Now that I have been writing for so many years, and I have finally gotten the fuck out of my own way, I know better than to wait for the inspiration to nudge me to my notebook or keyboard. It has taken so long for me to figure out the formula that I need to capture this crazy spool of words and thoughts so that I can intertwine the emotion that embraces them at the actual time it is happening.
Originally I started this post on Thursday, May 18th, the day I woke up to find out that an amazing and extraordinary man had passed away. I have been completely beside myself with this terrible news, this void that has been created in the world and the music industry and then to come to find out that it wasn't an illness or a spontaneous accident was even more perplexing. Based on my blog last week, which included the topic of suicide invoked by the Netflix series Thirteen Reasons Why, I am deeply disturbed and concerned as many of the thoughts and issues surrounding this particular death of this incredible person continue to raise unanswerable and alarming questions regarding the use of the medication, Ativan. Regarding the long standing effects and results of an endless and unfathomable depth of life long depression and the illusion of someone of such stature, talent, possession, influence, skill, ambition and a host of other stellar qualities can get to such an irreversible point of tragedy. Regarding situations in which I won't post here that came calling to mind and reawakened to ask me if I could clearly remember the tiniest details of conversations with strangers regarding serious issues in this realm.
I have always had a certain feeling when I heard Chris Cornells voice, truly not like the others. A strong and powerful vocal arrangement that always caught you in a grip impossible to resist. Sure, there are plenty of extremely talented and highly skilled musicians out there and my range of listening music includes almost every genre. But this one, this one was influentially amazing, from day one until the final unexplainable end. Writing, again, prolonged and enriched the lives of countless people who loved the man and the music, and all the bands and times and history of what had happened in our lives as we went through whatever we were going through. The soundtracks of our lives walked hand in hand with this particular artist. I think that everyone has probably heard "Black Hole Sun" at least once if you were born after 1994.
Now, my own writing keeps me grounded. I could easily have said, "Oh, fuck that Monday blog. I am moving in two days. It's not important, this whole shifting of our entire lives and house contents and attitudes and health issues are more important." NO. They are not. They are not less important, either. But writing, to me, is just as important. There are things I will no longer compromise because of the weight they carry within me. Because of the agitation I feel when I do not honor my promises to my creative work. Because I know, that no matter what else happens, I HAVE TO WRITE. It is what reassures me. I know better. I know what I will feel like if I don't. It's like exercise. When it goes just a few days too long, I get real antsy because I know that I never leave a session with regret. Never. I know that between writing and the time spent exercising always alters me in a positive way. There is never an alternate emotion because it has been made clear to me that they go hand in hand. That the thoughts that are purged up as I accelerate my heart rate are ones that are hidden under the silt in my soul, bright little diamonds buried and waiting for me to dive in to retrieve them. Some of them are kept sleeping in my warm ocean mind and they become paintings or poetry because there are no coherent or reverent words to properly describe them. Some of them answer questions that I have been asking for months, sometimes years. And some of the rarest ones come to save me again at just the nick of time. I have found these things that resurrect my own hope and unbalanced grace. I have found the gratitude to remind myself that no matter how tired or reluctant I become that these very important things cannot be left undone for too long or the anxiety rises like a black wave, threatening to take me down and away from the shore of myself.
So, I suppose that mourning the death of this particular artist is so very difficult because there are very true times when music, art, poetry and literature has literally saved my life. To find a publication I had saved from April 2011 with his face and name and interview inside in a stack of magazines I packed today made me hold my breath in sadness as I had never been to a concert to this yet another bright shining star of a musician that I had admired. Like Prince. Like Madonna. God, lets not talk about Madonna passing on. But I just don't see that chance anytime soon. It's not impossible, but I have my doubts.
So as I write this blog on my last Monday as a resident of Fairfield, CT, I am grateful for the many opportunities that I invite to meet up with me. I am ready to stop waiting for what I need to happen, to happen. I am ready to support the goals that have been waiting to be met for myself and my family. I am ready to take my own word for it, because I know better now. I know that doing things that I have been putting off for fearing of upsetting other people and disappointing them because I am not doing what they want me to do is no longer something I wish to be concerned about. I know that the visions I have peacefully been shown are the ones that are not illusions or lofty unrealistic ideas that cannot be manifested. I know better than to doubt my own voice because if I do, the chaos becomes a monster. The regret becomes a barbed wire around my soul and the inclination to quit while I am ahead becomes an illegitimate excuse to abandon every unfinished project, dream and goal.
As my fortune cookies (I got an extra one) tonight tell me: "The most important relationship in your life is with yourself" and "Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity"
I couldn't agree more.
Thank you for reading and see you next Monday.
xox C 333
I was thinking about this title and topic before I started watching the Netflix Series One of "Thirteen Reasons Why". As I have been doing for the most part, I have not pre-written my blogs because I feel that authenticity must be present here in this place that is my online home. I had to make sure I chronologically noted this for my own use, and for you, dearest reader, to understand a little bit about how my mind syncs up with itself and then, ultimately with you.
