'The Interview with God' - A re-post

I decided to be a snot and type in just the phrase:'Colette's Grave'...

I found that *I* was the FIRST listing posted on Google NOT the actual info that would tell you about THE Colette's Grave (*checks ego*)....

*ahem*

Then I came across something that humbled me and I decided to re-post my 'original' post (verbiage below) about this powerful notion - not only of the comfort in the idea of 'talking to God' - but of the ideal of hope when everything seems hopeless; and let's just say that lately, in my own life, and in the universe to a certain extent, things have seemed rather hopeless and bleak.

Thus, this is MY personal reminder, to shut the fuck up and listen and remember who I am and where I've been and where I want to go...

*******

Amidst all the darkness, all the sorrow that has visited me lately - I found this posted on a blog where I now have the honour of being mentioned. Brewed Fresh Daily - a blog about NE Ohio (http://www.brewedfreshdaily.com ). This was one of the recent posts there...

The reason why *I* decided to post this myself is because last year, right before the holiday season, when I was 'finding out' about what my husband had done to me - to us - to himself - to our marriage, a friend of mine (and a Yoga student of mine) sent me this link...I have now come full circle to that, and so I have put this up to remind myself and all of you out there - all the people I love, all the people I have problems loving, and everyone in between - that there is hope. There is always hope. There is always love and kindness deep within each of us - we just have to know where to look for it. And while I don't want to get cheesy or corny I felt that this link conveys that message beautifully. I will post more later - but I want you all to think about this message from this link.

Be thankful. As a friend of mine said to me recently; paraphrasing a 'prayer' he had heard - we should be thankful not only for what we are given, but for what has been taken from us as well. It's all an opportunity for learning, for healing, for forgiveness, and most of all for grace. May you all find the grace in your lives that will help you to live each day you have here on this earth to the fullest. You are exactly where you need to be right now.

My love to you all,
Colette

Autumn Memories...

(Re-posting this AGAIN for two reasons #1 because I was asked to submit a sample of my writing to apply for a job (NOTE: I did some corrections in what I submitted but it is here in its original form), and, #2 Because I do love this post and it is beginning to be Autumn once again...)

Autumn Memories

(This is actually (I feel) on of my better/more literary posts - I am re-sunning this today because you can truly sense fall approaching - also because I am feeling kind of home-sick for the hills of Pennsylvania....)

I grew up in the foot-hills of the Allegheny mountain range, just near Pittsburgh PA, in a small town called Verona. I laugh now when I think of it because a long time ago on the Internet via an IRC chat room I earned the name of Juliette because some guy from Switzerland found out I was born in Verona and was ½ Italian *shakes head* those were the days….I should try and find him sometime....

My family was very poor and the town was very small so there were few rich people. I attended a Catholic school run by a group of nuns that seemed hell-bent on beating any imagination, curiosity or rebellion out of us. I don’t think they succeeded with me – I was after all, the rebel in my family and NO ONE was going to beat that out of me. For the most part, I spent my time with the other kids in the neighborhood who were also poor. Most did not even qualify for what would now be considered, middle class. We had lots to do all the time, it seemed – we were always playing, always riding our bikes, always running through the woods, hanging out at each others houses where our mothers would put up with all the noise and sometimes offer cookies and kool-aid. It was a good childhood.

The richest lady in town lived across the street from our small house in what to my mind, as a young girl, seemed a very grand house indeed – she had a vestibule, a long hall-way, that lead to a winding staircase that went to the second floor and, I am sure, many bedrooms, a parlour, a living room, a dining room and a kitchen! There was also a porch in the back that looked over her small garden. Her name was Mrs. Nicholas and she was a widow. She sticks out in my mind because my mother used to have me run errands for her since she was our neighbor. I thought Mrs. Nicholas was kindly but I did not like her much – there just seemed to be something about her that I found scary and cold, but, I did the errands because it gave me a chance to see the inside of her house and all of her wonderful old furniture. Sometimes, I would even earn a little candy money for my efforts.

I remember one evening in particular when I was sitting on the porch steps outside of our small house. For some reason I remember it being very quiet and I was not with anyone, no one else seemed to be outside. Dusk was approaching and it was late summer – you could feel a slight chill on the air and you knew your days of being out until 9:00 PM, playing and not having to get up and go to school in the morning were coming to a close. It was one of those late-summer evenings where you just wanted it to go on forever.

I happened to glance across the street to the old-lady’s house. I saw Mrs. Nicholas sitting on her porch and she was gently swinging on her porch swing. Slowly she put her hands up to her head and I guess in my absent-minded youth I had never noticed how she wore her hair before. I just knew she had white hair. She began un-pinning her hair and slowly the hair fell in long braids all around her shoulders and down her back – almost to her waist. She slowly began unbraiding her hair (I was absolutely fascinated by this for some odd reason) and when she was done – she has the most beautiful cascade of white, wavy hair creating a shawl around her – making her look like an aging faerie queen. She looked beautiful. And at that moment, something inside my 11-year-old brain signaled to me that I had witnessed something which was probably very private, something that no other person besides her husband had probably witnessed in many years. It was almost sacred.

