My Cup Runneth Over

I wasn't made for this world. I don't feel equipped enough to deal with what life's become, what people have become. I don't have it in me to keep posing and playing in ways that posing and playing crush and disable my spirit. What a crime against humanity that truly is when you know how it ends for everyone. There are no exceptions.

I think I lost the plot. For a while, you can cruise along like it doesn't matter...about having lost the plot, why you do what you do, what it's all for, whether it actually makes any sense. Truth is, lies build up over time. The tragic part is knowing the lies but continuing on as normal. 

Then I tell myself this is all fuel for something more...something more permanent? That while I might not be privy to the fruits of my labour in this life, it doesn't mean something other than me, will not. I suppose none of it is any of my business. I get that.

Thank goodness for creatives. I used to believe when others said, "Everyone can be creative." I don't believe that anymore. It's like saying everyone can be president. Or, everyone can be a cop. Or, everyone can be a ballerina, a dancer, an acrobat, a babysitter, a dog sitter. No, you can't. 

I am creative. You can see that when you step into my home. You can see it when I put myself together, the way I adorn myself. The adding of colour is intentional. Whether in my home or on my body, which is my home, too...and both for a limited time only. 

All that to say, thank God for this outlet, this path...for that fork in the road that lead to this path on the road to peace...and beauty...acceptance...joy. 

Do you know what happens in that space when you pick up a brush or a pen to create or to write? Magic. I mean, real magic. That's where home is, away from the noise and distractions this life has become. Away from the annoying, judgmental voices of people this world has produced.

Others go on silent retreats to find themselves, to connect with something bigger and wiser than themselves. Creating is my retreat. It's my treat. A treat I give to myself. And do you know what I get at the end of my art session? More treats! Via the retreats...time carved out for sacred moments like these. 

In that quiet space, you interact with the muse. If you're lucky, you forget and remember yourself, at the same time. There is no out there. There's only ever right here. So yeah, you'd better be very precious with who and what you keep 'right here' at all times.

I think it requires a certain kind of loneliness to be on this path. It requires a level of intimacy, too. And you know, not everyone can handle that either. But if you stick with it long enough, you find that this loneliness is transformed. What you gain at the other end is far greater and more profound...and yes, more 'permanent' than what you started with. And better than anything you could have imagined.

One becomes enriched by this inner landscape. One begins to understand that this kind of engagement with oneself is the only real way to freedom, that freedom comes from within and never from without. That the outer is always a reflection of the inner...so, if you don't recognize the outer and want to change it, you have to nurture the inner parts. By nurturing those parts, you attain the whole world and beyond.

So while others are chasing money to acquire more things, let them. When our world crumbles...and it will, what will remain? What will you have built? What will you find in your cup?

I pray that my cup runneth over...

The Spell's Broken

I have to remember that for the most part, you don't mean what you say or remember. I can't really blame you. You can't bring meaning to something you have no care for. 

In my imagination though, you're on purpose and I pretend you mean every word that comes out of your mouth. Because I don't have the luxury nor am I privy to the language of your touch.

But you know, there were times I got a taste, even if only for a few seconds. You know how a second can feel like an eternity, right? And in those seconds, I swear, I understood what I meant to you. 

You bring joy and sorrow. I was a fool to think it could ever be anything but. I know better. But still, like a moth to a flame, I never learn...except I'm not burned by the flame. Instead, I become slightly more resilient and my outer shell, tougher. I really ought to give thanks.

I live for moments like these, right here, in the space where others sleep. I breathe in every detail and sensation of a feeling I can't put into words. I try, though. I really do. 

There are words roaming in places that will never be caught, brought down, or uttered. Yet, their effects, their poetry, their presence are palpable. They have their own colours, shapes and sizes, maybe not fully formed, but what does it matter? The beauty of it all is intensified by its silence, by its desire to remain secretive. It's self-preservation all the way.

When I think I might want the dream to become real, I see there's no point. Here, I belong to no one. Out there, I'm spoken for. And besides, I'd have no material to draw upon if the word became manifest. What irony.

I love how I'm bathed in that sweet nectar when you take me by surprise. I love how it tears at me a little bit at a time, how it opens up the wound a tiny fraction more. This sorrow, this sweet, sweet, sorrow is how I gauge what's important to me for my survival.

I'm embarrassed sometimes. The past comes flooding back. I remember not being doted on. That's painful. I've always been the giver. You're a reminder of all the things I'll never have. Let me rephrase that because that's not quite right. You're a reminder of all the things I have but never received from another person. Everything I've earned and achieved was done by my hand. 

So it's bitter-sweet when someone else is sweet to me through their generosity. I'm not used to it. I don't know what it really means for a man to be chivalrous. I never thought it mattered. I didn't have time to think about such things. It seemed so unimportant. Why now is there a heaviness? A heavy realization that my ship has sailed? That there was even a ship to begin with? Why?

