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...

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.

The Cafeteria

I had a dream of you this morning. I was sitting in a large cafeteria. I couldn't tell you where I was. I know I've never been there in my waking life. All the tables were white with grey tinted walls. 

I saw you coming towards my table. Suddenly, I felt nervous. You sat in front of me. I felt awkward because you weren't your usual self. You were quiet and the gods know, you can talk! 

I had a pamphlet in my hands about sleep apnea. You caught wind of that and asked me why I had that pamphlet. I smiled at you, folded the pamphlet and put it in my purse. I was embarrassed about the fact that I use a sleep apnea device and wanted to conceal that from you. 

You turned your back to me and started talking to three women at the table behind you. I felt so alone. I don't know how this happened next but you had some subs with you and you offered them to the women and I wondered why you hadn't offered one to me. I was heart broken.

Then you got up from the table and I believe you mentioned you were going to the men's room. I wasn't sure whether to wait for you or not. You hadn't said good-bye. 

So I waited but during the chaos of people passing through after lunch was over, I may have missed you coming out of the washroom. I waited near the door but you never appeared. I wondered why you hadn't said good-bye. 

I thought about how wrong I was about you, how you weren't the person I thought you were. I recalled wanting that person back - the kind, generous and thoughtful one.

Is this a premonition ? Is this what you're doing now? Making an exit when no one's looking in the hopes no one notices?

That's okay, you know. I've been told I've grown a solid pair of balls over the years compared to the fragile men in my life. 

From the ether, I'll say a little prayer to remove this burden from me. Because I'm good, you know? I'm really good. You don't know how good I am.

If this dream is a premonition, may you feel real bad, real soon. Because that's what you'd deserve.

Pretending

I think you're going to bail like a scared little boy. You'll tell yourself you're being honourable. But, you're not. You're not honourable. Only vulnerable. 

You'll make up some excuse about how busy you are, how something came up, how you can't get out of it. I know who you are. It's okay. Really. It's all okay. You are who you are. And I just have to accept that I was right, that I called it right from the start. You're just a guy. A guy who pretends to say something important. None of it is actually important.

How many benefits of the doubt can you give a person? 

The love of my life is in physical pain and it's only my heart that hurts. So, let it hurt, Oh Lord. I can handle it. I'll take it all in. I'll let it transform me into a beautiful person, into a more dedicated and loyal servant. 

I'll shift my focus to what's right here in front of me - my hands on compression stockings over my husband's leg, the ointment on his healing wound, the towel over his body as I help him out of the shower. Because the Lord knows that when it's all said and done, these will be the precious moments I remember with an ache in my heart, despite the fatigue and lethargy right now as I write this. I'll recall myself in a moment of joy and laughter with my beloved. The rest of it won't matter. The rest of it is history.

Like this memory of you right now. You won't matter. You'll be a fleeting thought, someone who was just passing through. Like so many others who touch our lives as they're busy making other plans. Some of us talk so much and say nothing. 

You must be one of those people..

Sorry

I'm sorry I failed you. I'm sorry it's come to this, like this, in this pathetic way, under these sheets I want nothing more than to swallow me whole.

I'm sorry I'm not like Lee. Or Jeanne. Not like Young or Ben.

I'm just me dreaming of love and romance. I know it's old and worn out. But what can I do but keep dreaming about the only thing that ever made me feel closer to...you?

I'm sorry I don't know how to row this boat. I'm sorry I feel the need to force a smile or pretend I'm happy.

I'm sorry I can't seem to find my way out. It's a labrynth of unfathomable proportions. You know how far and wide a thought can go until it finds a place to call home.

I'm sorry I'm so weak. I'm sorry that what's here with me now is not enough. It's not enough. I'm sorry I don't know how to live, to think, to be. There must be a flaw in the design. I ask you often, "Why did you make me this way?"

In the land of forgetfulness, it must be a kind of mercy. Otherwise, even the slightest twinge of remembrance might give way to hysteria. 