After that moment, I never looked at Mrs. Nicholas the same way, I would go to her house without being asked to offer to help her and, I even refused her money. Somehow we began a small friendship and I would bring things to her that my mother would bake for her and she would buy items that the Catholic school would force us to sell.

Mrs. Nicholas died the winter before I moved to Cleveland; I was saddened by her passing. Not in the same way I was sad from losing my grandmother, whom I lost that same year, but more like I was losing the last vestiges of my childhood and those long summer evenings that seemed to go on forever.
Labels: Growing Up, Memories, Pennsylvania, Re-Posts

For Erin...

(These are two re-posts because I want him to know how much I still feel the same - how much I still love him - how happy he makes me - so neither of us forget just how special this love really is...)

********

The sun, moon, and stars...

I have nothing...

I have no father to give me away (nor to give permission for my hand in marriage for that matter)...

What do I bring to this marriage? I feel like a skewed version of Shakespeare’s ‘The Taming of the Shrew’ (‘Kiss me Kate’) only I don’t have the proper dowry to present to my future lord and master...

I want to give you, my love, the moon and the stars – were they mine to give…..but what I have to offer is *MY* love, my ability to be a good wife/helper/ partner; My willingness to contribute to the finances, to the work around the house, to help with the children. Yes this is all so very unromantic – but so very necessary...

We have no ‘song’ that’s ours. Songs will come on the radio that will make me think of him – of our love – but there is no ‘our song’...this does not worry me per se...

Perhaps the reason is because both of us love ‘world music’, new age music, alternative music, goth/dark-wave music….perhaps that does not lend itself to the type of ‘old standards’ our parents fell in love to.

I want to give you the gift of birdsong, of crickets singing in the grass, of wolves howling to the moon…all the sounds of harmony...the music of the spheres...the planets’ majestic symphony...

I come to you - not adorned in rubies, emeralds, and sapphires but clothed in the raiment of my heart, mind and soul.


*********

I love you, Erin

To my dear Mr. E:

I love you.

I love you with a love I did not think I possessed. I love you with my body, mind, and spirit. I love you with a passion put to use. I love you with laughter, with joy and yes even with tears.

I want to be with you every day. I want to wake up to you every morning, go to bed with you every night, and start the entire cycle over again.

Every single day, I thank God/dess for you. Every single day I am glad we met, glad I gave you my phone number, ecstatic you called me.

I have never felt so healthy, so loved, so happy. I have never had so much fun.

You are the best lover I have ever had. You are one of the best men I have ever had the pleasure to know. You are one of the most intelligent men I know. You are a wonderful father, friend, teacher, and husband.

I feel lucky, I feel blessed, I feel alive because of you.

Thank you, Erin, for all the gifts you’ve bestowed upon me – may I be able to return them in kind.

An anniversary...

(This month - actually the week of Thanksgiving - will mark the anniversary of when I began this blog...it's been through some upheaval and changes and I am going to re-post the most poingnant (well in my humble opinion) post form that first turbulent month - the month that simultaneously witnesed the end of a unhealthy relationship/marriage and heralded the return/birth of my inner voice - Thanksgiving was also when I was divorced and this Thanksgiving will mark the secon year I have celebrated with my love and when (I believe or so I've been told) he was contemplating asking me to marry him...)

********

Leaving my home

I have stepped outside to bring boxes holding my belongings to my car. I wish I could stuff my heart into one of the boxes and just leave it for a while...I am heavy, sad, tired and frightened.

I can smell cookies baking - they smell like anise and it takes me back to my childhood for a moment and memories of my mother...

Her husband (my father) cheated on her - how did she deal with all of this I wonder? I remember her devastation and her sadness - I remember her crying herself to sleep at night, missing my dad. I ache to have her hold me and stroke my hair the way she used to and tell me it will all be ok.

I put my boxes in my car and go into the house to pack up the rest of my life

Autumn Memories

(This is actually (I feel) on of my better/more literary posts - I am re-sunning this today because you can truly sense fall approaching - also because I am feeling kind of home-sick for the hills of Pennsylvania....)

Autumn memories

I grew up in the foot-hills of the Allegheny mountain range, just near Pittsburgh PA, in a small town called Verona. I laugh now when I think of it because a long time ago on the Internet via an IRC chat room I earned the name of Juliette because some guy from Switzerland found out I was born in Verona and was ½ Italian *shakes head* those were the days….I should try and find him sometime....

My family was very poor and the town was very small so there were few rich people. I attended a Catholic school run by a group of nuns that seemed hell-bent on beating any imagination, curiosity or rebellion out of us. I don’t think they succeeded with me – I was after all, the rebel in my family and NO ONE was going to beat that out of me. For the most part, I spent my time with the other kids in the neighborhood who were also poor. Most did not even qualify for what would now be considered, middle class. We had lots to do all the time, it seemed – we were always playing, always riding our bikes, always running through the woods, hanging out at each others houses where our mothers would put up with all the noise and sometimes offer cookies and kool-aid. It was a good childhood.

