Tag Archives: inspiration

My Best Friend: 2 Days and 22 Hours

It is almost one month since I put Claddagh down.

That phrase is so gross to me; “Put them down.”

My dog was already a submissive… she was “put down” in many ways in her early life.  I am still disgusted at it all.

But, you know what?  I will only talk about it here.  I bombarded FB for the first two weeks with my pain… and now in modern decorum I will pretend it doesn’t rip me apart on the inside.  Oh, geez, am I following the steps of my forefathers, who chose to sweep inconvenient truths under the proverbial rug?

People don’t know how to mourn, these days.  Our fast paced society urges us to “get over it and move on” as quickly as possible.  We treat ourselves like processed food with defined expiration dates that serve as suggestions.  You might be cool eating an out of date yogurt at your own house, but if a host of some other house offers the same thing, you cringe.

“Keep it in house.”

See, I don’t feel like I am allowed to mourn my dog companion for more than a couple of weeks.  It isn’t allowed to break me, because their life expectancy is so much shorter than ours, and I should have known better.

I don’t feel like I can allow Claddagh to be the portal in which my previous pain, loss and suffering is filtered through.  I just don’t feel like I have permission to fully feel, even though people say “take your time” and “feel it fully.”

I don’t feel permission because I am always trying to integrate and get along, and no one likes a Debby Downer, or a Miserable Mandie.  I don’t feel permission because the extent of the pain is mine, alone to bare.

After day three, I told myself, “You HAVE to stop crying.  You HAVE to buck up.  No one cares as much as you do about it, and no one wants to hear about it.”

If you make it a mantra, I guess it makes it easier to adhere to, just through repetition.

If left to my own devices, I look out the door and say “All I really want is my dog.”  And I imagine what that looks like, only to further upset the state of my heart.

Honestly, I don’t care if I upset you if I end up crying in reminiscence of my dog; but because I am empathetic, and I know you don’t want to hear it, I will self censor.  I am not looking for your pity or sympathy…. I know you don’t know exactly what to say and it may be uncomfortable for you, that every topic you excavate leads back to me and my dog.

I am sure it is annoying, or at least uncomfortable.

I’m sorry, but I’m not.

I suppose if you don’t know what to do in the awkwardness, just smile.  Know that I experienced a facet of love in life that I would have otherwise avoided, and that in and of itself, is bound to make me a better person in the long run.

I know she wasn’t as interesting to you, as she was meaningful and profound to me, and that is okay… but try not to sweep her memory away in your urgency to bring me back to whatever you feel is your self perceived center.  I will take my time, and I require no rush on your end, for it will not bring any benefit.

She was “my girl”, ya know?  I don’t even know if I am allowed to use the same distinct whistle if I find a new dog friend… I feel bad for chiding my cats with her same belly rub rhyme.   Things are flowing into each other with my other animal friends,  where it once was distinct and individual.

And I liked that, ya know?  When her whistle was our whistle and not like any of the other whistles that were common for the other animals we mutually knew.

I kinda wish I got a Chilton manual on how to deal with this,or a “When your Dog Dies for Dummies” book,  even though I know, internally all I need to know.

Life cycles are beautiful, until you see the shame in loss.  My dog should have lived forever… I mean, that is how I feel. I never thought about getting another one, even though at times I thought about re-homing her due to my own personality flaws.

I’m looking at rescue dogs, trying to find a face I recognize.  Not Claddaghs’ face, per say… just a face that feels familiar in the rustic part of my being that is perfectly adapted to animal companionship.  I know it will happen when it is meant to… if it is meant to.

No worries here.  I just miss her so damn much and rightly so.

 

Love Letter

The magnetic specter of our dance is gratifying in its own way.  The ebbs and flows, the way it goes carving-marking along the way. Deeper than ditches run, farther than a tumble weed could tumble, we fade into each other and the landscape.

When time is timeless what does time mean?  Perhaps a momentary infinity of you and me on this hypothetical horizon, watching the shades fade from hue to hue. Darkened silhouettes along the terrain, enveloped in some other domain existent but far between.

Specks in the dust, they say

Each meaningful and yet inconsequential in their own way

Working the wheel.

Beating the drum.

Reading the same script, over and over again

“You play this role, and I will play that.”