The way I was wrapped in a white cloth, spinning in the air, seeing the flash of light as my picture of sadness was taken, it will all forever be imprinted on the very fabric of my being.

I can't escape this knowing in what can only be described as...futility. I don't know how to transform this, how to make it more bearable. I don't how to play in a body that's slowly wasting away. I don't know how to unsee. I don't know how to live with what I've seen. I don't know how to appreciate this moment knowing what waits for me at the other side of this second, minute, hour, day, month...countdown.

Forgive me.

My Silence

When I wasn't invited to her yearly holiday party and then suddenly I was, by accident, you said that a relationship was a two way street, that if I happened not to be invited, I shouldn't take it personally because I didn't make an effort to be in that person's life. Therefore, I shouldn't have any expectations.

If being close to you or your sister means that I have to divulge every detail of my life, then no thanks!

Unconditional love is accepting. If you got me, you'd know I like my privacy, my quiet time, that I'm not flashy, that I'm not interested in petty talk or gossip about all those family members that happened to make the cut. Do you understand what I'm saying? I will not play the game and I certainly won't worship your ass-hole sister. She doesn't want me around because I won't make her my god or the centre of my world.

I see who you are now. I see who she is. You always made time for me. You understood that I wanted to spend time with you and not your sister and her silent husband. But, you haven't shown me the respect I deserve the last few years.

You're not good at keeping your word. And then the rest of us are the bad guys? Maybe that all just meant that I wasn't important to you. Remember what you said - we make time for those we value. You don't value me. 

We spent time together for your birthday. I made it a point to buy you dinner, to catch up in our usual way. And then my birthday comes around a month later and you send me wishes a few days late. Better late than never, I thought. 

You said you'd take me out and then you went silent. And you did it again. I make it a point to send you holiday gifts...and I stopped starting last year.

This year my birthday came and went and I didn't hear from you at all. I'm glad I confronted you about that. You think this is petty? It isn't. I've been working out these feelings of abandonment since I was young, these feelings of never being fully embraced by all of you save one or two but even they're write-offs!  Now I see how different we actually are. I'm a diamond in the ruff, fool!

I don't want to be invited to your sister's holiday party. I just wanted to be accepted for who I am. And you know I'm good. You know it. I'll never forget how she failed to thank me for her 50th birthday gift...except when I prompted her 3 months later! I won't forget how she didn't send condolences for any of the deaths of my in-laws. And I get it! We are not close. We do not have a relationship! If I have to reactivate my facebook account for people to send me birthday wishes or condolences, then they're not my friends. 

So yeah, when I saw how disrespectful your sister can be, I relished not sending her birthday wishes for the first time this year. If I had pulled the kind of shit she pulled on me, I wouldn't have heard the end of it. She can keep being who she is. What goes around, comes around...and that gives me great pleasure. And the kicker? I never have to lift a finger.

The joke's on me though. I saw who you were years ago...when you made fun of me as I tried hard not to stutter. I was learning, without the help of any speech therapist, how I might be able to create a kind of fluid link between the first two words...That's when I saw how good I really am, how kind and sweet and innocent...to the core. And how cruel you all truly are.

Mark my words...high priestesses go silent and are more powerful for it.

You'll See

If I can grab hold of that twinkle which appears from time to time when I'm lucid, I know I can overcome whatever's got a hold over me. Or maybe this is just how life rolls sometimes. Maybe I'm just weak. Maybe wanting is creating this suffering. Maybe resistance is the true culprit.

How do I let go or give in? And how do I know the difference and when to do either? A thought crossed my mind...I think I'd be perfectly fine to be on my own. I'm the high priestess. I'm a witch...standing in my kitchen in the middle of a forest that no one would dare go to. I'm her...staring out the window, catching wind of a herb, concocting some poultice to soothe this aching heart.