The richest lady in town lived across the street from our small house in what to my mind, as a young girl, seemed a very grand house indeed – she had a vestibule, a long hall-way, that lead to a winding staircase that went to the second floor and, I am sure, many bedrooms, a parlour, a living room, a dining room and a kitchen! There was also a porch in the back that looked over her small garden. Her name was Mrs. Nicholas and she was a widow. She sticks out in my mind because my mother used to have me run errands for her since she was our neighbor. I thought Mrs. Nicholas was kindly but I did not like her much – there just seemed to be something about her that I found scary and cold, but, I did the errands because it gave me a chance to see the inside of her house and all of her wonderful old furniture. Sometimes, I would even earn a little candy money for my efforts.

I remember one evening in particular when I was sitting on the porch steps outside of our small house. For some reason I remember it being very quiet and I was not with anyone, no one else seemed to be outside. Dusk was approaching and it was late summer – you could feel a slight chill on the air and you knew your days of being out until 9:00 PM, playing and not having to get up and go to school in the morning were coming to a close. It was one of those late-summer evenings where you just wanted it to go on forever.

I happened to glance across the street to the old-lady’s house. I saw Mrs. Nicholas sitting on her porch and she was gently swinging on her porch swing. Slowly she put her hands up to her head and I guess in my absent-minded youth I had never noticed how she wore her hair before. I just knew she had white hair. She began un-pinning her hair and slowly the hair fell in long braids all around her shoulders and down her back – almost to her waist. She slowly began unbraiding her hair (I was absolutely fascinated by this for some odd reason) and when she was done – she has the most beautiful cascade of white, wavy hair creating a shawl around her – making her look like an aging faerie queen. She looked beautiful. And at that moment, something inside my 11-year-old brain signaled to me that I had witnessed something which was probably very private, something that no other person besides her husband had probably witnessed in many years. It was almost sacred.

After that moment, I never looked at Mrs. Nicholas the same way, I would go to her house without being asked to offer to help her and, I even refused her money. Somehow we began a small friendship and I would bring things to her that my mother would bake for her and she would buy items that the Catholic school would force us to sell.

Mrs. Nicholas died the winter before I moved to Cleveland; I was saddened by her passing. Not in the same way I was sad from losing my grandmother, whom I lost that same year, but more like I was losing the last vestiges of my childhood and those long summer evenings that seemed to go on forever.

For My Father - a re-post

(This was done moons ago and his b-day just passed again - missing him I suppose)

********

My memories of him are far more clear than of mom.

Perhaps because I was with him through the worst days of my life at that time.

He was born with the Christian-given name Regis William and later changed it to William Regis. He was the younger of 3 brothers (he had three sisters as well). He was one of the ‘Southside’ boys from Pittsburgh. He was born into a large raucous Irish-Catholic family - my favourite memories of that side of the family seem to center around drinking and a lot of laughter. He was handsome and had the bluest eyes I've ever seen. Unfortunately I did not inherit those eyes. What’s even more unsettling (and I did not realise this until my sister-in-law pointed it out) – is that I married a man that looked a lot like my dad (and in hind-sight probably behaved a lot like him too).

My dad was a loving father. I don’t remember a single night when he did not give us a hug and kiss good-night and I don’t remember anytime that that did not include ‘I love you’ – even when I became an adult – every single phone conversation, every single visit ended with ‘I love you’. And love us he did – fiercely – as only an Irish man can love.

As we were growing up he was my 'rock' I think I can remember him holding me as a baby - walking me at night, trying to get me to sleep. I was his first born. I was his most rebellious. I was probably a lot more like him than mom. I also remember that when were little and became too much for my mom, all she had to do was say: 'Wait until your father gets home...'. I don't know about my siblings but I remember being scared to death of that threat. And, I remember very clearly knowing that he was incredibly upset when his chin would shake and somehow that worried me/hurt me/scared me more than any physical threat or yelling (he hardly ever laid hands on us...)

I have him to thank in a lot of ways for the 'bad' traits...
My irreverence, my stubbornness, my sometime passive-aggressive ways, my willingness to actually participate in an affair - and subsequently my understanding of the 'why' of those types of sins, my ability to be able to drink a Merchant Marine (that's right boys I said Merchant Marine) under the table, my love of music (ALL KINDS), my appreciation of literature, my love of the Celts...and all things Irish.

In him I saw unfold the depths of sorrow when my mother died, and the depths of his desperation and guilt as he descended into alcohol to 'numb' his pain. In other words, his frailty and humaness shown through and because of it I learned about forgiveness and compassion.

Eventually we made our 'peace' with each other and I respect how he was able to be a good and loving father despite what surely was disappointment in some of my decisions - he's the one who ultimately taught me you can't live your children's lives for them - nor can you live vicariously through them.

Because of him my 'baby' brother is one of the best husbands and dads I know. Because of him my other younger brother is an honorable man.


So here's a toast to you Da - because there's no point in praising an Irishman without a wee sip - I love you, I honour your memory. I am glad you were my dad.

