Audible Walk

As he strums his guitar, chords and melodies headed nowhere, I realize that my listening pleasure is based on hearing his "audible walk."

"Wanna take a walk?"

"Where?"

"Anywhere."

"Okay."

It's a pleasant time interpreting what he's seeing based on the tune he creates.  Just pleasant?  Yes, just as a walk meandering down a path is pleasant enough to take again and again.  After all, a path can only be well worn because travelers must take it or because they choose it continually.

Were I to examine the path/tune too closely, I might not be enamored with its details.  Instead, I trust it to take me somewhere or nowhere...the journey is truly the only destination.

"Ready to go back?"

"Okay."

"We should do this again."

"Yes, I'd like to do it everyday with you."

But You Look So Good

It's the time of year when my friends are taking part in the BikeMS treks across the nation.  Although they love cycling, they sacrifice their bums to cycling 50+ miles to raise money in the hopes of a cure for MS (Multiple Sclerosis).  So a big shout out of love to Mary Beth and Yvette.  Your efforts are no small feat of support but a continual warm spot in my heart.

It's the only time of the year that I really urge people to look at this disease; if something interesting passes the news feed, I'll share it but mostly, I don't haul it into the daylight.  Because I just don't want my friends and family to really associate it too much with me.  Because the stories can be horrifying and sad and it seems needless to burden others with this chronic bitch that can't be cured.  It just rises up at the most inopportune moments and in comparison to other diseases I just feel damned lucky that the "S" I pulled out of the barrel was MS versus ALS.  I appreciate how lucky I am to have this auto-immune disease; it's not going to kill me but it will annoy the hell out of me and probably shorten my life...but so does lack of exercise and smoking!  Smiles...I exercise and don't smoke. 

In fact, after the initial shock upon diagnosis eleven years ago, I decided to make concerted efforts to keep the odds on my side.  Oftentimes, I receive private messages asking how this happened to me because the sender is experiencing odd symptoms themselves.  Yes, if you're reading this and was one of those MANY folks, I'm happy that I haven't heard back from a single one of you that you also have MS.  And that is the absolute best news.  Except some of you have told me that you've contracted some other auto-immune disorder and for that, I'm sorry.  It seems to be the "trending" ailment in the news with a lot of study going into WHY so many of us have bodies that fight themselves. 

MS means multiple scars and I have them on my nerves which sometimes makes me smile as I tell someone they're getting on my last nerve (rare because I'm kinda sorta nice) and I'm a jokester by nature.  So I have scars that show up on MRIs as bright little stars that twinkle back at me while they destroy the myelin or fatty tissue insulating my nerves.  After they've done their damage, they disappear except like just like in space, they evolve into black holes and that's bad.  That means my poor old gray matter will never again be able to use that pathway to tell my body to do something.  Fortunately, the brain is really good at finding alternate routes and if I participate in the process by being continually engaged in "brain active" pursuits, I can keep many trails open.  Trailblazer.  Yes, that's me.  Sigh.

Although I was diagnosed eleven years ago, MS was already insidiously working on me.  I just didn't know it and made excuses for the odd things that occurred.  I still smile remembering that first occurrence which might make me a saint or just stupid for laughing about it now.  I had arranged a night out with two friends, Mary Beth and Iva Lou, to see a musical.  They hadn't met before so in the driveway as the two came together, I blanked on their names...both of them and just said, "Hey, you two introduce yourselves."  They didn't know that they were also re-introducing themselves to me.  I was rattled the rest of the evening but put it away as evidence that I must be over tired.  And I was always tired, a hallmark of MS but also of young mothers with busy lives keeping their families organized and happy, etc. etc.  I have a name for that strange incident now and it's become a real ass of an annoyance in my life.  It's called Name Aphasia in the MS world but I have a few other of those aphasias popping up now.  FYI if you want to explore it.  Yes, it still rattles me as in the first time I forgot the names of my children or dear friends or any of the wonderful NAMES that I never want to forget.  And NO, you don't have this type of aphasia even if you do sometimes forget someone's name.  It's a chronic issue and I laugh it off in public as me being "menopausal" or "old" or...you get the drift. 