People are cruel. I'm cruel. I don't know why. If it's in me, it's inside you. But not today. Today, I am alone in this place, in my kitchen that's adorned with plants and surrounding space, with warm turkish carpets. There's no room here for greed, power or lust. I have everything I need, anything I could ever want.

Here, I am content with what I already have. I take my time getting to know myself in this lot. There is no you. There is no him. There is no her. Nor them. It's just me and a fire. It's just me and some birds. It's just me and the rain. It's just me and the moon. It's just me and some sparkles of sunlight. It's just me and my pen, my paints, my brushes, my inks, my books, my thoughts, my love.

Do you know how sacred this place is? Do you know the power I have in my hands, this power that comes from God, himself? Do you understand that the problem lies in wanting all the wrong things? Do you get that you've forgotten the truth about things? Do you understand how insensitive and monstrous you've become in the name of the American dream, the first world dream? Don't you see how you've failed? How nothing awaits you on the other end when it's all over and you cease to take in another breath?! 

I take an herb, some resin and oils...and I muster up whatever grace that's left in me to bring about the rise of good over evil. The fake mighty will fall once again. Some of us have always known the truth. You'll see. Unfortunately for you though, it shall be too late.

As for me? I'll still be standing in my kitchen going about life in the usual way, giving thanks to this opening, this opportunity, with a smile in the corner of my mouth.

Dragon Blood

I remember why I stopped going to 'alternative' cafes and crystal shops. The people who work there, minus one or two, are total flakes. Please forgive me. And the guy that served me? What a moron. When someone's got it, they've got it. Sincerity oozes out. It's unmistakable. I just finished paying $13 for an oatmilk cappuccino and a small cookie and he couldn't even muster up some grace! Never again. These guys ruin it for the healing movement. 

I've been there, done that. He reminded me of a guy I worked with at a vitamin store many years ago. Pre-Covid, you might have thought these guys were odd then but during Covid, you came to realize just how completely enveloped they are by conspiracy theories! Total right wing nuts! Not lefties, at all. They lack compassion and are so far up their own asses, they've forgotten just how elitist they are, all those things they claim to be against. 

They are in total denial. They think going to a retreat is going to shield them from their own stupidity. All that fake positivity is toxic. Why did I come here? They sell magical room sprays...but I can bet my life that they have no real understanding or desire to learn what those oils together, along with an intention, can really do. It's all just superficial nonsense.

I asked this guy to confirm the cost of the room sprays, whether they were all $20. And as he made his way around the counter to the shelf to check, he said, "The price is on the bottom." I picked it up and said, "Great, thanks." And do you know what this ass-hole said, "That's what the sign says." That alone almost made me walk out. I should have.

I said, as I headed back to the counter to pay for my order, "Well, you know how it is with signs. They're not always clear." He must have heard my tone and proceeded to be nicer. Too late!

Pretentiousness and I do not mix. Back in the day, I would have swallowed that kind of arrogance and pushed down my voice...because secretly, I thought these people were better than me. Not anymore. 

They're all just wearing masks. Like me. I should pity them. Time to head home and use my dragon blood...

Loss

I want to reach out but I'm afraid. Afraid of being pushy or too forward, loose and perceived as a desperate woman. I can't win in a losing game no matter how much effort I expend. 

I suppose this is what's called Temptation. I want a taste of a nectar I've never had in the whole of my entire life. It's difficult to admit that to myself. I feel like a loser. 

It's one of those catch-22's. Either way I go, I end up losing something. The past is gone. I have to face the music that blares, "That ship has sailed, woman!" I should probably keep this all close to the chest. Yet, this is me being creative, connecting with my muse or my inner child. I've got to give it a voice so I can come to grips with these emotions, so I reconcile this underlying pang...of grief? I must be mourning a loss...a loss so big, it encompasses areas of my life that will never be. How do I make peace with it? Tell me.