This is my life now - for better or for worse. I don't have time for silly notions. And then I'm struck by the thought that this pulling down isn't so trivial at all. I long for something that can never be. It's done. That chapter is over. It's over. Over the rainbow. And there is no rainbow.

I swear to God I know you. Because you know, in that quiet place, in that quiet space, when we're hugging, I can hear all the things you don't say. 

I hear, "I care. I want. I wish." Even though I wish, too, when it comes time to getting what I want, my body moves in the opposite direction. I guess it knows better than to rely on what the heart wants. 

I think I'll always miss you. I imagine you being happiest in the water. I imagine myself being happiest in the water, too. It's too bad we'll never be in that water together. 

You belong to the north and I belong to the south. You belong to the earth and I belong to the skies. You and I both belong to the world of principle and integrity.

But, I need magic. And this spell's now broken. Sometimes, words mess everything up.

Sins Of The Father

I know how this ends. How it ends for everyone. It's just you and me, babe, counting down the days, huh?

We're too heavy for our own good. When others laugh, we remember how the road unwinds. We know that stop's sign is on the horizon. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But, someday. Someday. Someday, sooner rather than later. Remember those days when 'later' seemed eternally out there, somewhere, far far away? Almost, non-existent. Remember that, babe?

What we've been through together, you and I, I wouldn't change any of it. Not the good - I wouldn't make it better. It was perfect. And the bad, neither. I'd keep it all the same as it is right now. Because by changing one moment, we change the whole of it. Why would we do something so stupid? 

This nostalgia...is bitter-sweet. You're sweet. You're humble. You've been through so many highs and so many lows. I can't keep from welling up as I write this. These dumb young people, these days, who can't commit because they think they're more evolved than the rest of us by spreading their love...It's ignorance. It's greed. It's fear. It's lame. It's base. They'll find out the hard way when they realize how much time they wasted chasing their loins, convincing themselves it was love. What a bunch of fools. Just call it cheating already. You want to cheat. You want to have your cake and eat it, too. So go have your cake. But don't call that love. It isn't love. And no, you are not evolved.

When your partner's in pain and there's nothing you can do to relieve it, and you stick by that person, for better of for worse, that's love, you fool. You're going to get old and ugly, too. Your skin is going to sag and all those places you used to smell nice, you're going to have to pay extra attention to. But when you're with someone you love, who loves you, too, they love you with their whole heart. You are their universe and their universe is you. But the way you have things set up, oh man, the price you're going to pay for your ignorance and for your arrogance, will be huge. It may not be you who suffers. The sins of the father do not go unnoticed...

The Circle

Come closer. I'll show you what I'm made of.

While you laugh behind my back and discard me like a piece of trash, I get stronger. I remember how they hated Jesus, first, for no good reason. It unnerves little people when you don't need them, when you don't worship them. I bet you want me to care, to care that you don't include me in your orbit. I want to say to you, oh nasty one, you can't handle my light. You're too dense, grotesque, and small. 

Not me.

What do I need any of you for when I've got Mary in my circle? Sometimes, she gives me that look when I step out of the circle to retrieve my sword. She quietly tells me to let it go. I insist I just need a bit more time.

So I grab hold of my sword that looks abandoned laying by an oak tree. Do you know how good it feels in my hands to be holding this sword, despite its heaviness? It's as though it was crafted just for me, for someone like me, for someone built like me. 

I drag it in my usual way across the lush green grass on top of a hill I still can't understand how I got here. I overlook the landscape. What I see out there is what resides within. Peaks and valleys. I'm more than okay with all of it. It's never boring. There's so much to observe, to experience, to feel, in this place. 

Do you think I need someone like you here? It's clear you don't need someone like me over there with the rest of you. Good. It's good. I'm good. You're good. But, not that good. 

You're such a stupid child, you and your boorish face. What did your husband ever see in you? You treat him like a dog and he stays silent and obedient. I often wonder when he's going to lose it on you. But maybe he enjoys being pushed around that way. 

I dream up all the ways I won't have to lift a finger for karma to do its job. I just have to keep being me, to keep being kind, to keep minding my own business, to keep creating and let others be whoever they are or want to be. I can step aside, a bit to the left or a bit to the right and get out of whatever shit's coming my way. You can't touch me. You can't hurt me with your words. Eventually, they'll all come back to haunt you, like they will for each of us. And I'll be smiling in my usual sweet way...because...I'm back in the circle...with Mary. 

Thank goodness for Her. She's going to replenish my Well so I never go without.

So Mote It Be. 