I'm not a young mother trying to keep everything humming along but exhaustion is still my companion.  And NO, you may be tired due to your life or your own ailment but MS tired is truly different.  In the early years, I could nap it away, caffeine it away, just fight through it.  Now, my body steps in and starts making parts of me numb if I don't stop to rest.  That's kind of hilarious at times such as when I'm exercising and my knee just decides to stop listening.  Or, regular stress and a bad angle can make body parts just turn off.  My dentist has to prop my chair up periodically so my arms wake up which is annoying because really, that's when I want my mouth to go numb.  Again, I try to laugh these instances away but the more they appear, the more I fret and often have to push myself into the world; I know how easy it is to convince oneself that "not doing" is the better option.

So I keep doing.  A year ago, I took a fabulous trip to Australia and southern California.  It was so wonderful and EXHAUSTING.  My system took a hit for a few weeks afterward but it's always worth it.  The key advice I was given by a counselor once:  "If you want to keep moving...then you have to move."  It's good advice for everyone.  Stand up and move even if it's a shuffle for your body or your mind.

I've opened up about this because I want to put a familiar face to MS.  Will it make you donate to an auto-immune cause?  Maybe.  Will it make you reassess your own health?  Hopefully and if you need to make positive changes, please do so because even if you aren't having any issues now, one day you are going to have to struggle against something.  Health is like that...fleeting in its instances of good and bad.  Will this cause you to reconsider how you treat your friends with an ailment?  Let's hope not until you have a conversation with them as in how they might want a change.  They may not.  I know I like how all my friends and family deal with me as an MS-er.  They laugh and sometimes cry and still want to keep hanging out with forgetful me. 

It's the strangers who say things like, "But you look so good" that give me pause or "I forget names all the time" or "I'm tired all the time, too" as if they might be rationalizing what is going on with me....  It's a defense mechanism because no one wants to see others suffering and we want to play down symptoms as being normal.  MS isn't normal.  But I smile and go on and no longer try to explain why it's different.  Instead, I've written this in the hopes that when any of you see the cycling warriors at BikeMS on the roadways, in the parks or near your communities that you will at least stop and cheer them on.  They're hitting the pavement for your friend and perhaps for someone even closer to you because sadly, auto-immune disorders are growing in their prevalence, not going away. 

And we want it go away.  Trust me.  Because "I look so good" by fighting against this daily for eleven years....

Hardened

My body and heart began aching in November.  It seems that a month centered around giving thanks also has given much pain.

Like a daisy bobbing its head above the weeds, I've waved in the wind and turned my face upwards.  But the weeds are choking me now and I find my sunny nature hardening.

Physically, excising one's old lymphocytes in the hopes for better ones has been exhausting and I know that is affecting my disposition.  But before that, I watched my country stab itself and its democraZy directly in the eye and elect a demagogue.  Adding pain to the wound was the acknowledgement that far too many of my friends, family, and fellow citizens are incredibly selfish.

November finished itself with the anniversary of a dear one's death and anew, the death of another for which I could offer no comfort...can't fly until those stupid lymphocytes regrow to protect me from the germs of the masses.

Hardened.  How can flowers grow in dry soil beset with so many weeds?  Wilted.

Hatefulness Hanging in the Wash

Because of my unexpected health crisis, I find myself trolling the internet far more than usual.  And it's not pretty.

Now that we've flung open the windows to our personal bias, we're looking at everyone's stained laundry and cringing.  It's being hung out to dry in social media and it's shocking.

Ignorance is more cool than intelligence.  Yes, that means I've also been ignorant.  I've disregarded the flurry of Tweets, FB posts, and Instagram pics that are based on pure propaganda from family and friends.  I've told myself over and over again, everyone has a right to their own opinion.