I envy those who make it look so easy, who stumble and give way to it...because they want what they want when they want it. I've never been that person. Maybe, it's faulty wiring. If I could just shift perspectives, I'd have my way. But, at what cost? Don't people realize there's a price to pay for e v e r y t h i n g ?

I can't bare hurting anyone, especially those I love who in turn, love others. It's a circle that, once broken, can never be made whole again. 

So, I miss him. I miss how I felt when I was around him. I miss the familiarity when I stood next to him. 

What does it matter, anyway? This is just me sitting on a cloud in the sky. Sooner or later, this cloud will evaporate. May the green leaf man save me from feeling the blow of a hard ground once more...

My Birthday

Today’s my birthday. I’m going to treat myself to a margarita. Or maybe a daiquiri. I’m going to sit by myself and dream about all those things I’ll probably never do. I’ll whisper my wishes to the wind in the hopes they’ll be carried closer to an angel’s ears. And then I’ll wait and ask myself how I got here. This longing will never leave me. On good days, it tastes like honey. Wait, no. It tastes like ripe peaches. On bad days, I’m looking for a white flag to save me from the abyss. Why did you make me this way? I see a void in people’s eyes. There’s no one home. Even when we’re talking, I’m looking for something else and I can’t find it. Though if you ask me what I’m looking for, I couldn’t tell you! But, it’s not this. I know why you made me this way. It’s so that I turn to you and away from them. In another time and place, I’d live exactly the way I want to. I’d find my way to your room. You’ll undress me with your eyes and I’ll feel like the most beautiful thing in the world. I’d wrap my legs around you and you’d take your arms and hold me close. Then you’d take your left hand and squeeze my backside. But, tenderly and not like some brute. I’ll remember how life doesn’t imitate art and just like that, I’m pulled back into this world...where your room is not in our house...but in someone else’s, someone I don’t know, someone who isn’t at all like me. You’re nothing like him, either.

Crumbs

I can feel it slipping away...a kind of feeling or maybe it's a knowing...a knowing that something has most definitely slipped away. I blinked and there it was...gone. And then it has me wondering whether it was ever really here. How much can you mean to someone if you don't hear from them? It simply can't be much.

I'm in that space of absence. You know...when the absence is so big, you can feel it take up more space than it should. The sun doesn't make it better. It just magnifies this space and the absence it occupies. That's where I am right now. No one hears me. At least, not the living. 

I ought to not give it a second thought. I should tell myself to snap out of it, that I always knew better. Those moments were tiny reprieves from the sink hole. I tell myself to be grateful. It's hard to muster gratitude when something's gone. It's even harder to muster gratitude when you realize people were going through the motions. They didn't add anything of real substance or value to the interaction. I understand how we're all passing through. But, my ego, won't let me be thankful. 

It sucks when you invest more of yourself. It sucks when it goes unnoticed. It sucks that we don't know how to receive. It sucks that we're not present to receive. I dislike how people talk out of both sides of their mouth. Who are we? Who are you?

Ah, what does it matter? I rolled over and blinked and suddenly don't care. I slipped in the shower last night and the fall jolted me from my stuper. Some awakenings are real blessings, the way they come out of nowhere and help you see in a new way. And yes, some awakenings are still blessings even when they shake you to your core. Thank goodness for the ones we can bounce back from. 

I bounced back. I have a spring in my step and a smile on my face. I'm entering a new phase now, one that helps me see my worth and what I'm capable of, my independence, my strength. You can't imagine how much I don't need you. I can imagine how much you don't need me either. Time can do that - show you who you are, who people are, why people do what they do, why they say what they say. Time can show you the meaningless of some things while simultaneously demonstrating the meaning and value of everything else and all those things you take for granted, all those things that aren't shiny and new anymore. 

