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candle_flame

These words came to me last night and I am sharing them with you. May they have meaning in your life!

When the lighted path grows dim
hold a candle against the darkness
then speak my name
I will be there for you

When the flame flickers and dies
feel your way against the darkness
then call out my name
I will be there for you

When you can not feel your way
remember the lighted path
and whisper my name
I will be there for you

When you can not remember your way
imagine the path lighted before you
say my name
and I will be there for you
I will be there for you like a foothold
Even in your blackest night
Like a hand to shake you
to awaken you
for even when you slumber
I am here

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Kentucky shurbs . . .  dark spots littering the field, their green matched the green in my shirt. And I wonder, always wonder about the beauty of this land, even in it’s desolation, indeed sometimes because of it. What isn’t there leaves room for the imagination. Plus the land may let you down, but you never take it personal, you know? When crops fail you don’t think the land is trying to hurt you, you just think it is what it is, or you try blaming it on God or the universe or something, but you know that can’t really be true. And just by looking into a field I figured out that man invented God to have someone to blame shit on.

Hmmm . . .

Man invented God so he could have someone to blame shit on. It’s a theory I came up with on the first day of the first week I spent with the man I thought I loved, on a vacation that would end our relationship. But, it being the first day I was still in creative spirits. I was still in a place where the freedom to roam that I desperately sought was bestowed upon me by him through the company he worked for, and while I don’t think I ever really admitted it to him I realized a lot about myself and the world and travel, well motion, while I was stuck in a Hum-V with him, driving and driving for miles. I realized too that he was simply a catalyst for my transformation the same way one needs to strike flint or tinder or whatever the fuck. I mean he was like an ingredient that was a requirement.

Now, none of this can be seen while you are in the midst of it. It can only be observed afterward. After the pain wears off. After you realize it was one tiny stop over on the map of your destiny. A tiny spot that seemed really big and all consuming at the moment and the deal is, it felt like love. I mean true love, deep love, love without limits, but that is fucking bullshit isn’t it? Everything has limits, conditions, restrictions, except knowledge, except learning, except passion and there is love in all of these but it comes from within it is not gotten from someone but it can be bestowed upon them, it is a gift to be given an received and there are limits, self imposed, but limits just the same.

But what I learned about love didn’t/wasn’t realized on the trip necessarily, but some months after during a dormant period and alone time that for me was so painful to speak of it hurts right down the middle like a hole in my gut. He would never understand this because he didn’t have too, has never wanted to, at least not yet. And that makes me happy because I would not wish this feeling upon anyone, well that’s a lie, but I’ll get back to that another time. See the thing is he held pain too, experienced pain too and kind of talked about it, but not really. Like I’m a big man who won’t cry so I’ll just bitch about every fucking thing and wait for someone to see it’s pain or there is pain and maybe they will make it go away. Yup he was that guy, the one who was constantly looking to make the pain go away through others, but who would never actually open up for the healing, cuz when it got too deep he would just move on to the next and the next, a surface dweller. And the reason I know this is because I was that exact same way too and so I was attracted to him like a magnet, a fucking guided missile and I knew nothing good, well nothing, well I knew nothing of what our entanglement would bring . . . Ah co-dependancy, Ah lust, Ah the beauty of doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. It just goes on and on.

No on can write about it while they are in it and while they are in it, it feels really good and really bad at the same time. And no one can write about it until they have closure (a term by the way that I despise) I’m not sure I’ve ever had it in my life, but as I sit here facing a fire, under the threat of encroaching Autumn, beneath skies more cloud filled than blue I know more than I did before he and I were introduced. I know more about myself. I know more about life. I know more about relationships than I ever did before and I while I was in Kentucky I realized that man invented God so he would have someone to blame shit on?

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PWA_OneSheet_V21.qxd

Dan Millman is a real man, I don’t mean he’s real man like a “real” man’s-man. I mean he is an actual living person who has a website and everything. The movie, “Peaceful Warrior” is the story of his life or a part of his life that, according him actually happened. Well I must confess, I did not research it because I like to think it did happen. I like to think that events depicted in the movie can happen in real life. I have always been a dreamer. I have always believed that anything can happen, because otherwise life is just too boring. So maybe someone who has the time and inclination can check it out and see if he has combined truth and fiction. In some ways the story reminds me of the Celestine Prophecy only more real and in movie form it’s just easy. I know they turned the Celestine Prophecy into a movie too, but it was really kind of lame, and the Peaceful Warrior is kind of lame too, but I liked it a lot. I have watched it a lot. It is one of those movies I turn re-watch on Showtime or HBO over and over again, just to have something in the background.

