i don’t think i’d posted this before…

i love you

i’m a witch, i’m a bitch, i nag and i snag
tearing apart the time you have free to be
or not. to be empty, to escape. to enter a haven.
i’d make a terrible 50’s housewife, and i’m nothing to be cravin’.

i’m self involved – i think most about what i want, what i “need,” what i think is right.
like why can’t you wake up earlier, and why can’t you spend more time with us, and why you can’t eat the leftover food
and why you can’t let go of anger, and why you have outbursts, and why it’s ok to act like you do when you are in a bad mood
and why i’m not your haven. why you don’t need me. why love isn’t what i thought it was. why romance is dead. why you and me?
and why… why… why.

i try to be different. i try to have compassion.
i try. try. try.
then that evil in me awakens, attacking what seems like a lack of passion,
saying that you aren’t trying.
that you are just existing, subsisting. on someone else?
i need to be spying.
you must be hiding something, or why wouldn’t you want to be with me more.
why should i try, it says, when you don’t? what is it for?

for it forgets how hard you work. and how much you need you time. even if i don’t get much me time,
or we get much we time. is it a memory we did before?
you deserve you more.
i know you don’t cheat, and you hide only from my judgment.
b.c i’m an evil bitch. a perfectionist, idealist, evil
female who has to have it her way no matter what is spent…

i don’t know how you put up with me. i am crazy. i am sane. i’m evenly contradictory. i’m perfectly imperfect. i’m easily difficult.
i’m unassumingly demanding. i am darkness. i am light. i breed peace. i pick a fight.
i’m emotional. i’m hormonal. i’m calmly intense. i think only i’m right. because of course, only i’m right.

sometimes i don’t know why i love you. all the time, i don’t know why you love me.
sometimes i think we must be confused, and only destined to destroy each other.
sometimes i’m scared, i thrash at the loss that has come, that chiseling of myself to fit with you.
but always, always, always, even in those sometimes, i love you.

i love you.

1/20/09 = 8 yrs

sleepless again

i can’t sleep. i think some part of me knows that once i’ve slept, the day is done, it won’t snap back to something like before, it can’t be before today. time will always be measured by this day. if i never sleep, this day never ends… i have a chance to fix it, to beg it back, to undo what’s done.
to know that it’s hopeless, whether i sleep or not, keeps me from sleeping too. blaming myself, and i still can’t fix it. i want to scream out like a child, “it’s not fair. i want this – i don’t want anything else.” the adult in me knows that not only will that do no good, but that it isn’t entirely true. i do want this, i don’t want anything else, but it is fair. i’ve brought it down on myself by being who i am. by being who i am. by being who i am. by being who i am. it’s not a nursery rhyme. it’s what i keep going over and over in my head, the anthem of my loneliness. i think of how he’ll never be with me during a storm, how i won’t be able to roll over when i’m scared and find him there, to sooth my mind back to sleep. to calm my fears by his gravity, to pull me back out of nightmares into reality. how my smile i broken, and i feel empty and full. all at once. i know it’s been gone for so long, what we once had. i just thought it had changed, was changing, into something longer, something lifetime. i complained, and griped. and i brought it all tumbling down, self fulfilling prophecy.
my love is vibrating, broken string no longer tethered. it wasn’t perfect, but it was mine, i thought it was ours, and i thought it would always be there, for both of us.
it’s 4:30 and he’s in the other room, and i can’t even be with him in my fear, in my hurt, to calm me, lull to sleep. it is over, and all i have is my forever loneliness.

every good parent

sounds like the beginning of a pneumonic device. wait, not, that’s a lung device… mnemonic device. every good parent’s child has a toy that the parent absolutely can’t stand. you know the one that, oh sorry timmy, we just don’t have batteries for it. it takes an adapter? no there is definitely not one that will work in the box of 6000 adapters in daddy’s closet. tough luck bud. you know the toy, every good parent’s child has one.

in our house, it isn’t so much that is it the keyboard, as it is the automatic music player on the keyboard. all day long, almost without break, it loops the same 6 or so children’s songs. i’m not sure where this keyboard was made, but the songs are all a little off – the background rhythm is a little off tempo, probably in an attempt to modernize “where is thumbkin”, et al. the synthesized glockenspiel sound is akin to fingernails on chalkboards, and i’m feeling like if i have to listen to another loop, another round of this, i just might swear that they no longer make batteries in the size needed for this toy. every good parent. huh. oh to have peace and quiet, what will this good parent do? i think i’ll be removing some batteries once the chickens are in bed tonite… and i’m pretty sure walmart will be sold out of the right size!

