Love of a different kind

I love the wind

the rain

together

the elements:

I'm made real by these

and the beauty within them that validates

my being, my breath

my every thought and wonder

the soul within the shell which longs to be worthy.

My stage

My life is a long story. I can't re-cap it. I can't sum it up. I can't quantify it or qualify it or justify it. I need to deal with me on my terms. I need to calculate my next move by my measurements, not your measurement of me, no matter how right or wrong you are. If I'm going down, I'm going to saddle up and hang the hell on. But by all means, I don't need a fucking audience.

No Fairy Tale Ending

They were high school sweethearts. Why is it that the nice girls end up with the assholes? Or is it that those are just the ones I notice, so those are the ones I take to heart? She was sweet, smart, timid, but had a fiery streak on a rare occasion. He was just an asshole. Blame it on a poor upbringing or not enough development in his neurotransmitters; which ever way you roll the dice, he was always just a little off. Maybe he was just dumb, but I can deal with dumb. But dumb and rude really push my limits.

They wed soon after high school, and gave it a good go. She finished college and he was employed with the local union. She became pregnant and together they welcomed a child into their world. Any outsiders peering in would assume that these two had overcome the odds and were starting a good life. But when the doctors told her that the pain she was feeling in her abdomen was actually ovarian cancer, and she turned to her husband for comfort and strength, he was gone. He was out. That wasn't what he bargained for.

I don't know where he ended up, but far, far out of reach. She kind of became a hermit of sorts to fight this fight the only way she knew how: alone. Surgery, chemotherapy, radiation and all the physical side effects of the disease, the treatment, being left by her husband, and being a single mom to provide for her child. She kept a low profile and didn't seek handouts, or attention, or retribution.

This went on for some time until by all medical indications, she had this thing beat. That was two years ago when she was given a clean bill of health. But you and I both know this is not the end of the story. The cancer returned and the husband did not. She died last week...She was 28.

I wonder if that bastard will show for her funeral. Why couldn't he have been the one to get cancer and die? Is that wrong? Am I just as big of an asshole as he is because I think these awful thoughts? I want some retaliation! I want him to suffer. And for all intents and purposes, I think that I am totally justified to hate him too. I promised God that if I could find the peace within to not hate him, I'd do it. But for now, if God loves him, so be it, and I hope it's tough love, but keep him the hell away from me.

It's amazing what:

pain will transform

jealousy will inspire

dreams will create

lies will build

suffering will uncover

time will numb

solidarity will weaken

people will ruin

music will cure

hindsight will feel

simplicity will produce

a soul will resist

a heart will believe

a touch will heal

faith will comfort

death will relieve

and silence will speak.

Chronically misunderstood:

Chronically misunderstood. Pathetic. Why even bother? Is this what life has come to? I know that what ever I say, what ever I don't say, however I respond or fail to respond will be pathetically distorted so far from the quiet, simple truth that there is no point to even speak up. Is it really worth all that effort when no is going to understand anyhow?

The days

There are enormous changes that are surfacing here. Just starting to take form and emerge. Some of these have been rooting for some time and are far more powerful than they first appear. Still others are just skimming the water while they plot the next calculated move. Each day as it passes will offer up the same familiarity:

"My dear child. You have worked hard and faithfully. You have sought honesty and compassion. You are not perfect, nor expected to be, but have never stopped working on your own soul to keep it in tune. You are now tired and weak and your diligence speaks volumes. Come this way my child and let me relieve your pain and give you rest."

You step forward in awe and anticipation and gratitude for even a moment's peace.

"I am sorry, my child. There has been a mistake. It is not your time. Please step aside."

Now you are faced with the choice: to step back into life under the heavy burdens and those to come, or do you forfeit all the ground you've gained and fold your hand?

Every day a new and beautifully real apparition appears and affirms your every need and every desire. Every day you believe the words that are spoken. Every day though will not be your day. Will you continue on, under the thickness of burdens, and believe every word, or will you throw your hand in and leave it all behind?

Sunday Spewings

I am utterly at a loss. There used to be a time when I could roll with the punches, ride things out, pick up the pieces - no longer.

Panic attacks are the most ridiculously retarded (sorry I know that's not the PC thing to say, but I'm just spewing here people!!!) thing EVER. I can no longer answer the phone. I will wait to see the caller ID (not that it makes ANY difference who is calling, because I won't answer) I'll let it go to voicemail, then check the message, then either text back or send an email. I cannot go grocery shopping without hyperventilating scared to death that I cannot pick out the right kind of bread because I cannot focus long enough to figure out which is which kind. They all blur together. I panic. Then I feel like people are watching me and though I'm not doing anything wrong, I instantly feel guilty. And guilt and panic are a really great twosome.

Some people keep adding layers upon layers of things to their lives. They need this gadget that will supposedly help them with that. And need this apparatus to make new communications possible which will help with this. But then you get so caught up in keeping up with each of these layers that there's not time or remembrances of what simple life originally was. Layer upon layer diluting every choice, every opinion, every feeling, thought, and dream. I've got to carve these layers back down to the core. I have fleeting memories of who I used to be. I need to get back there, and rebuild if necessary, or not... and just keep it simple.