Last night I had it on before sleep and I realized the lessons are not new ones. It teaches us to stay in the present. It teaches us detachment, it teaches us many things and I like the way it’s delivered because you don’t have to have a long, serious history of Buddhism or Taoism or whatever ism it teaches in order to see, understand, take in and hopefully learn what could work for you. I awoke this morning feeling refreshed, enlightened and very, very happy after remembering those lessons from The Peaceful Warrior. And today I’m thinking, shit, if watching a cheesy kind of film can fill me with enlightenment, joy, bliss, fervor, insert good feeling work of your choice here, then I am in.

I think I’ll go buy it!

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instant_nice_person

The entire time I was growing up everyone told me that I was “TOO” nice. Since I was nice I didn’t say it aloud, but I thought, “What the Fuck does that mean?” I’m too nice as if it were a bad thing. How can being nice be a bad thing? Now nice is evil too. So I didn’t stop being nice. Now after many years of being nice I can see how it could be detrimental to my health. I doesn’t hurt anyone else, cause they have the benefit of my niceness but it does hurt me, especially if I am nice while assuming because I am nice everyone else will be just like me… NOT!

Nope. I have learned that most people are not nice. Most people, (and when I say most here I mean 80% or so), are looking out for themselves, to see what they can get from you or simply aren’t nice because they are afraid that if they put themselves out there and give it won’t be returned or they will get hurt. The whole issue is based around fear and lack and it is just pissing me off today. Pissing me off beyond measure because I am more the exception then the rule. This doesn’t surprise me it simply angers me. I can see it all so clearly, you know? If everyone were not so afraid of getting hurt or used or taken advantage of or whatever the fuck then surely we would just automatically do nice things for others, since it is part of our fundamental nature. Or maybe it isn’t I honestly have no fucking clue anymore.

What does this have to do with dating dudes, choosing dudes and dudes in general? And how did I come up with this topic? It’s a long story that goes back to a Junior High School Cafeteria and I won’t mention it now, let’s just say that when this article arrived in my email box this morning I was touched that indeed 100 men out of a thousand actually valued women who were nice! Didn’t that just make my day?! Since I have been told and am still being told that I have to be less nice. Well all I can say to that is Ah Ha, and see. At least now I know there are men who want to do more than play hard to get games, who actually value genuine qualities in a woman, and even though they are at the top of the food chain they do exist! I think we can all find delight in that!

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I don’t usually do Memes, but I was at Book Babie’s Blog and she had this really great idea, so I decided to participate and below is the full copy and paste of her post. I will still break the rules here, (as I usually do) and tell you if you want to do this please join in and link to me or her or yourself. I have to say this was really hard, and it was especially hard because I had a lot of them, but most sounded like instructions or advice rather than a six word memoir and some of the ideas came from quotes I had read so at the end of this you will find the one I settled on with a picture as well. This was fun and even if you don’t want to post yours try it and see what happens!

So here’s her original post:

As I read yet another book review of a memoir this weekend, my husband told me that I should write one. I said that my story would be much too short and rather boring so when I ran across the following book I decided it was just my speed. A six word memoir! Written by Larry Smith and Rachel Fershleiser, Not Quite What I was Planning: Six Word Memoirs by Famous and Obscure is a compilation based on the story that Hemingway once bet ten dollars that he could sum up his life in six words. His words were- For Sale: baby shoes, never worn. There’s a video on Amazon with examples from the book, it sounds like a fun read! I’d like to start a six word memoir meme and here are the rules:

1. Write your own six word memoir

2. Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you’d like

3. Link to the person that tagged you in your post and to this original post if possible so we can track it as it travels across the blogosphere

4 .Tag five more blogs with links

5. And don’t forget to leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play!

Here is my 6 Word Memoir:

I’m A Stranger to These Parts

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Cancer? 

Gulp . . . 

My conversation with myself went something like this, my friend Alice died of cancer. My second mother died of cancer, (it’s complicated), everyone I knew who had gotten cancer didn’t survive. No wait, my friend M got it and she has been well for over twenty years. Yeah, but she didn’t do traditional treatment. 

What kind of cancer is it? I asked. “Throat he said”, pointing to his neck. Was that concern or sadness I noticed when he looked at me? “When did you find out?” I asked searching his eyes for something I had never seen before. They were cold and blue and bulgy. Like a frogs eyes rimmed with red, but not from crying. He spit and looked at the ground. “We found out today.” He crushed out what was left of his cigarette and stuck the remains in his back pocket. 