Empty Vessels

I'm the common denominator in this case...but, I'm also the good guy....through and through. I think of Jesus. Or any other person who was shoved in a corner because the world didn't understand them. Today, it's not about being misunderstood. People are too shallow for such a noble attempt. They're simply jealous and threatened and ultimately, they lack feeling, lack heart. 

They know what's right. They know what hurts. They know how to inflict pain. They know they're doing it. They know how it feels. But, their lower parts are much more powerful than they are. And these guys think they're making a point? Just more proof that slaves are running the show. Fools!

I'm going to shift perspective here. There's nothing wrong with me. I'm too deep for these folks, whose blood courses through my veins, too. They can't hold a flame to my name. They may not encourage bad behaviour but they do so by association. We are the company we keep and I have no time for small-minded, petty, unkind people who only care for their own, who only give to those who sing and dance to their tune out of some kind of misplaced obligation. I do not and will not accept any of these people into my orbit just because life is short. Yes, life is too short and that's an excellent reason why not to waste my time with them!

No hard feelings. They don't want any part of me and I don't want any part of them, either. Do you understand what this means? Not a single part of these people resonates with any part of me. Because they've mistaken the illusion for the real! They can't handle the essence that is me. They fill their mouths with gossip and cruelty but, they betray themselves each and every single time. Empty vessels. Please don't let me become an empty vessel, too. 

These days, I walk with my head up high. I sort things out in silence, on another plane, high above this one. They can't touch me there. Their influence is inconsequential but mine is not.

Mother

I grab my package of dried rose petals and head for the sancuary because there, I have access to water and the sound it makes when it hits the bottom. 

I light my lavender scented candle. I'm pleased to know I crafted this beauty. I handle it with care, the way all things ought to be handled. 

I love how the flames flicker and the warm light that emanates when I'm not relying on electricity. The ambiance, the atmosphere in this space is heavenly. 

I try to hang on for as long as possible. You can't fathom how hard I try to expand this single moment in time knowing this will pass. This moment will evaporate. It'll go up in smoke, just like a burning flame. 

What wishes will reach heaven? How many on the other hand, will dry up without a chance?

I take off my clothes. I'm excited to be reunited with water, with my emotions, with this cup I need to empty out before it can be filled again. 

I enter the vessel. I let out a sigh when I feel the heat of the water and find a comfortable position. It's true, the sacred can be found in every moment. I seem to find the sacred a little bit easier though, by water and candlelight.

Then, as the water fills up the tub, I take a handful of rose petals and place them on me and around me and let the water move them however it pleases, while I watch and listen.

The pops of pink and red against my skin are so beautiful. I suddenly feel different. I'm taken by surprise. I have power here. Sensuality is rising up from the depths of me. I see in a unique way.

I swear I can hear music. Well, it's the sound of a waterfall, really, against the backdrop of a noisy mind the heart is aching to get quiet. 

It does get quiet, finally. I pick up a few pieces of petals and feel them between my fingers. My body feels alive here. I'm alive here. 

Nothing can touch me here. I can't be defiled by man and his small brain. I can't be influenced by money. I can't be tempted by, what we will all eventually discover to be, illusion.

I let myself be moved by imagination with a capital 'i'. I need to spend more time here in this sacred space. Oh the things I can see, hear and feel when I'm communing with the elements...Oh my.

May Mother hear my prayers.

The Lucky Ones

They'll be talking about me in the future to family members I'll never meet, the way I talk about my siblings now to people who don't care.

They'll say things about me, how I used to do this or that thing but they'll fail to see how they missed the mark or didn't try hard enough to know me.

I speak of my ancestors now, wondering who they were. And, I've got living beings near and far, who are not in my life. Just like I can't blame them for not trying to know me, they can't blame me for not trying to know them either.

It's ironic, how I miss the dead - whom I've never met - but I don't make an effort to be with the living, who are right there.

The past and future unite in this kind of back and forth dialogue. It's hard not to be jaded. It's hard not to see the truth of things. If I had died when I was mugged, I could see my siblings, especially the older one, honouring me in the best possible way...

Everyone would admire how strong we were, how we appreciated one another in life, how he was a good brother and I was a good sister.

Or, he might say how he wished we'd had more time together, how he'd been a better brother, a better man, more attentive. You know how it goes...And life would go on in the usual way.

I'm not impressed. Maybe I'd feel differently if I'd had children. Though I may have had more resolve in my thinking.

It's always about me, me, me...We think we're good people because we take care of our children. Because we tend to our own. "Our own" isn't such a noble endeavour. It's our duty, actually. There's no sacrifice in that. 

It's like listening to a fortunate woman who's always wanted children, complaining how tired she is raising her child. I say fortunate because she doesn't need to work to make ends meet. Her husband supports them all. 

Her full-time job is raising her child. She's super lucky to be able to do that. Period.