Expectations, at times hum-drum because you know you’ve played and acted these roles before, whether hero or villain you are familiar with the score.

Dum-ditty-dum-ditty-dum-Dum-ditty-Dum

The pipers come piping, the drummers do drum. The hamsters keeps spinning,  song after song.

So what?  In mixture of this intoxication in our physical being- how can we sequester such meaning? I cop it up to hormones, emotions and feeling. Avoiding the meaning it plays on some higher reality. You have yet to play the lover or the beloved.

The world at my fingertips, hair on end as I keep feeling this world, again and again.

I can be the gyroscope, and if you can hold a steady plane. Let me spin inside your skin until our souls touch.  In some perfect balance of day and night, taking flight to higher heights than either has ever known. Sew yourself within me- carefully.

Together we can be stronger than before, a united front of protection in this mundane place of normality. We would be allowed to dream bigger dreams. See ourselves as champions.

I can share with you my secrets of the cosmos- my ever evolving mind.  This heart holds divine space for you, there has always been a place for you in the core of my cerebellum, telling me to move muscles and sinew forward until the crux of time and space collide.  The horizon simplified, no longer lingering in hypothetical realms or parallel dimensions.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our compartmentalization of feeling somehow becoming null and void?

 

Alignment

One of the most amazing things that can happen, is when you want something to happen and it does without any active provocation.

Today I was able to chat with the best friend of my deceased brother.  I’m sure he is mentioned somewhere in this digital archive that I need to go have printed at Kinko’s/ Fed Ex.

We don’t talk often, but when we do, I think it is stellar both domestically and celestially.

Let’s face it, I don’t talk to many people very often.  And when I have a day of insightful conversation I know the world is about to shift again. I feel like everyone else does, just before it happens… a sense of imbalance, perhaps a need to purge, vent and connect.

If people were stars, I would be a distant star in the middle of a few clusters.   I might even be a nebula in the middle of some star systems… I don’t know, I am not an astrophysicist, I am a writer/ thinker who likes analogies.

Either way, shit is happening on the other side of the veil and I am well aware of it, and so are you, even if you don’t get it.

9/11 is a hallmark day.  (Like Hallmark Cards.  If you don’t have words for it, Hallmark has a card for it.)  Only, if Hallmark has a card, it is cryptic.  You’d be better to wait for their holiday ornament.

Feeling uppity or downity with your friends and fam today?  Feeling a strong desire to make life changing decisions with little to no planning?  Writing things like this, that may seem cryptic?

It’s what is up right now.  World wide.  This is part of the “matrix” the “construct.”  There is a self destruct mechanism built into the program.

Fight it.  Stop falling in line with this false “make it look pretty, because it is better than nothing” paradigm.  Fight it, and STOP IT.

I won’t until I’m stopped.

It’s another precipice.

People like me feel ultimate isolation because there is little to inspire real connection and the game gets old.  So if you face certain realities, while realizing that the best connections you may have will be momentary in times of struggle.  You realize you have to hold tight when others can’t. The only way this is possible is when you realize the bigger joke of the matter and if we really do live in game theory, some of us are the people you have to find in order to save yourself in the game in order to move to the next phase.

I’m no savior, but I am a point of re-connection to  that other reality which is unavoidable at some point.

Hit me up when things get weird.

My Best Friend: Psychic Bonds

When you can’t rely on language to have a connection, a psychic bond is the answer.  It is a heart and head connection requiring no audible noise.  Claddagh in the early days was a bit of an escape artist, but she always seemed to have a reason to go where ever it was that she would end up.

In 2008 in the hours leading up to the 48 Hour Film Festival debut, Claddagh disappeared out of my friends yard.   His dog stayed within the fence, and Claddagh was no where to be found.  Knowing that I had a bunch of shit to do in a short period of time, looking for my dog was last on the list.  As I washed up in the shower, in my mind I said “Claddagh, if you don’t get back here in the next five minutes, don’t bother coming home.  You are stressing me out right now.”

A few seconds later my friend hollered through the bathroom door that he found her.  After finishing up, I came out and asked him where she had been and he says “You’re never going to believe it… She was just over at this guys house down the block.  He said that he saw her at the fence and she took one look at him, jumped the fence and ran over to him and just started loving on him.  He told me that he had just lost his mother and his dog in the last 24 hours, and it was like she came over to console him.  He volunteered to watch her while we go to the film festival.”