They way he said we, reminded me of the way some couples announce a pregnancy. We’re pregnant. We have cancer. I remembered the first time I had seen them together at my engagement party. They sat off in a darkened corner of the room feeding each other sushi with chop sticks. ~Gag~ It was their food, they brought it to feed each other. We eat sushi. They were snuggled down and this surprised me because K had confessed his troubles with her to me on more than one occasion, calling me up, out of the blue to ask my opinion. He said he wasn’t happy and he wanted to end it, but he stayed because the sex was so good. Now there’s a fucking surprise! His confessions were bad reruns of the times I spent with him, only now I actually learned what he must have been thinking and telling our friends about me. But this night, at this time, I noticed that he was a fake and that S was a fake too, because from the moment she laid eyes on me she rarely left my side. 

When K introduced us she threw her arms around me in a tight hug that lasted too long. After she let go she said, “I’m so happy for you! I know how long you’ve wanted this!” I thought, “Snap out of it bitch, you don’t know anything about me, except for what he’s told you and I bet you’d pay good money to hear what he says about you when he calls me!”

Up close she looked old, she was almost 10 years his senior. Someone else said it first and they said it best, they said, “She looks like a mannequin.”, yeah a Macy’s mannequin with a boys haircut and a red O for a mouth. By the end of the evening I actually felt sorry for her and in the dark hallway I passed her my phone number, just in case she wanted to talk, but she never called. 

K was opening the car door, inviting me out. “Come over and talk to S, I think she’d really like that.” His voice was soothing me now. I like men with radio show voices, he had one and he knew how to use it. He used it on the phone too. “Are you sure she wants to see me?”  He didn’t know about the phone number, or did he? “No, no S really likes you I’m sure she would love to see you!” He was leading me by the elbow across the lot to where she was, talking and laughing with R. Still the fact that he answered my question by starting his sentence with the word “no” was not lost on me. 

You see I also think too much. I read into situations too much. One thought led to another and then another forming an endless loop of screaming voices that culminated into one loud thought, “GET OUT OF HERE NOW!”

To Be Continued . . .

 

 

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It wasn’t twilight by the time we pulled into the Credit Union parking lot. I know it wasn’t twilight because the sun like a giant painted moon was only half sunk behind the building. It was a big sunset too, the blinding pink kind. It was the kind of sunset cowboys ride off into. We were riding into it, but there wasn’t a cowboy in spitting distance. I thought of it as nothing more than a driving hazard.

I think sunsets and sunrises are over rated. If I were forced to pick one over the other it would be sunset, but honestly why chose between two moments in a day when there is so much going on in between. And since I have no preference I will tell you why I didn’t choose sunrise. It’s because of early risers. You know the back biters who talk too big about a preference for the sun rising as if this qualifies them to judge those of us who have only seen it by accident. Oh, you chose to rise at dawn, good for you. Here’s a gold star, now fuck off I’m trying to sleep! Even during the happiest times of my life sunrise has meant nothing more to me than a bad reason to get out of bed. Oh wow the dawn of another day.

This attitude of mine did not bode well in a household where sleeping late was considered a cardinal sin. Don’t you know, “the early bird gets the worm?” I don’t care about worms, do you? I spent much of my fucked up childhood just trying to get some sleep. Where’s the sin in that?

It always seemed to me that everyone in my family took on, to one degree or another, the persona of cruise director, puritanical pilgrim or anal-retentive-hun. Our unspoken, in-house motto, “All work and no play makes you a better person.” I had taken on the persona of washed up Tibetan Monk with a penchant for observation and alternating catatonia, the likes of which had to be slapped out of me by the biggest hand or loudest voice in the room.

Another leviathan on my path to normalcy was, I am a night person. And being a night person qualifies me to talk about all things night and all things dark. It’s where I do my best work. I can tell you this about darkness, it doesn’t fall, it just happens, but this story doesn’t take place in the dark, it takes place just before dark, before twilight even, in a bank parking lot sprinkled with cars and money grumblers.

People walking into and out of banks are always looking down. Some are looking down counting. Some are looking down at pieces of paper and some are just looking down at their shoes. Yes, there is the occasional upward glance, but for the most part it’s all down. I call these folks money grumblers. Not a happy face in the bunch, not even on a late Friday afternoon, not even on a payday. I’m wondering if these plebeians awaken at Dawn.

While I waited in the “SUV” for my then husband to come back with the cash I scanned the parking lot with a mind towards speculation and judgment. I often amuse myself making fun of others, but in the light of late day, when I am not at my best, sunshiny forces will often conspire and lob a wrench at my fun. This wrench turned out to be a shovel digging me deeper into the soap opera of my so-called life.