the block of writer

i haven’t posted in a long long while. one would think the arrival of spring, the livening of the world, would inspire me, or at least wake me up. i guess to understand why that isn’t working, one must understand why i usually write.
who hasn’t heard writing is cathartic? really? you haven’t? so writing is cathartic – my specific catharsis is objectifying the emotion/thought i am dealing with, turning it out of me onto paper, and universalizing it – making it less mine. it belongs to the world, the paper, the reader of said paper. if these thoughts disturb the reader, that probably means they disturb me. they are thoughts that i “smile in spite of” in my real life, but in my written life, i focus and draw out. have you ever noticed that when you watch some movie, and someone is shot/stabbed/has a nasty splinter, the moment that hurts the most is the last tiny bit being drawn out? not the first 6 inches of blade, but the last 1/4 inch brings the gasp of pain. it’s a nifty metaphor… let me twist it to my purpose. eh, the thoughts don’t, um, hurt or otherwise maim/pain most of my life… they don’t even color my life. “it’s just a flesh wound!” it’s only in the extracting that they sound so very deadly, and as though they must painfully maim my life. to tie in the reference in the metaphor, it is delusion to think that they don’t pain me, but i’ve found we all have that secret inside that no one knows about, and usually, it’s pained. pain is almost always at the pit of us, driving us forward, or backward, or sideways in an effort to outsmart it.
point being, i’m normal. (HAHAHA) but it doesn’t sound like it when i write. lately, i’ve been trying to write out some particularly painful thoughts – revelations, ruminations, cascading along and trying to tear down the veneer-y facade of “smiling in spite of.” maybe it’s just that i have so much free time in my mind during exercise, and i’m screaming to escape the bodily pain of achy muscles and burning bones, so i revert to emotional pain. like i said, pain, usually at our pit, driving us in some fashion… mine driving me to complete 5 miles, pushing a stroller, up and down hills, and through miry gravel, in less than an hour without actually jogging. much. laugh as you wish, because you can probably do it. but it’s quite an accomplishment to me.
the problem with this ruminating is that it is so specific, so very me, that i can’t seem to universalize it, at least not without giving myself away. it isn’t so much one thing, but the culmination, or to go all math-ey on your asses, the aggregate of experiences, that make up me, that have brought me to this point. it just doesn’t lend itself to generalization. i can’t disown it… it’s bloody mine, bloody hell. and that means, i can’t write it out of me, which means, other than this vague description of the situation, i can’t write about it. i think it’s something about a culmination, the tip, the last 1/4 inch, that screams “ouch, that’s me under there!” i’m lodged there, crying “pull it out! pull it out! wait, no don’t pull it out! don’t! don’t! no. yes. pull it out!” waivering, as i always do. i can’t make it yours. it has to be mine. i have to own it. i have to own up to it.
and that is the block over which this writer is stumbling.

the red shoe diaries

i watched this on hulu tonite. i should probably be embarassed to admit that, because at least on it’s surface, it was smut smut smut. however, i became wrapped up in the story – it spoke alot to my thoughts about women, and men, and relationships.

firstly, that women are godawfully mysterious creatures. i am a woman, for anyone who falls upon this without knowing me. we are driven by so many things, so many feelings, desires, intuitions, both from within and from without us. i think in many instances, we are so sensitive to others desires, expectations, we are almost powerless to deny other people. their desires, expectations, become our own. this tangles and holds us up, and i find that, at least of myself, we become contradictions. beautiful, tragic, melodic, contramelodic contradictions. i think sometimes, we seek that out, to remain mysterious. mystery is power. we are knowing, we are cunning, and we seduced adam to take the apple. there is no doubt in my mind of this…
the main female character is this movie embodies this feminine need to have mystery, to have some secret, to have a piece of herself all to herself, unshared and unknown. once she has become “an open book” in her relationship with her boyfriend, once she has shared all her secret places and thoughts and feelings, and he managed to stay, she had lost that mystery. she needed to regain it, to remain who she was… to regain something in herself. so she had an affair, with some ripped eye candy she met on the street, with someone so unlike her boyfriend that he could be totally secret. she had to regain her wildness, her untamed places. and to me, that made so much sense (not that i would do such a thing!!!!)

of course, it got complicated. both men ended up loving her, and the regaining of her wildness brought shadows to her life. the boy toy on the side wouldn’t let her go, wouldn’t let it end. the boyfriend wanted to marry her. she couldn’t undo what she’d done, and she couldn’t end it. she’d already lost control of the men, and she began spinning out of control of herself, feeling trapped, powerless, and i suspect, undeserving of love, dirty and dark. so, she killed herself.
now the men in this movie seem unreal to me. i think i may have an unhealthy view of men. they both loved her, one sweetly, the other sickly. she of course needed both from one person. she needed someone to capture her good and bad, equally, but leave something unknown, uncharted. each of them had aggression, masculinity. but something about them seemed too emotive, too sensing. they got too hurt by her death. i guess it’s because i don’t believe men capable of being really hurt by a woman love, because i don’t believe men put themselves out there for love like women do. men put themselves out, vulnerable and open, for friendship, for a companion, but not for love, and not even for family in many cases. thus, it was unrealistic to me that both men be so broken by her taking her life. men don’t break so easily. i think if only they did, women would understand them a bit better.