WOW!  I was floored.  My dog had sensed this man’s deep despair, and she broke the rules in order to go give him some much needed affection.  I couldn’t be mad anymore.  I was proud of her, and I hoped that she looked both ways before crossing the street.  They neighbor watched her for a few hours without incident, and I was able to enjoy the film festival without stressing about my dog.

Claddagh had two run in’s with getting put into Doggy Jail.  The first time was probably around 2010.  Some friends invited me to go to Breitenbush hot springs with them; but Breintenbush is a dog free zone.   I asked another friend to watch Claddagh for the day, as we would be leaving early morning and wouldn’t be back until later in the evening.

It ended up that the person who was going to watch her, flaked out; and I wasn’t sure what we could do with her.  I wasn’t familiar with the roommate that would be home, and I knew that their backyard fence was low enough for Claddagh to escape.   I told the group, “I can’t go.”  And they assured me that Claddagh would be fine.  Despite having a feeling of uncertainty, I was cajoled into going on the trip.

We got up to Breitenbush and spent several hours hanging out in the hot pools.  Sometime around 3 pm, two of us decided to take a hike in the lush forest surrounding the area.  While hiking I made the observation out loud, that it seemed wrong of us to be hiking in such a beautiful place without our dogs.  Right around that time I felt a panic set in, and I just wanted to get home.

I think it was probably 10:30 or so in the evening when we returned to Corvallis.  Sure enough when we get to my friends house, Claddagh is nowhere to be found.  Two friends head out on foot, and I drive around hoping she is still in the neighborhood.   No luck.   The roommate that was home said he let her out around 3pm when he left for work.  So she was left unattended in a backyard with a fence low enough to scale.

Here is where things lay over into the psychic world.  These friends lived very close to the only park in Corvallis where it is a dog free zone.  Claddagh had jumped the fence and went straight over to that park and was picked up by animal control and taken to the shelter.  The following day was a holiday and the shelter was closed, I couldn’t be with out her for another night so I knocked on the employee door because I knew there must be someone there to feed them.

I could hear Claddagh barking from outside the building as I walked around looking for the employee entrance.  A kindly little old lady answered the door, and I told her that I could hear my dog crying and that I really wanted to get her back today.   The lady led me back, and she could tell that my dog was who I said she was.   She told me “You are a good doggy parent, I’m just going to let you take her home today.”   She waived the fee, and sent Claddagh home.

I told Claddagh “if it is a no dog zone, you might want to avoid hanging out near there.”   She seemed a bit shaken with her time in lock up.

A few months later Claddagh would escape again, but differently.  I had plans for us to go to the Corvallis farmers market, and before we got down there I stopped into a convenience store, in the time it took me to purchase a cold coffee and a pack of cigarettes, she had jumped out of the back window.  Now, mybad, because I didn’t notice she wasn’t back there until I got to the farmers market… and low and behold, an empty back seat.

I got back into the car, and drove back to Philomath where the C-Store is.  I start walking the blocks, calling for Claddagh.  I see some kids on skateboards and I ask if they have seen a friendly, red and black dog wandering around.   They say ‘yes’ and I ask them to show me which direction she went.  They lead me toward a boarding house where we had a friend who was living there, so I definitely felt like they had seen my dog.

Now, Philomath is about eleven miles from the farm we were living at in Wren.  I spent an hour looking for Claddagh and then I had to get on with my day, so again, silently in my head I called out to her and said ” I don’t know where you are or what you are doing, but you better not be anywhere near the highway.  I have shit I have to do today, you are stressing me out.”

It was a long day, and I by the time I got home, I had been gone for about twelve hours.

As I pulled into the driveway, there was Claddagh, cowering, but happy to see me.  After talking to her I got the sense that she followed the rail road tracks home.  She had walked that entire way back to the farm.  Needless to say, I was quite impressed with her fortitude and sense of direction.  I am sure she followed the smell of the sheep all the way home.