'Moon'

You are the breath I take...
The dreams I wander through

The soft moon...
as it shines down upon the waters of stillness in my soul.

'Fade Away...'

come be by me
for a little while

just don't forget me...
after I fade
into the twilight
and become that time
when all does stand still
within the space of a breath
a single beat of a heart

Just because...

(another re-post from last year - yeah my ego needed a good spanking...)

(and just as an aside what the fuck is the matter with the 'Edit HTML' and 'Compose' function???? Anyone else having a problem?)

*******

Just because....

ON BECOMING.....

...an Ancient Goddess, an Earth Mother, a Tantric High Priestess, a Faerie Queene, a Pirate Queen, a Celtic Witch, an Italian Bella Donna, an American Woman...

I am the one who will challenge you to think on your own two feet, the one who will make you question all you know to be 'right' and 'wrong', the one who will mesmerize you, tantalize you, possess you and strip you of your sense of fear, letting you fall, only to catch you again and lift you up.

I will share with you if I so choose, befriend you, be loyal to you and protect you; fight like a tigress to defend you and keep you from harm.

I will not: wait for you to catch up, suffer fools gladly, brooke with liars, cheats, or pretenders, people who are rude, inconsiderate, or unkind....

I am intelligent, creative, sexy, funny, disarming, sarcastic, witty, bitchy, geeky, confusing, loving, romantic, spontaneous, flirty, vivacious, voluptuous, serene, compassionate, and charming...

I expect: honesty, loyalty, intelligence, kindness, compassion, integrity, and guts.

I've had lovers, more than one at a time for time immemorial, but now will choose to have only 'one' by my side and if you are my consort, you will know the depth of my passion, my fire, my desires. I will take you to your edge, I will make you want more, I will satisfy your every need, whim and desire. You will be mine as surely as I am yours...you may not even know what hit you - but you will know my love and you will know it has no bounds

Recalling

That 'new car smell' of love (post from last year)

********

Love is blindness....

I don’t want to see....

*sighs*

I suppose there’s a reason why this stuff is referred to as ‘the tender trap’ for I feel a bit trapped indeed.

I have so many emotions whirling around inside of me these days. Sometimes I don’t even know which end is up.

In all that has happened to me since the demise of my marriage I think that part of me forgot what it was like to just date someone. Let me tell you it’s NOT like riding a bike (not with this guy anyway).

I am falling there is no doubt about it, falling faster than my own personal velocity is used to or feels capable of. I need something to stablise me (I don’t want it to be him, though – although he IS very stable) - something so that I can keep my wits about me – because I feel like they are turning to jelly right before my very eyes.

Typically we are often told to not put our eggs in one basket when it comes to things like this. I could become a ‘modern’ woman – a player. I don’t want to – it’s that pure and that simple. I like this guy. I like him A LOT. In fact it’s actually scary how much I DO like him because I just don’t go for guys in this manner. There is so much to him and it keeps revealing itself – a lifting of the veils. I feel this is as close as I am ever going to get to seeing someone’s soul. The closeness really takes me by surprise. I never thought I would want to be this close to anyone ever again. So I am feeling a bit off-kilter from the force of this and the quickness of it as well. I keep telling myself to ‘slow down!’ (screaming it at myself actually), but I don’t seem to be listening.

I am happy, really and truly happy. I have not felt this happy in years. I mean from the end of my marriage on – and that’s 4 friggin’ years! Oh and don’t get me wrong, I’ve been happy – but not like this.

He does things to me (*laughs* not THOSE things you pervs) – he makes me think about things – deeply, he makes me giggle (that’s right I said *giggle*), he makes me want to be calmer (for all of you out there that know me, truly know me, this is HUGE), he respects me, he honours me, he is truly a wonderful person inside and out – he is rare and all those things I never thought I’d find. I feel I’ve met my match. And, not to be cliché or quote stupid movies: he makes me want to be a better person and he had me a ‘hello’.


I said I was not going to post much about this on here but I had to post this. Because this is the old Colette talking as well – yet it’s the new Colette. I want this to be here in this forum for it’s part of me, of who I am, of who I am becoming, and I know I want to share this with the world and scream it from the rooftops cause that how excited I am to be involved in this.

There aren’t going to be names, or ‘gory’ details but just the ‘update’ which a lot of you deserve and I want to thank all of you for all of your support when I was going through my darkest times – for that I will always love all of you – you have no idea how much you all mean to me.

So thank you AGAIN from the bottom of my heart – which is now brimming over with joy.

As ever,
XOXOXOXO
Colette

Tracings...

...from my past.

This is a repost from 2 years ago - I don't think I did a re-post this month and this one is especially haunting.

###############

Tracings of memories

Trying to figure out meaning/reasons why it is so important

*********

It is a street. Like any other, only HE lives here now. Amidst the constant barrage of noise, crime, poverty, prostitutes, dilapidated buildings and used-up people..

He does not wonder how he got here. It's all tied up with his desires; a seemingly endless stream of them that he can't or won't control.