And that is the crux of it.  The hatred and untruths that I see spewed aren't coming from well thought out opinions.  They're coming in the forms of  mindless re-tweets, FB sharing, and "like"s for memes that offer up another person's opinion.

What has happened to make people so lazy...or maybe they're just dazed?  Has fact-checking become too inconvenient or is it too painful?  We tend to see what we want to see and use our personal bias to hide from the rest.  So I'm guilty.  I've chosen to blind myself to the hateful rhetoric that's being vomited from people that I thought I knew.  It's disheartening and it goes beyond politics now.  It's the cutting comments toward another's religion, race, sexual preference and nationality and the passive-aggressive flaunts that say "there is only one way and it's my way" that shock me the most.  

I used to ponder why my ancestors would leave their home countries?  In my imagination, I see what they faced from an historical perspective:  Huguenots fleeing a spiteful king, the Dutch seeking greater financial opportunity, the Irish becoming indentured servants leaving behind starvation, and the Scandinavians...they, being the conquerors.

Instead, I'm pondering if they couldn't bear watching their family and friends turn into strangers when confronted with the stress of a changing society.  

We don't have to move to a different country.  We can move to a different city, state, or region.  We can limit our contact so that those old memories are more prominent than the ugly truths thrown at us in the guise of social media.  

We can also close the windows and pull in our stained and dirty laundry.  

Opened Hand Love

Opened Hand Love

When I feel weak

                I want to run from you

When I feel weak

                I try to forget us

When I feel weak

                I hide in front of you

But

                I face my fear

Because you strengthen me

                I remember our love

Because you wait for me

                I do not fly

Because your hand is open

                                                And

                That is love

                That is us

                And me is we

                I am you

                We are free

                In open love

I Hope My Children Call Me Stupid One Day

Listening to the presidential candidates after the Iowa Caucus reminded me of my youthful folly supporting past inadequate nominees.  It reminded me that I had heard their rallying cries, had seen their enthusiasm and been crushed by their losses or indiscretions.

I want my young adult children to be politically active (at least knowledgeable) because I know that ALL politics are local and crap eventually rolls downhill wherever one stands.  My advice, "Have a voice in who delivers the crap and perhaps all of it won't land on you!"  Some believe that corruption, inaction, and idiocy go hand in hand with government yet without having some trust in it, this country would disintegrate.  Use that four letter word and VOTE every time it is offered.

Revolutions are messy, usually deadly, and most fall flat.  Arab spring?  It ended up flooding the region with false hopes.  But will the believers stop?  No.  They may be suppressed for a while but their children will observe, learn, and find their own protest strategy.  Energy for freedom always resurfaces. For the sake of humanity, may that generation of children call their parents "stupid" when their own efforts succeed.  May those parents live long enough to accept it laughingly and say, "You're right!  We were stupid when we did it BUT we're happy you kept trying."

Knowing better.  We preach that if a habit goes on long enough, it takes longer to break.  As a country formed by revolt, a people emboldened to rise up again and again when suppressed, I hope my children call me stupid one day for some of my beliefs and actions.  That will mean they KNOW better.

A simple photo inspired my thoughts.  What a great idea!  It's a much better option to give fruit to a child versus a cookie in the grocery store if we're trying to teach them to live healthier.  To my future grandchildren, "Yea, we really used to let our kids eat stale cookies but now they only give fresh fruit!"  :-)

Free the Teachers!

In response to an article that a friend shared on FB, I simply had to rant!