Last month would signify Claddagh’s last foray into Doggy Jail.  So far as I can tell, she was out in the front yard, unattended, which is very unusual.  She had her collar off, which was normal.  And someone thought she was lost so they took her in for the night.  When I came out and realized she was gone, I went into full panic mode.   It was pretty late at night so I walked the streets with a flash light calling her name.   No luck, so I laid a sleeping bag under the tree in the front yard, and slept there until the sun came up, hoping she would smell me and wander back home.

No such luck. The shelter opened at 11am,  and though it was my intention to be there before they opened, I got lost while trying to find the building.  I arrived at about a quarter after 11, to find my dad waiting in line to see if she had been dropped off.  Sure enough, someone had dropped her off, right at a 11.  If I would have been there early I could have saved myself the $55.00 they charged me for keeping her all of 24 minutes.  She got a couple of shots out of it.

This time when I went back to identify her, she looked on top of the world.  She had gone on her own adventure and she was high on it. I couldn’t be mad at her, it just stirred the part of me that didn’t know what I was going to do when she was actually gone for good.

See, even that event last month seems like a psychic precursor to what was going to follow on the night of Aug. 25, 2018.   I was given all these tests over the years to prepare me for the inevitability of losing her.   All I can do is be grateful that she was so gentle with these lessons and tests.

My Best Friend: You Definitely Have My Attention

You know how your best friend can usually pull you out of a funk?  They know a master way to get you to chuckle, or look at things differently, and the world will shift a little bit.

I am certain Claddagh understood how I would get fixated on things that would engage my attention to strong levels. And depending on where I was fixated, my mood would be effected to some degree.  As an empath I tend to be drawn to topics that are deeply rooted in the suffering of humanity.  I have a strong desire to uncover that which plagues humanity while at the same time trying to heal the Universal Feeling of Broken that is a template we live in.

When I lived in the mountains, I didn’t spend as much time or attention on those things the way I do now in large town. I didn’t have consistent internet and I could already just see pain existing around me to one degree or another, so it was an unspoken understanding that having a dog in nature helps all wounds.  I mean obviously it doesn’t make all of the pain go away, but it helps in certain terms of longevity and understanding.

I seriously started writing about my experiences in life at the age of twelve.  I’ve averaged 2.5 journals of various lengths per year for about twenty-six years.  I have no idea how many things I have published on this blog page alone, and this series, in this moment has my full attention. So much so, that I am pulling out the paper journals from the time Claddagh was in my life, because I am so interested in her chronology because it is inevitably tell me more about myself and how I will need to precede further.

My writing has always spoken my own code, to myself.  It is always in retrospect that I can tell if I listened or not.

What I can tell already, I’ve already mentioned a bit.  This feeling of intangible loss versus tangible loss and a feeling of loneliness or “godforsaken.”

I’ve been writing about death and loneliness my whole life, but it was sort of intangible.  I didn’t really know what I was missing, it was then easier to disconnect from the feeling of loss, by becoming callus.  When I lost my mom I was four years old.  What did I know?  I had not the experience yet to comprehend the impact of imagination when it came to comparing my experience in life to those who had yet to experience such an impacting circumstance.

Thirty-four years ago I didn’t have the ability to fully encompass what that initial loss would mean to my future relationships and my perceptions of death and loss of relationships to those still living.

I’ve written many things down about my life and perception.  In my opinion it is a treasure trove but obviously I am biased.  I haven’t written everyday, but I have written in cycles, and when I find myself in that cycle I tend to write a lot.   Perhaps it is because I feel both significant and insignificant in the world all at the same time, and the desire to record this life, outweighs the amount of words or paper I consume and collect in order to prove or assert my existence in the world.

I never thought I would have kids, and Claddagh was my “baby.”  Which leads me to the thought that if you feel lonely, the permanent solution does not exist in having a baby.  Which to some degree is exactly what I tried to do by acquiring a dog.  I’m not saying it was a bad decision, it was (what I am realizing in this moment) a temporary fix to a bigger issue that will still call for some resolution. I suspect that it’s going to take some uncomfortable work to get there. I am literally being forced to see the world with new eyes and I need some sunglasses because I am being blinded by the light.

My love for Claddagh was not only infinite but it was infant.  It was an infant kind of love that no words can express because it is too pure for complicated expressions.   The world could be expressed in a look or a gesture.  Looking at pictures of Claddagh, reflects what I must look like most of the time; deep in some thought far from joyful.  I never stopped searching for the origin of the intangible pain beyond my mother.