You see there was this guy whose name I can’t mention, let’s call him K, to whom I was engaged. He left me when he found someone more suitable. We will call that more suitable someone S. I loved K for 8 long and I mean 8 extraordinarily long years. Those years felt so long that I now see them as a mini separate lifetime that ran parallel to but were not actually a part of my now life, or alternatively they were a long walk on the red-red grass of hell, except for the sex part. I learned from this that when you are in Hell or on it’s needle sharp red fringe, you don’t care to notice. I mean yes, there’s that gnawing little voice always whispering, telling you to “get out!”, “get out!, “GET OUT!”, but who listens to that? Especially when there’s another much louder voice screaming at the top of it’s lungs the “exception-to-the-Hell-sucks-rules”, which we all know are, “yeah, but the sex is good!” and “He really loves me, he’s just doesn’t know it yet!”

When K hooked up with S I saw it as another betrayal in life’s little eggs nest of shitty relationships instead of the prodigious get out of Hell free card that it clearly was. And when it ended I did what any insane, heartsick, horny, night person would do. I found someone else. At first it was a couple someone else’s, you know, to ease the pain, but they were short-lived, steamy one night stands which helped me over – pardon the pun – hump into the arms of the transitional man who I would eventually marry and divorce. We will call that man R.

So there I am sitting in the truck in the bank parking lot doing what I was born to do, observe and judge. When out of the corner of my eye I see – get ready for itK and R walking out together, not looking down but up towards the middle row of cars. K peels off in an arched half circle, still muttering to R, who is heading away from me towards, you guessed it, S who is now emerging somewhat gleefully from the passenger’s side of K’s car. K, unfortunately is heading directly towards me, checking his pocket-watch, (yeah pocket-watch) which he keeps tethered on a gold chain clasped to the belt loop nearest his right front pocket. While I am astutely more interested in what R and S are doing I cannot help but notice that as K ages he takes on more and more the semblance of a leprechaun.

Now you may be wondering how it is that my X-fiance, his new girlfriend, my new husband and I were all friends. Well let’s just say that I was formerly introduced to S for the first time at my “surprise” engagement party to R. She attended with K. The party was hosted by a good-good friend of mine who may not have realized how distracted I would be at having my X-fiance and the love interest he left me for in the same room as me and my husband to be. I think her inner freak took charge and was amused in perpetuity at the prospect of me and my biggest rival meeting and this was the one and only opportunity she had to manifest that desire. Why those two accepted the invitation is beyond me.

I pay attention too much. Like a human camcorder I record visual images and store them like a CPU, but while I am in storage mode time slows down, almost stops, while life around me continues at its normal pace. So events are taking place. I am recording and all of a sudden wham. K is knocking on the window.

This is my curse. And while I knew, knew he was heading towards me I couldn’t stop myself from recording S, not right off the bat, not in a million years, not if you lit a fire under my ass, which actually happened to me once, but it was a firecracker, but anyway.

In my own defense I seriously doubt anyone could not at least notice her shirt. It was a nondescript T tucked into denims whose degree of fade had gone out of fashion many years before. You see it wasn’t the type of shirt, it was the color. Bright yellow to the yellow side, you know, the kind of yellow happy people wear. The kind of yellow cruise directors wear. Golfers sometimes wear yellow too, but not like this. Her top and bottom were cut in half by a wide brown leather belt and a shiny brass buckle. I knew by her outfit that she was an early riser.

What she was wearing paled in comparison to how she was moving towards R. I’m not sure if the words “moving towards” accurately describe her gait. It was stealthy, yes, but something about her arms was just wrong. They were bent at the elbows, upward facing, palms out, moving rhythmically in opposition to her steps, like windshield wipers clearing the air before it had a chance to ruffle her outfit. Was it a defense mechanism? I hadn’t noticed this before, but then I had never observed her in the light of day. This was the second time I’d seen her and my recorder was set on high. The hypnotic rhythm of her arms moving to and fro like blades on my windshield put me into a trance of sorts, so K had to knock a couple times before I pressed the button and lowered the window. K had managed, without my noticing to light a cigarette, on his way over. He rolled his own and as he spoke he would pause to spit tobacco. He never got it past his lips on the first try.

He said, “Hello, How are you?” Inhale, exhale, double spit. I said, “Fine how are you?” He said, “I could be better.” Spit, double spit. I said, “Why, what’s the matter?” Inhale, exhale, spit, then he whispers, “S has cancer.”

To Be Continued . . .

 

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