What a brilliant way to interrogate the living after death. To thread together a whole life of drama and emotions and mistakes in a very young life in this day and age where social media can literally kill a person. Had I been a teenager in this day and age, I would have surpassed Hannah Baker’s suicide by age fifteen. Some of you who remember when I was fifteen will remember the time I suddenly disappeared from my freshman class for ten days and was detained on the ninth floor of St. Vincent’s hospital to be watched continuously. Suicide watch. Observed by a medical professional who had a little too much interest in me being a female.
These were the days when you could make a phone call on a pay phone with one coin. I can still see a fifteen year old me watching the “others” playing ping pong through a thick glass window. I can see the Bridgeport skyline and the rushing cars on I-95 as I talked to someone who I would have died for. What an idiot I was but as they said in the piece that they played after the series was over, you don’t understand that things aren’t going to stay the same forever until much later in your chronological life.
If I were to make tapes of the way things panned out and how things have strung themselves together up until now, at this point in time and in this very city in which I grew up and have every single association filed away in sections of dark and excrutiating hallways of my soul, it would be as one of my writing instructors had once said an “unrealistic and unlikely story”. He was the reason I filed for a new instructor at that time because how the fuck did he even know how true it all was? How could he have assumed that I could have just made it up? How, as a writing professional, could he have given that kind of criticism? I guess it helped me because here I am, writing about how his influence and his opinion did not stop me from finding my authentic voice.
However dramatic someone may be, there is no way to ever really know all those things that thread together a life and its ways of expressing what needs to be expressed. If it is ever even expressed in such a way. That is why I think that expressing this kind of thing creatively, has absolutely saved my own life. You have no doubt been reading along and if you have noticed, I have been greatly interested in the lives of female poets who have taken their own lives, Sylvia Plath and Virginia Woolf. Tragic deaths and young deaths of those who had troubled lives all along. Poetic travails and ways to die that include filling ones pockets with stones and being sunk down deep in a river for weeks. Unavoidable… painful and emotional and emotionless.
My story, The Forest Labyrinth, is a kind of tape recording that doesn’t name names but it reveals the character of those who contributed to the future unraveling of my insecurities and my mistakes and my heartaches to the point of being mean, cruel, and antagonistic in my relationships. I am not giving up any names and not trying to persecute anyone, but this Thirteen Reasons Why has been a very interesting and parallel insightful journey. There are very critical parts that happened to her, that happened so eerily the same to me. I am not sure that I want to reveal so much in a blog like this, but honestly, if you knew me as a teenager, you may remember when you see it.
Objectified and humiliated, I was labeled many things. I have only truly blacked out twice that I recall very clearly. The one time I was at a party where I was not comfortable and was so drunk that I went out and threw up on a sidewalk and passed out for I don’t know how long. No one came to look for me. I drive by that sidewalk, and that neighborhood almost three times a week. I was not even legally old enough to drink at that time.
The only other time was when I was already a mother of two young sons. I was drinking in the living room one moment and then, hours later, the next day I woke up naked and in pain that I will not begin to try to describe. I was on the floor of a very small bathroom and had no idea of how I got there. I literally had to crawl out of there. I was afraid and didn't know where anyone was and when I finally figured it out, the Devil stood in front of me and laughed and lied to my face about what had happened. He was so good at it that I questioned my own sanity for a very long time after that. It was not until he was gone for some time that I figured out what had happened and my young sons had not been old enough or even awake to witness whatever had happened that left such a scorch mark on my soul.
I pushed that way deep down inside where even I could not see it. I understand why I had buried it there for so long, under a pyre of ashes of all the failed relationships and situations that had occurred to me since I was very young. Twelve was a long time ago. Twelve was the age in which I was tortured into keeping a secret that even to this day I have not completely allowed to see the light of day. In that movie, revealing such a thing to other people becomes an insurmountable mountain of pain and distress that keeps a girl quiet. It keeps a girl wanting to protect herself from all the feelings that come with being lied to and abused and forgotten. It also keeps a girl from believing in a way out that doesn't involve a vulnerability she is not willing to risk for herself.
In this spot, I watch the blowing dogwoods against the dark gray clouds and a wave of realization that some of what I have to say is going to be important to someone today. Staying silent about abuse perpetuates it. Allows it to grow into a monster. Allows it to run the Labyrinth in our brains. Like Hannah and Clay when they finally get together to talk and all she wants is for the thoughts to stop. How she runs through all the past ways that her intimacy and trust have been betrayed and violated.
I hate these old things, these old thoughts and patterns where I made so many mistakes. Where so many things happened to me that I cannot forget. These are important stories. These terrible places that remind me of those things and people, that I have to keep driving by because of promises that I had to make to a woman who made it impossible for me to trust anyone, especially myself. These people from my past that come into my restaurant and somehow they end up in my section and there I am, serving them pancakes or burgers or whatever and all I can see is a shameful version of the last time I saw them or of what happened when we used to "know" each other.