It too, comes in cycles.  All these cycles compress and unfold as time moves in the trajectory that we call forward future while simultaneously existing in a past that is added to by the awareness of its existence.

What is the ultimate lesson of Dog God?  “Love yourself as I love you. ”

How can we conceptualize this in reality through the filters of guilt, grief, and distraction?  New Age people talk about it all of the time but I don’t think many of them really get what that means because they live in a “do what thou wilt” kind of belief system.  I don’t think that I will be able to encapsulate it here because the seed of it’s awareness is just starting to sprout in my consciousness due to the new light shining on it, the conditions have just started to become ripe for its awakening.

The awareness happens with my focus while raking through old weeds.  If you read the journals in reverse you see the story unfolding from the beginning.  Everything we needed to know was there all along.  It is the knot in the rope during tug of war.

If we pay attention close enough, we realize we are never alone.  There are things begging our attention all of the time.  As I was writing this, I noticed at timed intervals that crab apples were hitting the hood of my car.  The branch above the garage door was shaking, and another group of leaves and berries would crash down, causing me to pause my typing.

Finally, I got up to see who wanted my attention.  A squirrel… of course.  The squirrels and Claddagh had their own daily camaraderie.  They would banter back and forth, and Claddagh would chase them up trees and power lines. They definitely had a relationship of sorts that never missed a day.

I felt the squirrel was saying “Hey, I notice your buddy is missing.”  And I spoke out loud and told the squirrel what was up, but he could come around as much as he wants and eat all the crab apples his little heart pleases.   See, sometimes even the nameless fur balls in your yard, can make it into the amazing story of life.

In the last day, I’ve noticed the bunnies are coming closer to the house as they realize their greatest terrestrial threat has been absent.  I noticed there were many more birds in the yard when I came to open the door.  Nature is trying to speak to me and right now it’s telling me that I should probably take old Brody for a walk.

My Best Friend: Assimilating One Another

In any relationship there is compromise.  Especially if you are living together.  I only had a handful of info when it came to Claddagh/IMA/Pasha’s past.   She was found and surrendered on a Reservation.  She may or may not be spayed.  She had BB’s or some sort of shrapnel scattered on various parts of her body.  She was picked up by a person who already had four dogs, and kept Claddagh separate because the situation was “iffy.”

I always got the feeling she was raped by another dog.  She was very concerned about other canines getting in that area and sniffing around.  She seemed somewhat evolved when it came to assessing another dogs intentions.    I use to joke that she was a lesbian who only liked fixed males and females, because they were less of a threat.

I don’t actually know, but this is the feeling I got from watching her behavior.   She wasn’t a “Dog’s Dog.”   She was  a PuppyCat that wanted to be Human.  Okay, I know we anthropomorphize animals and I have a vivid imagination, but something told me she was no run of the mill dog when it came to social graces.

She didn’t want to fight, but she was willing to defend herself.   Mostly she wanted to play but found it hard to find other dogs who know the rules.  The dogs who knew the rules were dogs of friends.   We, as a group, had subconsciously created a frame work for a dog community.  The people who had dogs, were much like me.   Safety first!  Good Friendly Play!

I haven’t heard Claddagh’s voice in over twenty four hours.  I am restraining myself from running outside to call her in.  I keep making attentive notices that the scratching I hear on the concrete, is not her toe nails. My neighborhood is significantly more quiet without the dog barking battles over the fence.  Brody gives it a go and then gives up after a bit.  I guess it isn’t as fun without a friend.  Now it’s just one tiny dog on one side of the fence, and a bigger, louder dog on the other.  Who knows… maybe Brody is telling the neighborhood dogs that there will be one less voice in the mix of calls that saturate the air at any time of day.  One less shit pile to smell.

I think Claddagh had a prerogative of fun. I never felt like I could rely on her to protect me. I never wanted to put her in situations that might lead to harm.  I would avoid situations like that at all costs, especially after the dognapping incident.

She would be with me four years before she could look me straight in the eyes.  It would be just as long before she learned or discovered how to bark.