First came the girl, then the couples and then finally, the men. But, it was the girl that was the undoing of 'HIM'. It all swirls in his head and becomes a blur - he's hurt people because of this, people he held dear at one time. His marriage fell victim and all of his best intentions could not keep it from falling apart.

He can almost catch a glimpse of the monster - out of the corner of his mind's eye - it taunts him.

*****************

Do we drink to remember, or, drink to forget,
or do we drink to drown our sorrows,
knowing...the tears we do cry...
traces of memories, will never really
wash our souls clean.

He pines for her, but she
has left his orbit now...
I long for someone whose heart
belongs to another - far away.

He gives me a soundtrack
to his longing, hoping, maybe
I'll grow into HER somehow...
or perhaps the secrets
hidden in our hearts are just
too much to bear, so
we only share them with
the dangerous ones...

I will transpose the songs
for you, out of my longing,
and hope, maybe this
will bring you to me.

Because I am willing to
give up - to not insist,
will I never have you?
If I never give up,
If I won't take no
for an answer, will I
finally break your resolve?
or bend you to my will?
What would be left then
of you? of me? of us?

I will take the songs
of longing from him,
about her, his memories
are secrets only he holds...
and I will give them to you -
purging myself of his sins,
that are a brand of fire
around my heart, and the
memories I create,
will linger in you
so that when
I finally do leave,
the memories will be the
tracings of MY tears

June: Summer's Song

This is a re-post from last year, June.

My, my, what a difference a year makes.

Last year at this time my relationship with my son was sort of in shambles. My 'love life' was non-existent. Getting my teeth drilled sans Novocaine was preferable to dating.

Things were not going well and I took a break from everything. From writing (on this blog), from dating (stick a fork in me - I was done), even in some ways, from my responsibilities as a parent. I was burnt out. Drained.

I was not looking to find 'love' per se. I was tired, spent, at cross-purposes with my very 'self' and, as you can see from this post below, a bit disillusioned with 'romance' in general.

So I took a blog vacation and decided to begin rediscovering myself, and, in the process, on June 24, 2006, I met the man of my dreams (and hopes).

I am never going back to that dark place/space again - no matter how this love turns out - I know I am strong, vital, and capable as a human being. I don't need another person to define who I am - having a person who compliments me, makes me the best Colette I can be - that's amazing - but not necessary. It's a gift, from God. I am blessed and I will continue to be thankful for all that I have in my life. I've learned a lot about myself over this past year and I can finally say I am happy that I've managed to come out complete and whole on the other side of the abyss.

Love and hope to you all.

C~

**************************





Cloud Zero

...and it all comes crashing down...

But not without a little 'push'...

Why would I allow someone to take me anywhere that high?
When I know that the only way back is down...

Like the day I poured my heart onto the sand only to lose it in the roar of the wind - although it felt good to let the words slip off of my tongue...

Does attraction only work like a magnet pull - is that WHY we call it attraction - because it has to be mutual in order to function properly? Must be, otherwise, as someone said to me 'everyone would have been married to Paul McCartney in the 60s cause he was so cute'...

Not me, I'd have picked George...

And why do they call it 'Cloud 9'?

I am tired of my own heartsong...time to change the tune.

Reposting II

(This is a reposting from last year - there was a lot to choose from....it's long and rambling kids...but than hey - welcome to the world inside my head ^_^)

"What is Love?"

(LOL – great now I have the song going through my head - was it the movie ‘A Night at the Roxbury’ that breathed new life into that one?)

It’s amazing to me all the convolutions/evolutions/permutations we go through as humans when it comes to this (I’ll call it a virus; because to me that’s what it seems like).

LOVE.

What would we do without it? Part of me thinks we may be a lot happier – part of me knows truthfully we would die without love in our lives – in some form.

What of love?

I remember reading the little tart’s writing where she wrote something like ‘They don’t let you love enough here’

WTF does that mean? Does it mean that one should be allowed to love without discrimination, hurting anyone that gets in the path of their supposed love. And how can it be called love if it harms others involved. Is it that their love because it’s so lustful, so hot, so flavour du jour, is the ONLY love that matters? What of love and loyalty to family; to someone that you took vows with? Does that love not compare somehow – is it diminished because the hubby can’t get it up for his wife any longer?

I used to think it was OK to love more than one person at a time – I still think it’s OK – heck I think it’s natural – but oh the heartache we set ourselves up for by doing that.
I’ve talked to people about this and tried reasoning it out somehow in my head and I’ve come to believe there is no reasoning with the heart – the heart wants what the heart wants, the hell with the head. We set ourselves up for this you know...

Like Mr. Hess remarked we should have ‘renewable/negotiable contracts’ between each other so that parties can enter arbitration yearly instead of being stuck in a loveless/sexless marriage (or is that just the latest pick up line guys are using these days?) ; I’ll get an e-mail msg ‘Hi C – would love to meet you – I am ‘stuck’ in a loveless/sexless marriage and my wife and I have a ‘don’t ask/don’t tell’ agreement – I’d LOVE to meet you’ or ‘My wife just doesn’t understand me’

Yeah ok buddy, I’ve got news for you – she doesn’t want to understand you – is that your excuse for cheating?