This place, this town of Fairfield, Connecticut, is my nemesis. Just like this movie has opened veins in Hannah Bakers wrists, it has opened veins in my own life where I was hospitalized for the threat of opening my own. Which, by the way, was never something I was going to do and had to do with a poem about suicide that I had copied into a journal in my own handwriting, making it appear that I was the author. At that time, I absolutely could have had more than thirteen reasons why I would have justified taking my own life. I am not going to name them out, but I had at least that many by the time I was fifteen. Freshman year was an absolute disgrace. My reputation was set there, in very strong tones.
The importance of these associations, the importance of how things are just not forgotten, the painful things that cause a humiliation and chaos so deep in the soul of people, it must not be lost in the Labyrinth of ourselves. The things that cannot be lost because we seem to be inconsolable dramatics afraid to talk about what has happened that hurt us. That it won’t be taken seriously or that anyone would even care. These things that want to be lost but that no matter what, they cannot be lost. They crop up when you least expect them. They crop up decades after the initial incidents that you can see so clearly, as if you are that twelve year old cornered in a dark place where you are threatened to be hurt if you don’t comply. That even saying “stop” or “don’t” will not cause anything to stop. That it may even cause more abuse and pain. But keeping it quiet, or not finding a way to help yourself, this is certainly dangerous. And I understand the inclination to keep quiet all too well.
My three sons and my husband are the anchors that will never allow me to take my own life. My own life is my own ship, because there are important strong things that must be said. There are important strong things that must not be forgotten because through whatever I had to go through, I was deeply protected by something I would not understand or recognize until I was punished enough. Until I had punished myself enough. I have been through extraordinary accounts of abuse and regret and not being able to explain what has gone on unless it written in such a context that it allows me be in a safe space with “Them”. Honestly, telling people certain things is too horrifying and there is absolutely no safe place for anyone when they are in that state of mind – where they want everything to end.
Hasn’t everyone wondered what it would be like to end their own lives? Hasn’t everyone wondered what would it be like to be a ghost and to see who is left mourning you? Who truly wanted you to stay? You like to think you pick those who would miss you so much, before you go. You like to think that what you will leave in your notes will help them to see how they could have stopped you. How they could have seen the signs. But would it really have happened? Would it really be enough?
That series reminded me of so many things that I thought I would eventually forget. That I had hoped I would be able to untangle and unravel and forgive. That I know will help me write in a way that heals me and that causes those things that I hate to be used in a constructive way that saves me. As I have always believed.
As I have
xo C 333
This past week I watched the series finale of Six Feet Under on Amazon. If any of you are familiar with this show, you know that it is based on the lives of a family who ran a funeral home out of their home in California. I had always been interested in finding out what it was about since it was on HBO, but way back then we didn’t have a subscription for HBO nor did we have Netflix or Redbox.
While waiting for my second son to arrive home late Saturday night I decided I was ready to watch the final episode of season five, the series finale episode. Cried through half of it, of course and then stayed awake long after my son arrived home after 1 am. Instead of being really aggravated about this since I had to be at work just before eight am, I thought about his track record and how it has changed for the most part. I began thinking about the saying, “the more things change the more they stay the same” and I thought “How?” I used to think I understood this.
Of course, there are things that stay the same no matter what. Conception, aging, energy, the way a human body functions. Sunrise and sunset. There are habits that form and patterns that run and now more than ever I feel those things both subtly and intensely. I can sense when certain people change their thoughts around me, whether we are talking or not. It is something I have been cultivating for a very long time and the more you weed out the things that strangle your figurative breath, the more you can breathe and see what is true. Judgement and anger fall away more easily. I still have a whole field of patience that needs weeding, and probably always will. A whole crop of angry red vines that still twist themselves through old cycles and pop in new ones but I see them coming now. I am ready for most of them, most of the time. But, the more things change the more they need to be changed.
It’s not enough to nip something in the bud especially when the roots go deep. I sit down to do something and someone’s random thought or opinion will stop by and sit next to me. I will think, “Wow, the last time I tried to do this I was told blah blah blah.” Then I pause and think, “Well, is that true? How does he or she know?” I realize that he or she does not know what is best for me. That sometimes people like to plant things in my gardens of thought that do not belong there. Or, they belong there for as long as I allow that person to transplant their words in the soil of my mind. Then, it is my prerogative to let them grow there, untended and out of control because something inside of myself feels that it could be true on some level. When I get to the point of realizing and extracting the truth from the actual words, the ones that come organically and thrive for me, I can go and pull up the overgrowth and trim back the excess.
You never know when someone’s words are going to stay planted and others will die alongside a ditch. It is sometimes a stranger who I meet at the edge of table in my restaurant, for a brief moment in time who will say something so profound that these words become larger than the person themselves. These words can come from amazing series and season finales that someone chose to write as an inspirational part to a script that is now over. Words are indeed the most powerful drug known to mankind. It is undoubtedly true that anything that we have ever felt horrible or awesome about was surrounded with either a garden or landfill that tore us up or ground us down. What we chose to keep growing or to kill off is a tedious job. It is a job that will never stop until we, too, are six feet under or resting somewhere in ashes upon the grass or within the waters of the earth.
