

I'd just finished reading Nick Cave's latest Red Hand Files 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...