Laughing at the Moon

To Forgive… Devine

Grace: To Forgive... Devine

Grace.

It’s a vague concept. It’s possibly one of the most difficult concepts to grasp for a lot of people. It’s one I’ve learned a lot about – particularly in the past two or three years.

Forgiveness.

It’s allowing yourself to let go of the hurt, the fear, and the anger. It’s allowing yourself the freedom to live again, to not be ruled and oppressed by past transgressions – whether those of others toward you, or your own toward others.

Acceptance.

It’s refusal to fight when you can no longer agree. It’s the need to remember the common ground, the reasons you cared in the first place, or the reason there was even the power for someone to hurt you. There is no pain from someone who doesn’t matter. It’s a decision to take that power back and to find the boundaries that protect that, and allow you to find some sort of life again.

Reconciliation.

It’s about allowing yourself to love again, to live in the good and in the now. To find the joy in what remains in the rubble and start over from there to rebuild. It’s knowing where the limits are to allow you to keep what matters and to protect you from falling back into those destructive patterns. It’s not about reissuing the all-access pass, but it’s saying, “you matter enough to me to work through this pain and reestablish a relationship that keeps you in my life, even at a guarded level that will keep us from further hurting one another.”

Love.

It’s about giving and receiving more than what is deserved, and knowing it’s all that makes life worthwhile.

Grace.

Scraps

Tiny pieces left behind
A cup
A shirt
A sweater

Like art
Or poetry
A scrap of the soul

Immortal
Once I’m gone

Balance

It’s a new year. Everyone is doing these turning of time posts. A year in review. Resolutions. Goals. Hopes. Dreams. Prayers…

All I can think is… I don’t wanna fail. So I’m not doing any of that. I’m not setting myself up with goals or resolutions that I’m not going to come close to achieving.

What I am doing is looking at me. My tendencies. My strengths. My weaknesses. My patterns. My extremes.

I’m all or nothing. That’s me… take it or leave it. And it’s been known to destroy good things in my life to various extents.

So… in 2012, I’m going to focus on balance. Physical, mental, emotional, spiritual… Meditation, yoga, writing, and relationships… just to name a few areas. No goal. No pressure… just focus.

One word: balance.

Black & White, Shades of Gray, or Technicolor

I’ve been taking a DBT (Dialectical Behavioral Therapy) class. I started in October and will not be done until mid-December. 10 weeks talking about how to do the stuff that allegedly comes naturally to “normal” people:

• how to smile like the Mona Lisa and why you should
• how to breathe and relax to take care of yourself
• how to balance thought and emotion
• how to determine your needs, wants, values, etc. through a mental/emotional inventory and pro/con lists
• how to deal with stress, crisis, and pain through “radical acceptance”
• how to communicate effectively by listening, clarifying, and thinking through what you want to say before you say it.
• how to maintain relationships, and not allow the “little things” to destroy you
• how to be confident, assertive, and true to yourself (without being a bitch)

It’s twenty hours of my life I’ll never get back. It’s twenty hours of my life that keeps me out of the hospital. It’s twenty hours of my life that have kept me focused on growing emotionally and mentally. It’s twenty hours of my life that make me look at that list above and become really frustrated.

I’m frustrated that I’m not “normal” already. I’m frustrated that people can’t see the growth in me already. I’m frustrated that I live in a black and white world that creates the separation in my mind, when I want to live in a world full of color and depth.

Dialectics are all about the opposites in life (good/bad, thought/emotion, talking/listening, needs/wants, truth/lies, fantasy/reality, etc.). This therapy is about learning to see the shades of gray (and the colors, hues, and tints as well), to find the common ground and the balance of the two. Admittedly, balance is not my strong suit, but I’m learning; I am not the same person I was a year ago (or even a month ago). It’s a long hard road for me, but I see my destination and it’s beautiful.

Personally, I think the world would be a better place if *everyone* would learn these skills.