There are too many times where I have allowed this soundtrack of voices to override the thoughts that I have when I have chosen to be alone. There are too many words that have imposed themselves on the situations that have manifested into cages and tunnels and caves in my mind. The only way I have figured out how to get them out is to slowly pull them up and out like tiny weeds being laid out on the cement to die. To then gather them up and use them to fertilize the new ground that needs to be broken. With proper attention and dedication, the new ones and recurrent ones can be reduced. They can be eliminated if they are choking the growth of the newer and healthier ones. It won’t happen overnight. It won’t happen by the end of the week or the month or the year. Everything has a cycle of seasons, and everything comes to an end before something new can begin. Prolonging that end by keeping everything somewhat comfortable and the same becomes a trapped feeling, like a snake caught forever trying to shed a skin, ending up immobile and blind.
The single most effective tool I have seen to help with this interior landscaping is meditation. When I mention it, people generally tend to believe they are not that type of person. That they cannot dedicate a moment to even trying to understand what it is they want to think or not think. As I have been going through so many different programs and styles of meditation, the best and easiest way to explain it to someone who absolutely wants to try but doesn’t know where to start is this:
Your mind, wiped clean and blue like the sky. There are clouds, stars, wind, the sun and the moon. These are constant things that we all are familiar with, no matter who we are and where we are. These things, thoughts, words are like clouds and stars, sun and moon. Some have a temporary influence, some are always there waiting for the dark to set in so you can again see them. Some are bright and warming like the sun and some are elusive and mysterious like the moon. They are part of you. They cannot be removed but they can be reduced to a neutral reaction the moment you say, “I see you, and acknowledge you. I know you are going to stay there no matter what, but for now I am going to pass by you and we are both going to just Be. I may see you forever or I may only see you a few more times until you burn out.”
There is no way you can stop thinking your thoughts, but there is a way to slow them down and even take just one and examine whether it belongs in your sky or your garden. Gently place them where they should be. Rearrange them to help you or leave you. You have the freedom to chose which ones stay and which ones are ready to go. You make one promise at a time and learn how to keep it. All the ways around it and through it. Write it down and burn it or write it down and lock it away until you see the change you wish to see. Move on to the next one. The hardest one doesn’t have to come first. It’s the little changes that make the most difference.
The Full Moon is Wednesday May 10. The brightness of this Flower Moon at 5:42 pm could be the best time for you to make your most cherished wish come true. You can reduce or remove certain thoughts and opinions as the Moon wanes into black, when you can then take the new thoughts you want to plant in to rich dark soil of a new phase and tend them every chance you get. But remember, you are responsible for their growth and health. You are the provider of their life best lived within you. And you are the one who chooses whether they stay or go.
XO C 333
Where I am sitting right now is one of those places where they have plugs in the base of the booth that you are in so that you can do this kind of thing. There are people and there is music and coffee and food. There is a place for Markus to play with whatever is over there in the children’s section. It is a place like this that I have yet to sit and write a Moonday blog because I figured that the sanctuary of my own house should be just that.
But its not.
So, like all things I think that this feeling of needing to leave “the sanctuary” and finish the endless list of errands for the day came at just the right moment. Just as I have truly begun to believe it is always correct, in all the lines and lures of my life and anyone who is in my life. Whether this be directly or indirectly. My choice to see into the lives of others, in whatever way that means, is indeed my choice. I did not have to come out to a public marketplace and bring my very loud son (who would be loud no matter where we are) to hang out and have a different atmosphere to construct a blog in. I could have left him home, but as I said, “sanctuary” is suspended at this time.
I try to understand how I continue to make the same mistakes that I have told others are always a mistake, such as being too friendly with co-workers. I have said it before, and I will say it again…IT IS A BAD IDEA. I always go and try to prove myself wrong with a person that I particularly like more than average, and time and time again, it is proven to me that IT IS STILL A BAD IDEA. Lines get crossed, feelings get hurt, anger sets in. So a few years ago, I would react much differently. But in the past few years, and this year so far, I have learned that it is really only hurting myself, not protecting myself as I had liked to believe in the past. That blistering anger towards myself for trusting who ever for whatever reasons, the practice of turning this into something more constructive has become a mission that I am willing to embark on. Every day.
So many people ask me how I am. Do they really want to know? Are they truly concerned? I have come to accept the answers mainly to be No and No. I also have come to accept that I need to be more concerned about how I am and not be concerned about what anyone else is thinking about me, which should always be the case. I have spent such a large portion of my life worried or depressed or anxious and since I saw a cycle end again and threaten to anger me I decided to make sure that I ended it and not let that emotion win. I ended that cycle. Even if it was only with one person, the reaction to the incident/incidents changed dynamically and in gratitude, even though painful, I was humbled and excited to see that yes, all of the writing and meditation and talking to myself was/is working. And I can’t care about how that sounds to anyone else because it is what works for me. I talked about it briefly and I set my mind to believe that whatever happened was supposed to happen. That it was all preplanned and that I had nothing to do with it, really. That is was something that had to be painful and cause me to finally be fed up with a certain cycle. And that the cycle was connected to every other part of my life that was timed out precisely down to the very second that I sit here and write about it to you.