Commitment and loyalty have to stand for something. For better or for worse has to mean something. It does mean something. You have to bring meaning to it.  Otherwise, you're just some feather in the wind looking for something that doesn't exist. You're looking for something out there. What you're really looking for is what's already inside. But, there aren't any frills that draw you to that space or place so you fail to see it, access it and therefore, develop a kind of relationship that would open your eyes to the illusion of this reality we've created. 

Don't hurt the ones you love. The grass isn't greener on the other side. You don't have time to waste when you're in your 50's or 60's. If you want something, you have to attain it in the right way because there is a wrong way. And the wrong way can never be right no matter how much you want it to be. Your feelings don't matter. Your thoughts about it don't matter. Your opinion doesn't matter. All that matters is the way in which you do something, in the way in which you carry out your plans. And, if you make happiness your goal, you'll always be disappointed.

I'm not for rent. I'm worth more than your crumbs. All the money in the world won't make me lower myself so you can have your cake and eat it too. 

Two Worlds

I won’t let myself go there. Except when I find a tear, an opening, in the air. I stretch it out and wide to find a way in and away from here. You should see how beautiful this place is. No one tells you what to do or how to behave. There is no talk of God or religion. It’s just you and that space where the landscape changes just because you wish it to. 

There’s that tree again. And another tear in the air that I stretch out and wide and in I go. Now it’s me in a castle by the window overlooking the forest and the ocean in the distance. Your voice which was faint over there is so clear over here. Oh how I long for thee. In this dream. This dream of mine, I dare not bring you into. You’re right at the periphery just outside the line, the door. I won’t let you knock because I’ll have to let you in. But then I get scared I might not let you in at all and hurting you would feel unbearable to me. 

I catch a glimpse of you and your arms. I’ve never seen arms like that before. And your hands? Forget it. I can’t go there. Not even here where I think I’m in the clear and safe. Someone’s always watching even if they're not listening.

I take a needle and thread and stitch this hole up real nice. No one gets in and no one gets out. I miss you. I like knowing you’re in the world though not in mine. 

Staying Put

Is something going to give? It feels like one setback after another. Yet, I see the good things too. And I'm still learning that just because you get what you want, doesn't mean it's a good thing to have!

Here I am again, longing for what isn't. It's tiring. When all was perfect, I still found something to complain about. If I could turn back time, if I could slow time down, I'd taken that time to appreciate the little things. A quick glance would have become a long gaze. A shower would have turned into a bath. A text would have been a phone call...

I blinked. I just blinked and twenty years went by. I still wouldn't have had children so no regrets there. Have you seen what some parents look like these days? They go from not knowing who they are to raising little beings. 

But, who knows? Life would be a lot different if I had chosen another coloured pill. I suppose there isn't any point in speculating or guessing. It truly is what it is...and perfect despite its imperfections.

I know I shouldn't want. I know that wanting is suffering. Gosh, how easily things come to people when they want something. Religion doesn't factor in their decision-making. Not concepts of right and wrong. Not even what it might feel like to hurt another person in one's attempt to get what they want. And why? Because we have needs ? It sounds so pretentious and greedy...and selfish. 

Now they want us to believe that being selfish, putting myself first, in spite of my desires, is a good and selfless thing. It isn't. It can't be. It's just another human trying to justify his behaviour. And I'm not evolved? What a fool you are...you who will turn grey and old and perish.

You'd better believe there are things I want now I didn't want before. But, it won't be me to change things. I'll leave that all to something bigger, higher and ultimately wiser than me. There's nothing else I can do.

April 20, 2012

Today is the 13th year anniversary of my mugging. I've come to some realizations since then. 

While we might remember other people's birthdays and deaths, no one is going to recall the day when death came knocking on your door and you survived. Not one person.

You'll have to remind them and by reminding them, it sounds like you're looking for something, some kind of gesture that shows they love you, that they value who you are, that you have value to them.

If I had died that day, I'd forever be remembered as sweet Grace, a woman who had been taken away too young. 