My friend Cameron and I were on a camp out.  Claddagh and I had camped together many times before this. She would follow along quietly when I played “ninja in the forest.”  Taking her collar off so that the jingle of her tags wouldn’t distract other animals.  We would sneak up on loud camp sites and check them out from the perimeter and then hike back to our camp.  We would try and trail deer.  I was secretly training her for the apocalypse.

Anyway Claddagh, Cameron and I go on a camp out.  And into the darkness of night we sit around the fire, and Claddagh stirs.  She walks out about ten feet from the fire, her ears peaked and moving around like satellite dishes. She makes her first attempt at barking, her voice cracking like a teenage boy during puberty.  She seems shocked at the noise coming from her own mouth.  I hear coyotes in the distance.  Claddagh gets a hang for this new call, and she rolls with it, barking her ever loving head off.  I am amused and astounded… I thought I had a “barkless dog.”  She proved me wrong while simultaneously slipping into a whole new maturity. Still, she never manifested into a physical protector.  We were battling a spiritual thing, and her physical body obviously took the brunt of effect.

Claddagh rarely looked “happy.”  In all reality both her and I suffer from Resting Bitch Face.  It looks pensive, introspective, concerned, and perhaps a little distraught.  Upon meeting, we both knew that we came with baggage, but it didn’t matter, it was “for better or worse.”

I never felt “safer” for her being there, but I did feel a concern of care that made me utilize all of my senses in order to keep us both safe.  Intuition and psychic bond were paramount in our relationship, probably even more so than many human relationships. We bared every season in almost every condition, side by side.  I would spend my last dollars on food for her and go hungry.   She was always a good visitor, and no one ever told us that we couldn’t come back.

I think back to Kelty Krumb. I think about how he was the last dog to persuade me into  having a dog of my own.  How he eased me into dealing with animal hair in every nook and cranny of house and home.  I think he would have liked Claddagh. I think about how my heart broke when I learned he was gone, and how much that must have hurt his owner.  I think about how amazing a dog can be and how if they are amazing enough, they will convince other people to become dog owners by setting an almost unreachable height when it comes to canine perfection as assumed by humans.

Claddagh did that to people.  People who had never had a dog before, became enamored by her very quickly.  Her perfection would settle in the imagination of those who dreamed what it may be like to have a dog.  I didn’t hesitate to tell people that it was years in the making by observation and appreciation.  I told them that she was with me everyday, and that my life continued to be unconventional in order to facilitate the reality we were living.  Most times people shrugged off that part.  They thought they could just go all willy nilly to a shelter and find a gem.

That seemed to be a rare case.  My dog was with me ALL DAY, EVERY DAY.  She sat in a car 6 hours a day some days.  But, when she got out of the car we went on adventures.  Most times it was nature, other times it was urban; she became well versed in various environments, around different people.   She would sidle up next to almost anyone, but building dog relationships was harder.

She wasn’t ordinary.  She was extraordinary.

Decipher the Cipher of Life aka Stranger than Fiction

Yet again I am trying to downsize and further compartmentalize my life. Shed some of that heavy weight that no longer serves me. It’s hard to do because it requires me to dig into my past and this time it went to an even weirder zone.

Did you ever see that movie “Stranger Than Fiction” with Will Ferrell?  If not, you should and then maybe you will get the same sensation about your own life, especially if you are the artistic or wordy type.

Basically, today I got the sincere feeling I have been writing my life out, before I actually live it… or something to that degree.  I can look at a piece of writing and know when and why I was writing it at the time, but the way I write things is subconsciously coded language.  I don’t know how or why this happens specifically, but I have some assumptions.

The thing about all of this is, I haven’t had a bad life, over all.  I’ve had a rudimentary amount of pain in comparison to other people.  My family is full of good people who tried their best to offer what they could within their means, and probably unbeknownst to me, went above and beyond when needed.

So all I can do is ask myself  “What the actual fuck?”

I am going to admit that most of my journals are a massive spiritual battle. It has been that way as far back as I have recorded my life.  The journaling started around age 12, but I can go back to certain creations done in Elementary School and see a depth that is or was seen as some what abnormal for a kid that age.

“She is five- going on thirty five.” My grandma would say when I was little.  I wanted to sit at the adult table.  I wanted to converse.  I had questions and quips beyond my years.  Spirit has been speaking to me forever.