It also taught me that the most important person to trust was going to be myself. That if I didn’t believe what I was telling myself, that everything else wasn’t going to align with what was supposed to be happening. That those feelings of “hey, you shouldn’t say that” or “hey, you should stay off social media more often” or “hey, that person is truly someone with ulterior motives” – those feelings are proving to be so uncomfortably accurate and that is how I know they are correct. That is how I know I am still wrong a lot of the time and that is how I know that I am learning at a rate that I am able to understand. For this, and so many other things, I am grateful.
There is the sliver of a crescent moon in the sky. Mercury retrograde ends on Wednesday and the Full Moon is a week from then. Things are rapidly moving towards blooming and longer days and I hope that whatever it is you are learning is serving you well.
Thank you for reading my blog!
Until soon ~
XO C 333
This changing of the seasons reminds me of new beginnings both in habits and relationships. Then something changes in a relationship that I thought I had established trust within. It could be a long standing one or a relatively new one. It comes to be one that is revealed to be a scam. It comes to be one that is a set up to determine my honesty and loyalty. And when that happens, I will absolutely shut that person down. I do give the benefit of the doubt with the person but typically, I only need about three incidents that tell me this is a pattern and not something that I am interested in continuing engagement in.
There are other variables, the top one being the energetic exchange. Most people don't realize this is going on unless you are an energy sensitive person. Much has been written about energy vampires because, even though they may not consciously know what they are doing, they do it all the same. They use their words as a manipulative way to get people to do something for them or in their favor. As a young girl growing up in a world that was very flat and plain, as opposed to the whole world wide web of realization we have now, I paid attention to anything that was out of the ordinary. I was figuratively slapped down and away from things that I wanted to know more about, things that I wanted in general. Minimal things. Emotional things. Spiritual and physical things.
All that pushing away only caused me to magnetically come back around to the source within me that says, "Hey, remember how you wanted to (fill in the blanks)"...
How you wanted to have your parents there supporting you and being present for something important to you that everyone else's parents were going to be there for.
How you wanted to be able to really trust that you would not be made to go through something really hard and scary alone.
How you wanted to say no to so many things that still to this day terrorize your soul.
We all have that, right? So many things we wanted to do differently. Some of them we finally do get to do differently. Do we do it then? When given the chance?
Someone offers to help us with something difficult and then...completely abandons it, and sometimes even does the complete opposite. The bus comes and we are thrown under it.
Well, I have been learning how to stay off that bus. I have been looking out the windows and getting out at the stop no one else is getting out at. And I am totally fine with that, even if I am walking out in the dark alone. It's what I have always known, what I have always done in a way that no one really understands, nor do they need to.
Recently I have been able to understanding where my energy is best spent and what needs to be in what place and when. It is all very subtle, and it involves a lot of talking myself down from places I have no desire to be anymore. It is a lot of time saying no to a lot of different things, and people. It also has been a lot of telling that voice in my head that tells me I can't do something to shut the fuck up and sit down.
I have been listening more than speaking and I have been hearing a message loud and clear, over and over and the more I hear it, the more physically uncomfortable I become. I am taking measures to make sure that my body isn't physically revolting against me and although I have asked for the capability to be able to feel a certain amount of energy to be used as a protective mechanism, it seems that time is running faster than I possibly ever could. This makes it virtually impossible to stay the same way I have been staying in order to be of service to those around me in the way that has made me feel as if I had to stay that way.
I don't and can't stay the way I have been staying. It is only recently that I have been shown how many strings the Universe is about to pull for me. And how many that have already been pulled. All the games that people like to play, or try to play, take them all. You can win all you want. All I know is that I am out and away from this particular playing field now and I am not coming back. I know what I am going to need to do to prepare for the next game and in that space of time I will always continue to be grateful for the people who show me who they truly are, without realizing that I needed them to be liars all along. Realizing that I need to be a liar, too. Because that's the game. And fuck it. If I don't win, at least I learn. And maybe get to teach about it along the way.
xox C 333
Time of Need
Expectancy is the root of all heartache.
William Shakespeare said it best. Expectation is also a great teacher because it can, through vast and varied disappointments and betrayals, show you the true colors and shades of light and dark in a person. As of yesterday morning, I had a whole different idea planned for my Monday blog. It is amazing how the space of just a few moments of realization can change your whole course of thinking. But this is life.
The best way to avoid disappointment is to not expect anything from anyone.
I am not here to go through a series of things and thoughts and people who have disappointment me, because I am so far away from all of that right now as the new day comes and once more I am grateful for the new time I have to work towards what I have been building so carefully. I surely have been my own share of disappointments to others. There is no one safe of sparing the feelings of this uncomfortable and sometimes crippling range of emotions.