How To Raise a Creative Child

This is EXACTLY what is wrong with standardized testing as a goal...teaching the "rules" over and over doesn't allow a child the space to develop other "rules" that may help mankind push forward to new thinking. How in the world can we expect our kids to be innovative if all we ask of them is to relearn old facts? Instead, letting them have information access via their libraries, etc allows them to expand their thinking from others' creations and experiences. Teaching them how to "teach themselves" will let them delve into topics that may seem inconsequential to us but could change their young lives forever.
Yes, they should be taught reading, writing, arithmetic, civics, the arts but only to a point. Controversial? No, because generations before us were given these tools and did great things. To have access to the world's information via computers and ask kids to memorize miscellaneous facts about an obscure historical event, a rarely used mathematical formula, even my beloved poetry...ridiculous. Memorization is valuable because it can increase the synapses in developing brains...but why aren't we letting them memorize what they're passionate about?
Once they've mastered essential tasks, shouldn't we let them with their parents' input personalize their educational experience? How many "gifted" kids have languished in middle and high school because they can't pursue a passion. Once we have their trust, we can expose them to the intricacies of certain subjects. Engineering, more recent history, music beyond an instrument but via their laptops...if we let them, students will excel at something. And if they excel, they'll trust themselves to EXPLORE other topics that we can facilitate.
I truly sense that we're at a tipping point. Our educators want/need to follow their instincts and let children latch onto to their own talents. They ought to have space in their classrooms to guide these young minds and instead, they're mandated to make their students "learn" what others feel is important, pass tests that huge conglomerates create.
Those days are done. The public education system will continue to languish regardless of the money we pour into it if we follow this path. Home schooling would be hard for the masses...we pay taxes so that our children can come together and develop socially, create with others, and be guided by teachers to discover their own gifts.
Overhaul of the education system? Recreating the education wheel? No, it could be as simple as it once was...teaching students essential skills and giving them tools to hone their own skills. Vocational school? Yes. Technical schools? Yes. Artistic endeavors? Yes. Under one roof? Yes.
Standardized testing? Occasionally to make sure kids leave with the life skills of reading, writing, and calculating what they need including their own finances and civic responsibility so that they understand how the government that works for THEM should be working together.
Sorry, not sorry for the long rant.... I had teachers who were allowed to guide me toward self expression. And what a good job they did!!

Death Squad

 My recent experiences at a nursing/rehab center for the elderly haven't been easy to process.  Although I observed my mother give great care to her parents as they drifted into those situations, I still didn't appreciate the scope of how it takes over one's life.  Her care giving was monumental and without lapse; her sacrifices were never laid at our feet as martyrdom.  Instead, she went about the daily task of caring, worrying, and taking on responsibilities that the rest of the family couldn't imagine.  I couldn't imagine until these last few weeks.

If someone needs a caretaker from the family, it tends to fall on the ones who live nearest.  With today's mobile society, traditional family units have fractured.  Our belief that the internet helps us to closely monitor the lives of our loved ones is a misnomer.  It doesn't.  Without physical presence, it is impossible to know what is actually happening.  The nuances of body language, intuitive listening, and the simple act of observation are lost in cyber translation.  For the caretaker left behind, it's a struggle to convey how troublesome some events can be to those looking beyond.  Do they feel taken advantage of?  I'm sure it feels that way at times.  Do they feel unappreciated?  How could they not...the duties are often menial and appear thankless.  Instead, the far away family members get to preserve their own memories of the loved one.  They won't see them as weak or scared, angry and grouchy, or downright depressed at times.  Instead, they might see the grateful and happy patient who is thankful to have an infrequent visitor.  But the caretaker left behind deals with the daily struggles of their loved one.

I'm the last year of the Baby Boomer generation.  The Greatest Generation has mostly passed on and now we have a huge generation of aging individuals who aren't as closely connected physically with their loved ones.  Seeing Florida's large population of boomer retirees who are seemingly active and happy makes me wonder who will take care of them when their bodies and minds become weak.  As our society cobbles together government programs to protect the homeless, the elderly, those disadvantaged by illness or socioeconomic circumstances, it becomes ever clearer that we aren't having the conversations we need to have.