Now perhaps this is just the byproduct of losing a parent at a young age and the feeling that I had to grow up quickly to compensate. Maybe I was just born this way.   Who knows?   I do know that I drove my mother crazy when I was just a small child.  Enough so, for her to strip me down to basically nothing and leave me on the front stoop with the old adage “If you don’t want to be here, you are going to leave the way you came in.”  Naked and shivering.

It’s okay.  My aunt lived a couple of blocks away, and my mom would call her and tell her to come pick me up.  She would come over, packed with some over-sized clothing that belonged to my cousin.  She would wrap me up and take me back to her place until the whole thing calmed down.

Once my dad said, “If your mom was still alive, you would probably be at each others throat.”  Sometimes I feel like I am getting that experience with my grandma.  It isn’t a “hate” or loathing issue… it’s just this weird temperament that arises out of our idiosyncrasies and difference in ideologies.  It’s the byproduct of being stubborn and bull headed while still having the best intentions in love.

A stranger once told me “It’s easier to paint yourself into a corner than it is to write yourself out of a box.”  That has stuck with me for over a decade.  I wasn’t quite sure what it meant, but today, I think I got it.

It goes back to Abracadabra. A spell or incantation using the ABC’s.  This is why writing and words are magical.  This is how words hold a vibration that can influence the reality we live in… it’s the way you can send prayers or well wishes or destroy a life in a single breath.

My family can be traced back to the Druids on my Mother’s Father’s side.  There is some witchery in the blood, and that blood still courses through my veins.  I don’t purposely perform rituals or magik; I have a feeling there are a lot of us who don’t.  We settle on titles like “artist” or “writer” or “musician.”   We feel and feed on an indescribable power that fuels our creative spirit.   Words will almost magically manifest on the page without too much work.  We feel born knowing the Muses.  At least, this is how it has always been for me.

I haven’t had to try too hard in creative ways.  “It just comes to me.”

I don’t profess this as any sort of braggart, in fact, in this moment I am questioning all of it.  My family is a mixed up match of “tight lipped” and deceased, I don’t know where I can go to discuss this openly, so I leave it here for you, my few but beautiful readers.   I am realizing that I need to figure out a way to console myself.  Feel free to send suggestions.

“The calm before the storm” is over. I know it and I feel it with a force that is hard to describe. As I read through these papers and place them in a new container, I am god smacked..  I’ve predicted future patterns in my life with no intention of doing so; in alignment with that, the writing has predicted patterns of humanity and what would be worth our attention.  This leads me back a post I made about a week ago in regard to purpose and being a dreamer.  In this moment, I want nothing more than someone I could share the depth of this with, but I don’t have that someone, which is a reoccurring theme in my  personal writing that I rarely share.

I see in this moment that this specific loneliness is a representation of that spiritual battle.  We are all looking for connection in various ways.  I believe in Creation, I believe that Creation will not be out done.  I know I can’t out-create Creation.  That knowing can be overwhelming, like “why even try?” not to mention the clutter!  I make and make and make a mess and an abundance of stuff that may end up at a thrift store or a landfill.   I’ve carried paper around, weighing many many pounds over thousands of miles for what?

This moment.

This is the moment it all shifts.  I might not see the evidence of it immediately so I will leave room for it to shift as quickly as it wants to.

While going through things I stumbled on a good-bye note from a woman named Cecily Monk.  I didn’t know her well, or for very long but I really liked her personality.  She felt like a person that I would have had a long friendship with if we would have had more time together.

Anyway, when she left Keystone, Colorado I was at work and she left a note.

 

The last line is quite potent; “…and remember the journey of self discovery comes not in seeing new landscapes, but in having new eyes.”  So obviously she was a fan of Proust, or one of her teachers had the actual quote “The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” on a motivational poster or something.

I like that she added the word “self” and “journey” because the timing is perfect for today.  Journey vs Voyage is appropriate because I perceive a Journey to be far more relaxed than a Voyage.  Voyage makes me think of a specific conquest, for which I have had none up until this point.  The actual Proust quote takes on a deeper meaning when I rehash my words and see that in fact, I have been on a Voyage but I didn’t know it.  And I have had conquest but I didn’t acknowledge it.