Releasing the Ghosts

Another collaborative piece: A friend of mine at Fusion Photography sent me one of his favorite photos and asked if I’d be willing to write something based on it. Below is the photo and the poetic ghosts it inspired. Thanks for the inspiration and the chance to collaborate, Dave.

~~~~~~~

Releasing the Ghosts

Only they can see
what lies ahead
still locked behind the walls
of things we all pretend to know
that’s made reality charade
within the cells
of what remains
long after life is gone
where so many walk
this one-way road
to freedom from their souls

Icicles

tiny slivers of shame
no evidence remains
no prints
only pain

nothing left to reveal
malicious intent
in cold icy glares
of a shaft through the heart
the dagger of doubt
disappearing at once
in the conflict and heat
cold, clear accusations
but no support
in these facts

it’s the perfect murder
with the edge undefined
nothing left here to see
but the shattered remains
in these crystal slivers
of death

The Making of a Princess

Look in the Mirror

I’ve spent a lot of time pondering the “princess” image lately. There are several reasons for this, the main one being my three year old daughter, who is firmly entrenched in the “I a pretty princess” stage of her childhood. Even as the little rough and tumble tomboy that she is, like most little girls, she knows she’s a princess.

Why does she want to be a princess? I’d say it’s cultural, and to some extent it is, but she’s never seen Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, or Snow White. She’s seen several Disney “princess” movies, but most of them are not the Anglo-stereotypical princesses. Her favorite is “The Princess and the Frog,” and today I introduced her to Kida in “Atlantas.” Those are her kind of princesses. The ones that run through the bayou or the ones who fight for the preservation of their people. The ones who have a unique beauty and a specialness all their own.

But while her definition of a “princess” is skewed a bit by her mother’s anti-cultural biases and desire to create a well-rounded world-view in her children (rather than an Anglo-centrist one), she still knows that princesses are special, beautiful, and cherished. They also get to wear awesome clothes and everyone looks up to them. At the heart of it all, whether you call it a “princess” or not, these are the things every girl wants.

My father always told me I was his princess. And frankly, every person after that who dared refer to me as such gained automatic “romance” points. Silly little thing, perhaps, but I knew it meant I was special, and irreplaceable to them. And yes, like every person on this planet, I struggle from time to time with my self-esteem. And being called a princess highlights (and fills) a small piece of that need in me and I respond to that.

But what I’ve learned from my daughter? No one else needs to call me a princess to make it true. She is a princess in her very own right, and I’d love to watch anyone try to convince her otherwise. Maybe once in a while I need to wear a pretty dress and dance around in front of the mirror to remember. That’s what she does… Often.

Tomboy Princess

Tearing

This bandage has completely shredded
It’s never been quite right
And we could never make it stay

I never was a doctor
I’m far too squiggy for that

This cure’s become the illness
Further reason for your pain
Despite intended purpose
It irritates and siphons more
Of the raw and dripping red

So much for scars
This one won’t heal
As long as I’m still here

She

She was tall and lanky. Older than me… like she’d seen a darn sight more than I had in life. She was familiar, someone I knew well, but could never describe to anyone else. Someone I nearly forgot the moment she walked away. But the only one I was certain would eventually come back.

“People come and go,” she sighed and sank down onto the bench next to me. She plucked at some fuzz and pulled at frayed strings on the sleeve of her well-worn jacket.

I nodded ruefully. I knew that too well. I reached up to brush a stray lock of her chocolate hair out of her coffee eyes and stared at her intently. There was something there I recognized – almost like it was a piece of myself I’d misplaced.

“Yeah… it’s just kinda part of life.” She pushed my hand away in annoyance. “I don’t need your sympathy. Just need to know I’m still here.”

“You are.” Even when I couldn’t see her. Even when I nearly forgot she existed. She was always there.

“Okay. You have enough to worry about with everyone else. You certainly don’t need to worry about me.”

“I don’t. You’re probably the only one I can count on.”

“Good. We all gotta have someone.”

“Yep.”

“Well, I promise. No matter where anyone else goes, I’m always gonna be here. I may be the only one consistent in your life.”

I thought about it. It was true. She really was my closest and longest friend, never far away. And every time my heart broke over someone new, she reminded me that she was here. We had a lifelong commitment and she was the jealous type I suppose. If anyone got too close or too consistent, she stepped up with the test that they all ultimately failed.

She and I both knew it was true. Abandonment was the only one who never left me.

~~~~~~~

What haunts you?

How are you?

It’s been a while since I’ve done this. Not just blogging, but sitting in front of blank screen, not having any clue as to the direction of my post. But that’s where my mind has been lately: a blank screen. I sit often and wonder what direction my thoughts will take. They wander. More than usual.

I’m tired and empty. These points in life happen for everyone. But it seems like lately, this is my life. Mid-sentence in conversation I just stop talking and blank out. After a minute whoever I’m talking to asks if I’m going to finish my thought. My answer is nearly always, “What was I saying?”

I don’t know anymore. I can’t focus. I get lost in there, and it’s scary. This is what it’s like when I shut down, and I don’t like it. I get stuck on information overload, or emotional overload, or in this case as bit of both. My brain just stops and refuses to work anymore. And I’m left with the thought of, “If you have something to tell me that will hurt me, now is the time; because it won’t hurt anymore.”

I sat on the floor of a friends’ home last night, completely shut down, fighting tears. I got in the car and cried the whole way home. Why? I have no idea. It was all just too much – and I had no real idea of what “it” even was.

So, I feel like I’m in retreat mode. I’m in hiding. My apologies for the lack of updates of late. I’ll be back again… hopefully soon.