Is it any wonder I feel the way I do about this shit. I feel like I was born at the wrong time, that I am too romantic, old-fashioned, stuck in some mind set that won’t allow me to somehow let go.

Margaret Cho remarked in one of her live acts that she wanted a ‘Henna husband’.
I do too. Wouldn’t it be nice to just ‘wash that many right out of your hair’ when things get bad? But then what happens when they get under your skin? What happens when no matter what you do – they won’t go away – they haunt you – and does that really ever happen anymore? Do *I* have the ability to get under a man’s skin anymore? I kind of doubt it – and is that the ONLY thing I will be satisfied with – cause I want it all –otherwise why bother, I’ll just end up bored out of my skull...

*yawn*

They’re all so blatantly pedestrian and boring...no fire, no substance, no edginess, no willingness to just let it fly, it’s all about the ‘comfort zone’ or pretending to be anything but – yet in reality when faced with the danger, the possibility, the fear takes over and off they run screaming for their mothers, it’s absurd and ridiculous and I am tired of all of it completely.

They are threatened by my stances, by my anger, by my unwillingness to be anything other than what I am, they don’t hear me when I talk (or rant) – they think I am nagging, negative, complaining, bitchy or bitter – ah I see but when it’s a man it’s turned around somehow, and suddenly instead it’s viewed that they are aggressive (but in a good way), capable, able to get the job done, no nonsense etc. They want someone safe, not challenging, not intellectual, not confrontational, or aggressive (as a woman that is - cause that’s somehow that's a bad trait in the ‘weaker sex’), and certainly not someone who is going to ‘fight back’ – and perhaps I can’t really blame them – but, what’s absolutely hysterical to me is yet they don’t want it boring either….BE CREATIVE – but only in the confines of the bedroom….

Passion to me is something I wear on my sleeve – it’s here for the entire world to see a la this medium – my home here on the internet – it is here I come to whisper my secrets, my fears, where I rant and rave at society, the world in general…it’s where I expose myself, become self-deprecating, morose, bitter, sarcastic, sad, self-recriminating, it’s where I take a good look at myself and try to figure things out. It’s ME I am ME – how about that – strange having someone truly be themselves without apology isn’t it? It’s not meant to be fodder for anyone else – yet the entire world is fodder for me to write about...unfair huh? Too bad.

I have loves in my life. A lot of them are still ‘around’ they are wrong for me – I for them – some are actually a detriment to my health. Some are unrequited – I will never be with them because either I have some weird moral code or they are in love elsewhere. *laughs* it’s like the J. Geils band song ‘Love Stinks’ : “You love her, but she loves him And he loves somebody else, you just can't ever win…”

We drive ourselves crazy over something that began as a biological imperative and has now turned us into horny, lustful, dissatisfied, bored, complacent, irresponsible dullards. I don’t want to go back to the ‘way things were’– mainly cause I’ve no reason to bear children anymore – I LIKE ROMANCE, but I will say this for being ‘scientific’ and unflinchingly brutal about it – at least it was more honest and at least our feelings didn’t get so hurt.

In tribes it was (and for all I know still is) – acceptable for the chief to have his pick of women and for him to father many children with different women because the blood-lines, the best of the genetic make up were passed on and, since he was the ‘leader’ supposedly the bravest, the best/the crème de la crème, well that was all for the betterment of society. It somehow became not the thing to do and suddenly we sprouted 'morals' and needed a ‘God’ and thus became civilised - but really after all this time – and all I see on the Internet, on TV, in the movies - have we?

Affairs of the heart have gone on for time immemorial – they always will. Kings have gone to war, abdicated their thrones all for the love of a woman; possibly a woman that was forbidden. Is that really romance, or is that the folly of a fool? Empires crumbled, art was created, books, music all manner of tributes paid in the name of love – so what is it that keeps us going back for more after we feel like our heart has been torn to shreds and we are numb inside. Is it fear of loneliness? Is it because we figure we’ll finally ‘get it right’ this time?

Beats the hell out me – this is more a rambling, probably incoherent attempt at some half-assed introspection. I’ve said time and time again I’d like someone in my life – but maybe I’d just be better off getting a dog – cause I am just not up for, nor do I have the energy for, the games or the stomach or gumption to take on all that risk anymore….part of me is simply beginning to feel it just isn’t worth it at all. Romance was probably just a figment of my tattered imagination – something – perhaps an ad campaign, crafted long ago by a genius to keep all of us distracted…and like the faerie tale it is *poof* after a while it disappears like so many childhood memories, never to be recaptured.

Reposting(s)

(These are both from 2 years ago)

(This one because things with my son have gotten better and I want to remember and reflect)

For my son...

You know what...