It all comes down to love and forgiveness. And this is going to be so hard because there is a lot of bad shit happening in the world right now.  But just like I am finding illumination in my own writing, we are going to find illumination in just how fucked up humanity has been by bringing it to light.

Today I wanted to get rid of EVERYTHING.  I was feeling oppressed at how much garbage we consume and throw away.  I was overwhelmed by the massive pressure of pain that is the human condition.  I wished I wasn’t part of it because there is no easy solution and by the looks of it, it’s only going to get worse.  I thought about all the mundane stuff we do on any given day just to maintain a “standard” of living.  I thought about all the people who loath the work they do just for a paycheck.

I kept thinking, and thinking about all the stuff I can not stand.  How disappointing all of our entertainment is because it’s coded and getting increasingly ominous in content. I thought about how my creative spirit has been lost because I can’t imagine things getting better and I am sick of rehashing this old script that we are being fed on the daily.  Believe it or not, I believe this rumination to be a good sign.  My art and dreams and writing tell me so.  We really are dancing on the tip of a needle right now.

As I dug through this box the skies turned dark outside.  A while letter the rain came pounding down in sheets.  I laughed out loud and asked if this was a baptism and as I went to shut the screen door the water was falling so fierce that it was splashing out of the rain gutters.  In the few seconds it took me to move the block in front of the door (which is actually a heavy concrete lawn statue of a sleeping man wearing a sombrero) I was soaked and a bit elated.

This isn’t over, though.   I had just begun this excavation and there were more treasures to dig up, so this is only a taste of what that was.  To a certain degree I’ve been pulled into my own mystery.  I am sure it is appropriate timing as next month I will turn thirty-eight.  My life has been amazing, it’s hard not to think it’s a shame that I have felt so heavy through all of it.  Even in times of levity, the gravity of reality has kept me solid and grounded.  Luckily people like that about me, but if they didn’t it wouldn’t really matter because it feels unchangeable.

Last night I re-watched Eternal Sunshine of the the Spotless Mind for the second time, since the first time years ago when it came out on video.  I saw it with new eyes, but I knew the story and when I watched it the story came flooding back.  Looking through my life in writing produces the same feeling.  (Another topic I could probably go to length writing about, but not right now.)

I sense that things are starting to sync up for me again and I am not sure what that means.  I will probably be able to glean some knowledge from further exploration but I don’t know if I will wake up with the energy to keep on tomorrow… or if I will sit in stasis again for a while.  I’ve been practicing forgiveness for myself, and part of that is finding patience when my desires are so vast.  Giving myself time to figure things out without a strict timeline.   It isn’t easy.  It’s hard not to compare myself to other people and their obvious accomplishments.  I think “I’m just sitting on a stack of paper.”  But that “stack of paper” is the analog archive of my life experience in a very raw form.

I like to journal like I like to go bowling.  I can have a couple of drinks and do something to the best of my ability in full enjoyment even if I suck at it.  I feel fulfilled by slapdashedly swinging my dominate hand around without expectation of high results.  It’s something to do that is totally dependent on my personal attitude at the time. I don’t fear judgement because most times I keep it to myself.  If you want to bowl alone, go at 1:30 pm on a Tuesday.  The only people in there are over 60 and there aren’t many of them.  Most are there just for the bar.  Every once and a while a bold elderly man may stop by and offer tips on your game.

It’s like this blog page.  I have like eighty people who follow me.  I get very little engagement and I am fine with that.  Sometimes I just have to express myself out in the world.  When I was younger I was under the impression that I didn’t actually have a voice in the world, or that no one cared what I had to say; now I think that just the right people stumble in at just the right time, not only for me, but for themselves.  My delusions of grandeur have been over for quite some time now.

This digging and sorting is going to continue.  It has to.  Something about “getting your house in order” feels appropriate right now.  May you find patience and forgiveness in yourself, and the strength to get your own house in order.

PS.  The heading image was something my mom wrote on a piece of paper.  I don’t have much of her writing, on the other side is a poem that many people find haunting.  I am not sure if the cipher works for the poem, but if I feel like it, I might see if it does.  If it does, that would be so cool.  On my mom’s typed page it is titled “Love Poem” and instead of “he” it is “she.”  Who knows?  Everyone loves a mystery and the author is unknown.

lovep