i think what struck me the most in regards to relationships is that we can never ever have what we desire out of them. as women, we will always feel some restlessness, either from our man “not understanding” us, or not “feeling” enough, or from him being too “selfish.” we have to decide if we’d rather live with restlessness, or shadows so dark we can’t live with them. we can put ourselves in the harsh light, and examine ourselves. i think we’ll find we are far more selfish and desirous of power than we’d ever care to admit.

feeling winter

spring is coming, warm and fast, and i’m feeling winter, dead in my bones. there’s something missing, probably hormones, and i’m feeling a little like a tent about to collapse, a little like a hut caving in on itself under the flood. i can’t capture the reason, i can’t grasp the vacancy, like some thread dragging seam, if i pull, it will all come apart.

it isn’t that i’m depressed, although i sometimes wonder why not. the inner life is never the outer life, and thank god that the outer life isn’t the inner life. i think my soul will never be used to abiding within this physical trap, this amazing creature that feels and touches, but taints. it isn’t me, it is just a vessel, and yet, oooo, wow, it is me.

more later. this vessel is calling for rest.

today’s lenten message… to the quick, to the heart

Letting Go of the Familiar

We must remember too that the promise [of a life greater than death] was made not just to Abraham, but to his descendants as well: that is, to us! During Lent, therefore, we bring to God all that is barren and dead in ourselves, all our sorrows and our sins, trusting that God who gave Sarah a son and who raised Jesus from the dead will turn all that is barren and dead in our lives into new and wonderful life. But this means that we must leave behind much that is familiar….

Because we live in a sinful world, Lent itself must become a kind of separation. We are called to leave behind our old ways of sin, which make our lives sterile and condemn us to spiritual death. Yet these sinful ways are often so deeply rooted in our lives that it is painful to leave them behind and set out for the land of blessing which God promises. This repentance is difficult; but it is the price that must be paid if we are to receive the blessing which the Father promises to those who listen to the voice of Jesus. (Homily, 2002)

Leaving Behind the Familiar and Following Christ

As he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea—for they were fisherman. And he said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.” Immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee, mending their nets, and he called them. Immediately they left the boat and their father, and followed him. (Matthew 4:18-22)

Prayer

Lord, you call me to a life beyond what I can imagine. I want to follow you, but sometimes it is hard to let go of the things in my life that makes me feel comfortable, even if those are things that keep me from you and a more fulfilling life. As I let go of those things that keep a distance between us, help me to trust that you are leading me into a deeper, life-giving union with you. What I must let go of can never compare with what I have to gain!

Lenten Action

Take a risk and trust God. Consciously get rid of one thing in your life (either material or mental) to which you have grown accustomed but that serves as a hindrance to your relationship with God.

frustration and faith

i’m feeling the frustration of a child, in this world, trying to understand those things that are yet beyond me, playing by rules that i don’t fully understand. having the rules of others hurt me for their closed-ness. what could be had if we could escape this clawing torturous assault to have? to have more, better, most – for things. in our case, to just have enough. the supposed right to freedom for the pursuit of happiness is the most ridiculous farce i’ve been fed. we are only free to buy into the pursuit as defined by … well, i’m not really sure who defines it. i have my suspicions, but i fear being labeled a conspiracy freak. the pursuit of happiness, to me, involves people, and focusing my life on my children, and my family, friends and neighbors. it involves growing, cultivating each other, by caring and conversing with each other, and working side by side, a labor with tangible benefit. to do so means starvation by the rules of this society, so i’m forced to toss my pursuit of happiness so that i can “survive” by someone else’s definition of the pursuit – by being a hard working “contributing” member of society. it isn’t fair, but i don’t believe fairness was an inalienable right.
i’m not really bitter. just frustrated. and torn. i attempt to understand God – does He exist as i’ve been told, as my heart wants to believe? as i’ve seen in my life? or was what i saw coincidence? many coincidences. too many in my opinion. so i long to believe that which i will never understand. i long to teach my children to respect something i question myself, to swallow the Truth that i’m still swallowing myself. i can hear myself answering the questions that i’m still wondering about myself, but it’s only an echo, it’s my voice through a tunnel. and i’m still the child. and i don’t understand the words as they reverberate in this walled in physical existence. our, or at least my, mind is wired for justice, for order and understanding. i long to skip past all this to the understanding of all. i’m calling out for justice, but longing for justice to be stayed in my part. i’m wanting to believe sins are forgiven, but that means that everyone elses sins are forgiven, and all my hurts mean nothing. and that is where the self screams out. for all my own professions of sacrifice and selflessness, my self still screams out. and if i know that selflessness is the key to reaching God, to having the pure life promised through his Sacrifice, and still choose to promote myself, how can i ever hope for a better world? i understand it, and long for it, and can’t achieve it. and if i understand it, and long for it, and just can’t reach it, at what point is the God of wonders supposed to help me reach it? i know, intellectually, it isn’t His responsibility. it isn’t His job. and yet, He became human to reach me. and my heart keeps saying, i’m just not doing enough. somewhere. just keep striving. answers. there. light. it’s at the end of the tunnel that i’m echoing along. so i try to toss my faithlessness, my self seeking, and try on the cloak of penitence for this season. i know my heart will be ripped asunder when i’m reminded of His sacrifice. i long for my mind to experience the rip that my heart will feel when God enters in. i long for faith to enter my mind, to strengthen my heart’s understanding. i long for a doubtless existence, when my voice stops echoing, and i’m no longer a child in this world, and i understand the words i say to my son’s “why?”: “because He is God, and we are not…”