I have been shown the truth of personalities and all the way down to the bones of some people lately, and this is something I have been working on my entire life, not only to protect myself but to protect the ones who I have put here on this earth. My flesh and blood, replicas of what is truest and the best and the worst of me. My three sons will always trump any other humans on this planet. I do not care how far away I go, or how far away they go. They will never be outside of me in the way that those outside of me are, if that makes any sense. Any mother will agree. Even those old mothers who cannot remember what day it is, or what they should be doing or saying at any given moment, they know what cannot be written or expressed. They know what they know inside of their own hearts, no matter how much it may be heavy or hardened or broken.
Easter Sunday has been a difficult day for me ever since my father passed away, almost seventeen years ago. My mother has never had another companion in her life since then. Many of you know she is suffering from dementia and now, many other physical issues have come piling up one by one. I have been a grave disappointment to her more times than anyone in her whole life probably. I have not been much of a "good daughter" until recently, in my own opinion. I have taken the responsibility of her emotional state in my hands and then have it burn me so badly that I must drop it and walk away. I truly do not want to abandon it because I am a firm believer in "What goes around, comes around."
I have lived my life believing that I never want my sons to feel the burden of my emotional anxiety and deep sadness because it is not theirs to bear. They will and do have their own internal issues and struggles and heartaches that I will never know anything about, because, unlike me, being "mother", they are spared that eternal madness and elongated emotional turmoil that comes with loving them so much that I refuse to drag them down into the depths of what they will never know or see within me. I can only hope that through my sometimes humble and sometimes extravagant displays of written emotion that they can know me far ahead into however long it takes to understand that this is done in many layers of thought, insight and the bitter interrogation of my own self. It is done in tireless reams of paper and ink and words that is the truest I will ever be able to articulate for them, what is not only inside of me, but what they inherited by being my children.
Realizing what was important and what was priority yesterday, I was sorely disappointment and deeply saddened by a trail of things that have been leading up to this one painting I have been illustrating in my mind of my expectations, and I am not living up to them for one reason or another. Mostly because there are so many painful milestones along the way. One after another, I see stakes being driven into the ground of a reality that will always be the same for us all, the pending death of those around us that we care about, or not care about. The deterioration of relationships and alliances and trust that we thought would always be there, or at least be there when we needed them the most. The expectation that people would be able to realize when these times were, or at least feel when those times were, and be more understanding, compassionate or aware. It is the expectation that kills you. Breaks your heart so deeply that you pull down heavy metal doors that you cannot lift back up again alone. Not that you would want to, after trying so hard to trust again.
So you do something simple. You walk. You drive. You turn on the radio and before you do, you say to who ever is listening, "PLEASE. Give me a sign that you hear me. That you will help me, even though I am locked in this dark place with the doors all pulled down. With thorns in my heart and sides and tears in my eyes. PLEASE."
You turn on the radio. And the beginning of the song plays softly. Reminds you of all the other times you heard it. And the tears in your eyes roll quietly down to that place in the base of your throat. You pull over and watch the sunset on a day where there is joy to be found everywhere but in your own heart. You drive by the cemetery, you don't go in. You drive by the places you have driven by literally hundreds of thousands of times, and everything looks like a stranger.
In the midst of the darkness of uncertainty, there is a place where SHE ALWAYS ANSWERS. There are empty pill bottles and hearts full of a pain that cannot be pacified by anything tangible. No one can tell another person how to help that sharp and excruciating thing inside themselves how to stop influencing their current or pending relationships. If I come across as depressed and extremely emotional, it is working here. It is coming out in the words, and it will come out in the music, and in art and poetry and it will come out. It will be part of the seashore and the forest and the very air you breathe when you are next to me. And no one can tell you that its going to be alright unless it is you. Deep inside of you, you are the only one who can know that. If you need help, you must ask. You must ask those you know are willing to help without a hidden agenda. Those who won't use it against you when you need it the most. Those who truly are on your side, who appreciate not only what you do for them, but what you are made of.
I needed help, and I asked the One I Trusted Most. And SHE ANSWERED. Over waves of the radio, She answered. Over the realization of names and words and connections that only I was meant to hear and read and see. She answered. On this broken bed with this enormous dog in the light of another Monday morning with tiny sparrows along the old azaleas and bright yellow dandelions, She answered.
And I will be alright. Over and over again I will be alright.
I am grateful, and blessed to have the anchors of my sons to keep me afloat on a ship that continues to sail on a sometimes very thick, dark, deep black ocean. It is I that owe them something, not the other way around. It is I that must allow them to have the freedom to become everything they wish for the potential to be. It is through me and my example that I work so hard to show them, that yes, they can do it. No matter how long or hard or painful it may be. Many people do not take the chances to live for themselves and allow those they love to do the same. It is there where so many little red threads to our hearts are overworked and broken. I am not like other people.