I don’t have the strength
for this
I don’t want to
watch you hurt yourself
I can’t

I’d like to say
I am strong
But, I am not
Not anymore
I used to be

I used to be one of those
Lioness creatures
The ones that roared
And clawed and fought
Now I roar
But it’s impotent

I know
You think
you’re all grown up
But you’re not

You’re a boy still
A boy/king
Who can’t admit
He needs his mom

You want your freedom
Soon I’ll have no say
I suppose that’s how
Life is

And I’ll be
Left with memories
Of you
As my baby

I will cling to them
But they won’t
Sustain me or
Squelch my fears

And someday
When I am gone
I hope you will
Remember me

And all the times
I held you close
Trying to keep
The world at bay

********

(This one is also from 2 years ago - about writing)

“My dear,

That is precisely WHERE the beauty comes from - in being able to disseminate the ordinary, day-to-day bullshit; to write about it and shed light on it, and draw others into the actual simplicity, and mundaneness - and yet show just how important and beautiful those simple tasks can be - someone counts on us to do them...and, by writing about it (in all it's tediousness), Ms. Sarton HAS managed to get around to doing the IMPORTANT thing.

Our daily lives, our loves act as the colours we use to paint the canvas that is our history. Crafting words about your life, your vision, is your gift, your talent.

Even if you were to go and dig ditches, your gift of being a great writer would still be there - under all the dust.”

This is a comment I left on a friend’s blog. He is a great writer. He is a great person.

I was commenting/responding to something beautiful written by May Sarton (another great writer). What Ms. Sarton wrote struck a chord with me too…

“There were moments … when it seemed that all one could be asked was just to keep the ashtrays clean, the bed made, the wastebaskets emptied, as if one never got to the real things because of the constant exhausting battle to keep ordinary life from falling apart”

I remember when I decided to write (years ago) – I don’t know what drove me to want to do it – perhaps the ‘stories’ built up in me over the years and wanting to somehow let them out, like steam escaping from a kettle too long on the stove…

I asked a very accomplished friend about writing (she was a great person, an actress, a ballet dancer, a writer, a mother late in life (her early 40s)...her advice about writing was simple.

“One writes, by applying one’s ass to the seat of one’s chair and writing…” I’ve carried those words with me ever since – not knowing quite what to make of that advice. Until I began this blog...

So it’s become for me in a lot of ways a path down a road less traveled – a life less ordinary (not to steal book names here), something of quiet introspection to try to find a pattern so I can break some of the endless cycles I find myself participating in. Yes in some ways I’ve lived a ‘wild life’ – but I am not always sure if that makes it worth writing about – *laughs* - or worth reading for that matter.

What makes something worth writing about? What makes a writer worth reading? Like beauty – is it all in the eyes of the beholder? Does my writing make you want to read more – or make you feel like I should put down my pen and go dig ditches (*laugh*)

The times when I face this blank page and begin to set the words upon it – like painting a canvas, the paper awash in the colours that comprise my story/my life – almost like my life blood spilling out.

I used to hear stories about writers block. People who would face the blank page with terror and not joy. Most of the time I was hearing this from my ex – he seems to have felt his ‘sickness’ robbed him of his ability to write (while simultaneously complaining that the meds made him feel numb and unable to reach the place where his creativity lived) – I can answer to neither statement. Fortunately, not being afflicted in such a way.

I know that when I write – a lot of times it is a way for me to keep things in perspective, to go deep inside and try to somehow decipher all those feelings – the inner workings of my psyche. I don’t feel terror – I don’t always do it in joy.

I write because I HAVE TO WRITE. I hear that from a lot of writers too….

Sometimes I think the stuff I write is ‘dreck’ oozing from my pain and hurt like so much pus. It’s not worth reading. Yet somehow I have a bit of an audience. But that’s not why I keep writing. It’s something I know – it’s a part of me – I can no more rid myself of my inner voice than I can the body I am currently inhabiting – that is without ending my life. I don’t know if I will always be this way. I don’t know if this is a gift or an ‘affliction’ – it’s something I know in my heart ad in my soul.

It’s like the way I know the person I need to be with is going to be like me in such a way that I won’t have to explain WHO I am or WHAT I am talking about. The same way I know deep down I have a mystical/spiritual/magical side that is part of the person I am – undeniably part and parcel of ME. It illuminates and pierces the darkness, allowing me to find that small part of joy within the deepest depths of my sorrows. That which cannot by science or medicine be proven but is there all the same – like my breath – something that is a constant whisper in the back of my mind, yet part of a greater consciousness.

One more...

(Re-post: About this one - this was written after dealing with a 'cancer scare' and I hope and pray none of you ever have to go through anything that frightening)

********

Feelings...good, bad, indifferent

It’s hard to know what to focus on when my mind seems so scattered...All my training, all my study of the disciplines that should help me (yoga, meditation, deep relaxation, visualization) seem to fail when I need them the most.

I can help students, most of them are perfect strangers to me, but I can’t seem to help myself and the more I try to *relax* the further out of reach the ‘peace of mind’ seems – there’s a detour on the path of my own tranquility.

My seated practice has suffered mainly because I’ve been in so much pain I can not sit – my neck, my shoulders, my knees, my hips – I feel like I’ve become an old woman before my time...I creak, I crack, I pop and at once I am frustrated as well as sympathetic to some of my students with similar physical ailments.