There are no celebrations for survivors, victims of abuse and tragedies. The world continues to turn in its usual way. Today, we'll shed a tear, maybe even tomorrow. But then, we are forgotten. It isn't intentional, it's just another day...about me and my loved ones...about you and yours.

Isn't that why it's so unnerving when a painter becomes famous after death? Your work isn't noticed while you're living and breathing...unless you've got some luck on your side and not because you're really good at what you do.

I am observing this glorious Easter Sunday, this one single moment at a time. I'll give myself all the love I never got. I'll take a moment to notice the trees and the sky and let myself be swept away by them. Love is always readily available to me, to you. Just look and soak as much of it as your body will allow. 

My mind resists. It wants to go to that place of self-pity because misery loves company. Why am I looking for some grand gesture? My family isn't capable of giving it. I'm not even sure I'd know what it looks like. What I do know is that I can feel so small to the point of invisibility as though I weren't really here.

What irony. Yes, it's true. We take eachother for granted. We're all to blame and yet, we're blameless, too. This space doesn't operate in a sphere of winners and losers. We all suffer in some way. We all experience grief. We all handle darkness in our own way.

Expectation is a killer of spirit. 

The heaviness that has persisted since the new year is slow to lift. Oh god, I pray for some light, some relief. I'm strong but not that strong. I've got my own ailments, my own angels and demons I'm wrestling with.

Maybe the light comes in the form of divine intervention at just the right moment. I shouldn't minimize the significance of these happenings just because the result isn't what I think it should be or look like.

April is full of joys and sorrows. I also celebrate my 20th anniversary as a clinic manager for the same employer. I tell myself that expectation is a killer because my anniversary came and went and my boss gave me nothing. That isn't to say that nothing is coming, only that it didn't come on the day it should have. 

It brings up too much for me. The idea that I devoted twenty years of my life to the same person and not get anything when it counted the most, while I'm also experiencing the loss of my father-in-law, the deterioration of my partner's health, is heartbreaking, just so utterly, fucking, soul-crushing. 

Some expectations are meant to be had, if only to show yourself what you're willing or unwilling to continue with, to put up with. When someone stays where they aren't valued the way they feel they ought to be, it's time to leave. I learned that when you stay it's because you don't feel you deserve better. I wish it hadn't taken me so long to see this. I can't turn back time. I am grateful for all of it despite what I might be sharing here to the contrary.

It's time to turn the page for fuck's sake. It's time. 

Deaths

You just disappeared. Where are you? Is your absence intentional? Is it all in my head? Is there a way of proving my hunch? Or will I not care to wonder three months from now?

Time makes everything turn to yellow. Time will make me forget that I even had such negative thoughts. Or, it'll make me laugh at myself for having put energy into a lost cause, maybe an undeserving one, too. 

Right now, I perceive you as cold, as someone who enjoys listening to themselves talk. I don't get why it should hurt this much. 

Life's fragile. We're so busy protecting ourselves and our things, our lot. You hurt me. I know you didn't mean to. It's my fault I gave you time that should have been reserved for someone and something special. Because time, I'm learning, is a precious commodity. Don't you think so?

I'm surprised you could do that to me. That you could just ignore me. That you could toss me away so easily. It's strange. I don't understand. Though I get there's nothing really to understand!

I'm mourning so many things. One chapter after another is coming to a close, a definitive end, and like everyone else, I can't stop these endings.

Grief brings me closer to that isolating place and sometimes, its grip feels suffocating and unrelenting. I used to think it was death thst took away. It isn't. Life does all the work. Life gives and it takes away. 

Those endings that are abrupt while a person is still alive, are heart breaking. Just as with physical death, you're never quite prepared. 

You brought sunshine. And now I'm back with the moon again. I've always belonged to the moon. You reminded me of that.

I bid you farewell. May this world bless you and yours.

1996

The quality of work out there has gone to shit. The things that come out of young people's mouths at work should be grounds for dismissal. The quality of listening is so poor too. They can't even get the part where I said, "For here", right. 