hunting the cliche

the sands of time slip right along. my last baby turned one today. i say last as though i’ve had many of them. there are only two little ones that own my heart. as much as i adore them, i can’t imagine having any more. it isn’t as though i couldn’t or wouldn’t love another- it is just, i adore my two so much, they each hold my heart in their tiny, ever growing hands, squeezing as they flex their muscles, as they exert who they are onto this life. i can’t imagine adoring another, which doesn’t mean i couldn’t, i just think that that much love, in one person, would surely destroy anyone. full of so much adoration, one would have to overflow. it’s the dam that has to burst.

i guess i’m not the typical parent. then, i’m not the typical human. i just love my kids so much i cry just thinking about the love sometimes. i savor every second (some less than others, i can’t deny. screaming and disobedience plague my house as well…)i can’t articulate my thoughts well right now, and i’m sure that sounds like i need a pill or something, right?
i watch other parents, doing what they think and feel is right. or, perhaps, just existing until this stage is over. or, perhaps, never caring to see that spark, that deeper level, that is beyond caring for the necessities of parenthood – food, clothing, shelter, space. isn’t that some psychological needs pyramid or something? they grant their kids the necessities, and leave it up to the kids to figure out the icing, the color and flavor, the clarity that makes life worth living. they spend their moments in escape – on the internet, gaming or social networking (Guilty!!), working without ceasing, mindless in front of the television – i think, because their lives are so empty from the pursuit of happiness? survival? consumerism? the lean mean green (not eco-style!) american dream? i think fitzgerald had it all right… that pursuit can only destroy what you love. and in this case, it is the family, the children, the future generations. i wish we all could just stop, now, and savor each other, our families, and this earth, for what it could produce in our hands, rather than in the mechanized claws of industrialization we’ve decided are necessary for “efficiency.”
i sometimes think i must be destined to die early, because i just feel so much older than everyone else. in the past, i’ve felt like screaming out, “but see, see, LOOK. this here – THIS is what it is all about. cherish THIS. forget all you’ve been taught, fed. it’s just an illusion. it’s just a wall put between you and what is really important. what is really real in this life – people, each other.” i know that sounds like raving lunacy. which is why i’m convinced i’m so much older than everyone else. that and i’m past the point of feeling like shouting, and more to the point of feeling sad that everyone else is missing out on so much.
i know everyone has to be free to live as they wish, and everyone has to come to these conclusions on their own – you can’t buy the wisdom that painful experience grants, at least not and have it retain its quality. but that, i believe, is the base of it all – humans treasure quantity, some value of more-ness, where even “quality” is defined as having more of something than another has… more leather, more amenities, more sparkle, more shine, more cost. the things that have enriched my life have been, perhaps not free, but not directly resulting from more-ness, from some material purchase. i can’t buy my daughter’s sweet smile, or my son’s giggle. i may have to pay to keep them alive, to shelter them and care for them. i know everything has a cost… but those things, that make life valuable, that are pure and sweet, have no price tag, but my time and my input, my putting myself in and connecting to them on their level. it is all a cliche, and it has been said before, but it is all so true. people are beautiful, broken beings, and children just shine, wanting someone, anyone to see them. many parents are too caught up in _____ (fill in the blank) that they never see those crying out for connection, until it’s too late and the children have built walls around themselves, and turned into beautiful, broken adults, screaming on the inside, and trying to quiet it all with diversions, and american dreams. we are the disease, we are the cure. we are.
this is a huge digression from the anniversary of my daughter’s birth. but these are my thoughts as i end the last first birthday of one of my children. the sands of time slip past. please, make the most of every grain.

climate bail out+sundries about the sun drying us up

well, not really. that just had to be said. makes me think of the spongebob movie. i know, i’m lame.
Climate Gurus grabbin the dough