I just feel like the days blur, I am going through the motions and I don’t even have a clue – numbness just takes over...

Last night I was at dinner with Mr. C and I got to talk to him about how I feel - like I have always had to be strong and I am tired of being expected to be that way ALL THE TIME – even most of the time...why isn’t it OK to stop, to not fight? Who is this fight for, me? Who is it ever for? Is it selfish of me to want to just stop?

Once, when one of my dearest friends was faced with a serious illness (she had colon cancer and they missed some of it when they removed it and they did no radiation so it spread to her bones – awful just awful) – she was being treated with chemo, well chemo is toxic, very toxic and most of us are affected by that but it was nearly fatal for her – she was being poisoned and she had to be hospitalized and the things she was going through at the time were just horrendous and I remember one phone call early on where she called me crying and began talking about how she wanted to die – really wanted to – she needed to talk about THAT feeling with someone because her kids just would not listen to her – she wanted to talk about her own funeral. It was (and still is) one of the hardest conversations I have ever had to have with a friend, but I listened, why? Because I OWED her that much – she was my friend – she was my sister at heart and with that conversation it dawned on me and I’ve never forgotten that we have to remember it’s OK to live with those feelings too – it’s OK to ALLOW your loved ones let go – the ONLY reason we don’t want them to ‘give up the ghost’ as it were is purely selfish on our part – we will miss them – we don’t want them to leave our universe…not realizing that they will always be with us, in our hearts, in our minds, in our intertwining of spirits that makes us all a part of something bigger...something sacred and joyful...something that can never be taken away.

The 'Do-Over'

(Re-post from March of last year - funny the difference a year makes in the way you look at certain issues):

********

Meanwhile, back at my ego....


...and it occurs to me that I’ve been neglecting my *real* writing (trying to ‘chronicle’ my life my ‘adventures’) and instead have just been ranting about life in general….perhaps my writing is ‘escapism’ and right now I want the nitty-gritty-day-to-day bullshit so I don’t have to look at a blank page – and it’s not writer’s block for me – I can more than spew crap out onto the blank page – but that’s just it I don’t want it to be crap – I want my writing to be well, good...it’s the insecurity of it all and I think a lot of people who write think their writing isn’t all that great (unless you are Stephen King or -insert name of writing egomaniac of your choice here...), it’s like painters, sculptors ANY artist – one feels one could have always done better...been more brilliant.

I have part II of ‘My Carnivale Season’ put together I just need to finish it up and post it...I don’t know what’s keeping me from doing so...

***************
...and I’m lonely – I want to date – it’s crazy – I can’t stand the way most people try to contact me via the dating web-sites (that I have basically decided are worthless) – I mean the arrogance, the stupidity, the vapidness, the looking-for-the-next-missus crap; it all kind of blurs together. When I do find someone that I think might be worth pursuing they have things in their lives that really set off alarms for me – like young children (OK I am not trying to be a bitch here – but I am not going to raise another child – I am divorced from a guy who was a child masquerading as an adult – and if you think it does not impact me to be dating someone who has young children, think again...just not up for it, not at all), or they come across as too materialistic, or not financially responsible enough, or so *yawn* boring with no creativity to speak of and then I begin to wonder if I should avoid artistic and creative types, or...and so on.. There's just tons of things...and while I am no picnic myself at times – I think I deserve at least someone I can get along with and with whom I can find some chemistry...and I realize by meeting them in-the-flesh vs. the computer I have just as much a chance of finding out unsavory things down the line (which is why the computer appealed to me in the first place) but I am not getting anywhere on the Internet (and it’s bad – it’s awful out there – but then I get the feeling it’s awful dating no matter what and I’ve been told as much)...

So I keep saying this – I am going to try to just get out more and meet people – go to the gym, work out (but I think that’s a bad way to meet people, it feels like a bar sans the alcohol). Also, I’ve signed up for a ‘Progressive Date’ event where you meet like 30 people in one evening and I am sure I will be overwhelmed by this but hey it can’t hurt, right?

I just don’t know what’s going on out there – and I get the distinct feeling there are guys out there who feel EXACTLY the same way I do but I don’t know where they are or if I am ever going to meet them…and if I don’t it’s OK – it really is – I don’t want to come across sounding desperate...because I am not – this needs to be right for me…

*****************

Then there’s the dreams, dreams at the edge of periphery, of stillness and shadow, or of hushed moments highly charged and erotic, the feel of flesh against flesh, but not being able to see who’s touching me nor who I am touching; it’s like there’s a veil between us and it’s lifted only for the brief moment of ecstasy and then becomes a wall again; glimmer of a woman, sighs, silk, sensual lushness, urgent yet languid and luxuriant...almost a waiting till it reaches a heightening crescendo and then just as quickly it’s gone..I feel I’ve been touched by the spirit of my own restless sexual energy; it’s a moment most intimate, a tantric episode, that lingers, taunting me with the promise of things to come...

...but what?