One of these guys reminds me of Adam. I can see now just how full of himself he was. Oh my. We were as young as these guys are here now. We thought we had the world in the palm of our hands. But he couldn't afford a coffee and only ever bought me a single herbal tea the entire two years I knew him. Oh, please. What a cheap ass mother fu*ker. I can't believe I combed his Robert Plant hair!!

Every sentence is a run on with the word 'like' occupying too much space! Or the word, 'sick' to denote that something is great. And now, "I smoked a wicked one last night." Please be quiet. And of course, they're all either actors or musicians who think they're god's gift to the world. People will say I'm just jealous. I am not. I am nothing like these guys are now nor like the guys of days gone by. I was decades past. And that's why I suffer. 

Whether they're mature or immature, whether they're on the left or the right - both equally messed up - they lack depth! They lack soul! They lack vision! 

Actors are the worst. I've been around them for such a long time. It's all recycled personality bullshit disguised to look like talent and meaning. 

Oh my god, the horror of the situation is staring at me in the face as the light from the turning ball above adds emphasis to an already frightening realization - that most of us are all dead inside. 

The Flutter

I know what goes through people's minds when they see you sitting, time after time, alone at a cafe. They assume you are alone and they equate this aloneness with loneliness. Let me set this straight.

This is exactly where I want to be...here alone with my cappuccino and lemon meringue pie, including the thoughts I see form on my plate or in the cinnamon in my cup.

I like where my mind goes sometimes. This kind of peace that finally enters wouldn't be even remotely possible by sitting together with another person. Not that I don't enjoy the company of others. It's just that I need this space I've carved out for myself to recharge and refuel. Otherwise, I can't be good to me and I won't have enough of anything to be good to the other.

I cherish this time alone. I notice the blue of the sky. I hear the chirps of birds. I sense the churning of soil, can feel the anticipation of warm rain. Do you think that would be possible otherwise? Not unless I tuned out the person talking. But that would be rude, wouldn't it?

I choose this. I don't need you. I don't need him. I don't need anything except for what's always right here. I just have to sit quietly and observe. I just need to settle into myself.

Oh baby, you're the guy who's going to wish he'd married someone like me. But you were too busy spreading your seed to notice, too busy being the kind of guy I never had any interest in. And I was busy being the girl you see right now, busy growing into the woman you thought didn't exist. That's your problem.

It's not your fault you were raised in the usual way. It's not flattering or sexy knowing how many women you've been with. Not that there's anything wrong with that. It only becomes gross when all the women you slept with are judged as "worse than guys." I can't stand the double standard.

I don't even know why I care to argue given I was never the kind of woman to throw myself at some guy just because he had money. I make my own money. Always have. And then I found a man with similar values as mine. I can't expect a stubborn man like you to understand. You can't understand. It's not in your nature.

Now I have to wait for this fluttering to stop, a fluttering that began when I thought I might need you. Boy, was I wrong. 

We all make our choices, don't we? We get exactly what we deserve, whether we like it or not.

I got what I deserve. I'm so lucky, baby. I love how Mary leads the way, how she helps me see. 

Birds & Lions

I got my back. I know you have yours too. What are we doing? What's happening? Where is this leading to? Oh yes, right here. Again. It's just me sitting in a cafe feeling the light on my face, listening to voices around me...and the ones in my head.

It's too dangerous to move down towards my heart. I'm afraid it's going to whisper a truth I don't want to hear. It'll just mean another thought in my head I'll have to face eventually. And just like that, here it is.

What am I to do with this? You come in like a lion and leave like a bird. Either way, you don't belong here. You're not good for me. How can you be when you wreak so much havoc? 

Yet, you're missed. I miss you now. I hate you for that. My aloneness becomes my loneliness. How dare you have that kind of power over me? In a world filled with capitalists whose values cannot be rooted in anything good, what am I to do with this extra and unnecessary darkness?