Until next Moonday...
xox C 333
Many of you know that I have been a waitress off and on for many years since I was eighteen. In all that time, one thing has not changed. When you are about to start service to a table, the first thing you ask in regards to serving is what anyone would like to drink. Top two answers: Coffee and Water. But this is what puzzles me. Sometimes I am asking if I can get someone something to drink and they say, "No, nothing. Just water."
I am a "Water" sign. I ask these deep seemingly meaningless things that perplex me to the point of an OCD mentality. When you said, "No, nothing." I think, "Okay. No drink." Then you add on, "Just water." So, Yes. You do want a drink. You want water and you want it probably to be clean water. I do have to get a cup and put ice (more water, just frozen) in it and bring it to you. Preferably with a straw. Or, water with lemon. It's those water with lemon people that truly do appreciate their water, yes? Nine times out of ten, yes, they do. But it's those people who ask for a "round of waters" for the table when they don't even know if everyone even wants water. It's those people who ask and leave the glass completely untouched. I am not sure that anyone thinks about such things like this, but as a supporter of the Poland Spring water delivery service, I do appreciate my water and I do read labels and I also do not ask for water that no one intends to drink, nor do I ask for water that no one else has agreed silently to drink. Doesn't mean that anyone will pay any attention to this, but, I am one of those people who recycles many things, many ways...and this is another one of those ways that I try to conserve what I believe is an important resource that we take for granted. Like it is an endless supply. Like the rainforest and the ocean...
I have become overwhelmed lately as my energy and intake of the conditions of the world around me has been a spinning vortex of complexity that I cannot seem to keep a firm enough grasp on. It seems that I am not supposed to, where within here lays the messages. It seems that at some point in the near future that there will be a shift where things will follow a more harmonious path because I have been saying no to all the other things that cause my body to react in vaulting stretches of stress. It truly is the small things that do add up to the biggest results, and by actually proving it to yourself, a truest realization, you do tend to see this more often than not if you are dedicated to removing the stresses from your life. No matter how painful they may be. No matter how many people or things it may involve.
Writing has been and will continue to be a driving force in my life, and always has been exactly the kind of companion I have needed it to be. I have been becoming ever closer to its magical allure and comfort to the point where I literally could crawl out of my skin if I didn't write. I become ungrounded and easily flustered if I spend too much time away from these journals and stories that I write. I become defensive about the time I need during the week to maintain the schedule I have worked very hard to achieve and am very unwilling to bargain with that time. As I am also unwilling to bargain with the time spent with my sons.
Just like the water, it is not an unlimited supply of time. It is like making your way across a bridge and knowing that at the end of it, it is the end of it. There is no extension, but there is a gate. It is there where my muse and I have been meeting far, far away from this land of internet and social media, and for that time and that unlimited supply of inspiration, I am grateful.
xox C 333
Full Pink/Wind Moon > Tuesday April 11 th @ 2:08 am
It's been eight months of writing once a week, on Mondays...with only two times where I didn't make it and wrote on Tuesday. It's been much longer than that that I have had the idea that social media is a silent killer of my energy and this morning as I scrolled through the feeds I had that same familiar feeling of sand rushing too quickly through a very fragile hourglass.
Then it was on to the emails and one came across my sight that was the sign I was looking for. So, just as I had promised to write once a week on Mondays (Moondays) in light of the creative work I was doing with my jars, I have now made new promises to other creative work that must be done . Or else.
The smallest changes and choices lead to the biggest results. I choose to not confine myself and although I love sharing the things and places and ideas and inspirations that I personally favor, I feel like a red balloon with a slow leak. My energy is sapped by images and words and ideas that seem to be none of my business. There is a gnawing feeling that I have spent too much time in too many cycles that I have outgrown and if I am not careful, I will never step away and begin the new ones that hold hands outside of the social media circles, such as in real life. Too much time spent staring into screens and comparing and having not the slightest notion of anything too far away. And besides that, I am a Scorpio, like the beloved Sylvia Plath - who was a fellow Scorpio, and who I can identify with on so many levels through her work that I am slowly going through. Enlightenment beyond the grave of her life, I find comfort in so many of the things she wrote that I got a tattoo of one of her many famous lines.
So with that, on this third day of April, 2017, I am making the change I have been saying to myself that I was going to make, at the right time. I am moving away from many things that no longer serve me, and things that rob me of energy that I need to support the creative and inspirational projects that impact my life and those I have the strongest connections to. I believe that energy goes where attention flows, one hundred percent. I believe that I have a handle on what the next steps are that I need to take and that I do not have time to be afraid to climb the stairwells that are set out before me, covered in dust and dreams that have hovered above me for years. Today is that day. I hereby refrain from random social media posts and will continue to post the Monday blog, which will not be random. You can bet on this, you can be sure I will keep my word to this, and I look forward to writing a better quality blog post, or perhaps more than a Monday blog post, but at least once a week, if you are at all interested, I will be here.