The cards tell me my name is also Strength. I've got a kind of influence a man can only dream of. It isn't in his nature to recognize this sort of thing within himself...because he doesn't have it. I have it. I can cultivate it. I can enhance it. I can work silently and quietly behind the scenes and you would never know it. You don't have the eyes to see or the ears to hear. 

I do.

I have overcome. Do you understand what that means to overcome? I've got control of that lion, my friend. I dictate how things go. Not you. I'll have you purring in the palm of my hand instead of roaring. You won't see it coming. How can you? When I'm sitting quietly and lady-like in the corner of the room. 

I go to no one. In this case, it's much better to be wanted than needed. I need myself...and I've got her back.

Trajectories

I miss those days. I hate how time does that, how it takes and takes until there's nothing left to take...and for us to give. It's all gone.

Today we're sitting in the living room overlooking Lake Simcoe. The sun is shining. The water is sparkling. The birds are chirping. My father in law is saying something no one can hear. And today is now yesterday, last week, last month, last year...15 to 20 years ago! What?! How?! 

When you thought you had time and a lot of it, it was kind of true. But our existence is just a mish mash of all of these moments and most of these moments are not even remembered. So then they literally become polaroids, snapshots in your mind. 

Oh God. Dear God. My God. Can you hear me? How can you hear me if I can't hear You? You must be in the sea and the air. In the fire and the earth. You must be the sea, the air, the fire and the earth. And be all things, both animate and be in all things, inanimate. I don't have the eyes to see and the ears to hear. I'm sorry.

I'm stuck here because I was stuck over there and who says time isn't linear? In my mind, there's a sequence I can't escape. This is the trajectory. My trajectory...and I know where it goes and how it ultimately ends....for you and for me.

I'm not sitting on the dock by Lake Simcoe anymore. Except in my memory. If I'm blessed with more days, I'll be creating more memories. What kind of memories will they be? What of me will have participated in their creation? Our memories are made up of who we were when we lived them. 

I wasn't all that much. 

The Good

No one looks you in the eye anymore. We've been watching too much Dateline and 48hrs. Everyone's a crook. He's out to get you. So is she. And on and on it goes. You're lucky if you get a smile. Seriously, you are one lucky fool. If you make yourself available to catch one...while you're busy telling yourself how much the world's gone to shit, how people are bad to the core, how you're not one of them.

But, you are. You are one of them. When you complain how there aren't any good people left, they'll be saying the same thing about you. We dislike in the other what we dislike in ourselves. But, it's too much work to be this aware. Maybe even a little disheartening. 

There is good in this world. There is. Sometimes, you don't have to dig too deep. You just have to look up at the sky, take more than a glance at a tree or a flower. Then you'll notice the beauty. Though this isn't the kind of good I'm talking about or what most people refer to...

Where are the good people? Those whose goals extend beyond their careers and jobs? 

Beyond the roles they play and the duties they fulfill. 

I want to believe in, "As above, so below." Then I realized it's not all good. You have to take it with the bad, too. Heaven on earth? Good luck, babe! Heaven is a place where there aren't any humans! As long as we're alive, we're prone to mischief, deceit and temptation. I don't mean temptation in the usual, religious sense. 

Temptation comes in many forms. There's a space where the truth enters and time feels like it's stopped. When you go against this truth, against your better judgment, you're bound to pay a price. 

If we weren't so weak, so needy, so greedy, so fearful of aloneness and death..we'd stop chasing the almighty dollar. There's no real security in that. It was only ever supposed to be a means to an end. Now, it's 'the' ultimate chase but you get nothing in the end. There is no you. We're just ashes. Ashes.

Blowing in the wind, returning to the earth...I want more than this. I wanted to feel things I don't think I ever will. It's sad. I don't want to question someone's motives. I want to believe there's sincerity and genuineness in the words people use. 

I hope you can prove me right. Or is it, wrong?