Until next Monday...Until soon
xox C 333
Monday again. A lot of people don't like Mondays. As a waitress, I have learned to love Mondays. I am grateful for Mondays. I am grateful for the business of the restaurant I work in and I am grateful that I am able to do this kind of work. It is beneficial to me at this point because I don't actually sit down often. Sitting down still makes me feel lazy, tired, relaxed. Which sometimes we all want to feel. It makes me antsy, makes me feel like I am skimping on something else that I should or could be doing.
I have also noticed a spike in my ability to feel the energy of others, and in a busy restaurant like mine, I have felt doors of energy open and close in a way that makes me actually dizzy, faint. So I now embark on alternative ways to protect my own energy and I see that the smallest changes make the biggest differences. It is important to be prepared to go into a place with so many people. It is like going to a fair or a church or a gym but the energy is very different in these buildings. In a restaurant, people come in and haven't eaten in hours, or sometimes all day - and groups of them can be very challenging. I have heard people say, "How hard could it be to be a server? All you are doing is writing things down and bringing plates and glasses back and forth." If you have half a brain, this job is not for you. You need a whole brain, patience, time management skills, a sense of urgency, ability to speak to all levels and ages and races of people without prejudice. All of this, and more, like the ability to assure and reassure, to understand and be understood - are the basic skills required for such a job. I never really understood the energetic toll until I became an energy worker on the level I currently reside at.
To embrace this way of life that I have built up around me, I see that being authentic has become a virtue. It has become a goal and I don't have to compete with anyone but myself. It has become a soft path that I walk over and over in meditation, which has in itself become the way in which I have been able to reshape and hear what I have been needing to hear, not necessarily what I want to hear. I liken this to reading my own tarot cards. They tell me the truth, and sometimes we are too tired for the truth. Lying about what needs to be done is easier. But this lying to yourself takes its toll rather quickly. Becomes this big blazing ball of barbed wire that needs to be addressed and instead of standing aside and letting it pass on by, we get trapped inside of it until we are willing to get a hurt a little bit and come out of it. The vulnerability and accountability is uncomfortable for awhile. But it passes. As everything passes. That is the only thing that is certain. That everything begun, will end.
I take comfort in this, as the transitions of many things occur. I know there is a time and season for everything, and no matter how I want to create and continue and build some kind of momentum, there are phases that cannot be ended just because I am tired of them being what they are. Just because I want to transfer one habit for another, even the smallest diversions take an effort that can build up and break down. That can hinge on frustration and fury and then futile energy that sizzles up and asks me to just sit down, relax. Which is the most annoying thing anyone can say to me.
So while I am waiting for endings and beginnings, I am listening to a voice that cannot be heard by anyone else but me, and that is going to be the one thing that saves me and helps me continue to heal. It has helped me immensely already this year, and I never fail to be amazed at the way that I am shown proof that there is a whole other way to go about this as long as I stay faithful to the creative process being shown to me. To the organic and energetic way of learning that everything I have ever asked for has shown up, in one way or another and that the realization of this is something that I only learn more about when I am quiet. When I am listening. When I am authentic.
Until next Monday...
xox C 333
Soon I will be getting my next tattoo and some people will love it, others will hate it. I have acquired a few new books recently that are helping me to consider why I am doing what I am doing, and what it is for. All of it. And I find poems coming at me, coming after me. Some so fast that I cannot capture them. Visions of things that I want to paint but have too many obstacles in the way, for their own very good reasons. Some of them are born in the fires of anger and regret, and I know that I have a blistering bad temper that has the tendency to melt things into nothing. And I hate to write when I am like that. But here I am, after the intermission of the movie I went to see with good friends and two of three of my sons. I wanted to wait again to post this until tomorrow...but the blog says MONDAY. I hate not doing what I say I am going to do, and I need to really start writing this sooner than Monday as the weekends are long work hours and I know better for the most part.
I work hard on that anger and animosity. I work hard on patience. Don't we all? Don't we all have something that enrages us to the point of doing and saying things we regret? Don't we all have things that make us so depressed and anxious that we shut down, close up and forget that we need to wake up in the morning and start it all over again? I write and write and write about all the things I am grateful for, and it's not that those things are taken for granted or forgotten, because they are most certainly not. But in those moments of complicated emotion and exhaustion, those things and thoughts and people become jagged shadows amidst the smoke that surrounds me and I cannot see through it. I am lost in my own sabotage, and even though I can hear the voices around me, what I can feel is what makes my breath get held and those feelings become something everyone can feel.
And that's why I write. Because it saves lives. Especially mine.
And I cannot get into specifics about the blistering rage that sometimes stands inside me. Subdued until something flashes at it, a dry wind that come across someones lips or someones energy. Those who know me have told me about it, and it doesn't surprise me but it does make me question its origin.
No one can stop it except me, and I'm not special. But I am dedicated to it. I'm too stubborn and deliberate to let it go but there are those steps that are on fire and the certain bridges that I thought I was not going to be able to burn that I am tired of revisiting.
So, please excuse me while I take some time to burn some shit down.
It's a messy job, and I'm willing to do it.
See you next week.
xox C 333