Not long ago, inflammatory pundits decried the efforts of healthcare initiatives wanting to begin the discussion of what the process of dying and DEATH means to each person.  Yes, I'm saying it loudly...DEATH!  By speaking up, I'm speaking forward.

Political harpies did not want to discuss it because they felt it would be the beginning of Death Squads.  Their definition...purposefully ending the life of someone for the good of caretakers.
What caretakers?  The government?  The conglomerate health care industry?  Themselves?

When I had young children, I set about learning as much as possible so that I could make informed decisions for their physical, social, and mental well being.  No need to call me a helicopter parent...I was a "space shuttle" parent.  Knowledge is power and I wanted to give them the tools available.  By asking if they wanted me to intervene on their behalf and then hearing an adamant "NO," my two wonderful children have taken on their own struggles and are learning their own lessons.  Yet I know in their upbringing, their father and I have instilled the value of KNOWLEDGE.

Now at this new stage of my life, seeing my contemporaries deal with the illness and subsequent death of loved ones, I seek knowledge.  I seek power behind the facts, strength in the steps of transition, a commitment of peace after doing all that can be done to slow the drumbeat of death...if that is what the person wants.  And if I hear an adamant "NO," then I'll step aside.

Death squad?  Yes...a squad of helpers to assist patients in making their own decisions.  Yes, a cadre of friends to help each other as events spiral out of our earthly control because I'm learning that DYING is as out of control as giving birth...nothing goes as planned.  I can be a "space shuttle" parent, friend, child, and partner.

Refraction

My generation is experiencing loss.  We are mostly at the midpoint of a centenarian life; I like to think we'll live another healthy 50 years if we want.  Unfortunately, that means our parents and other family members are growing older too, passing away in greater numbers as life's cycle continues.

Watching my dear friends go through this in 2015 has been heartrending.  The roller coaster of illness, hospitalizations, disability, relocation and for some, death foretells a future that I don't want to consider for my own family and yet, I know it must come to pass.

Writing helps me process what I see and feel when confronted with these painful passages.  Because I've been an onlooker rather than a participant, I've observed a commonality between the ill/dying loved ones and their grief stricken family members.  Each exists in an emotional/physical fog as they struggle to find a safe path through this passage.

I'm imagining the intimate connection of how two loved ones must say goodbye.  Each is on their own journey...one processing their own demise, one processing the demise of their loved one.  Regardless of who is around to support them, no one but themselves can walk the path and understand the passage.

They are each other's light passing through a fog, a refraction of love and a reflection of life and death.

refraction:  the fact or phenomenon of light, radio waves, etc., being deflected in passing obliquely through the interface between one medium and another or through a medium of varying density 
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REFRACTION

I sit alone

A chair of hard wood and straight back

I sit alone

Time rushing, unchecked

Others see life, a purpose not lost,

Harder for me, adrift more than most

I gaze alone

A cavern of dark thoughts and cold moments

I gaze alone

Thoughts seizing, now frozen

Others feel warmth, flames newly lit

Harder for me, scared I still sit

I rise alone

A rock of limestone and sand

I rise alone

Legs trembling, knees stiff

Others walk forward, time still unspent

Harder for me, not knowing my strength

I step alone

A foot dropped in great pain

I step alone

Heart broken, life stained

Others flee sadness, but it fills me whole

Harder for me, chasing dreams then my soul

I float alone

A welcome thick fog

I float alone

Grief stricken, but calm

Others call to me, beloved on each side

Harder for me, I’m saying goodbye

When I Can't Tell You So

It's very difficult to hold back unsolicited advice to others dealing with the mentally ill.  In the past, while coping with individuals whose minds took vacations from reality, I experienced great pain.  Trying to have patience, empathy, and understanding while being subjected to their radical thoughts tested my limits of forgiveness.  Giving up, I stepped away to preserve my own peace and health.

 Letting someone go who exists physically but has disappeared mentally is a grief filled undertaking.  Moments of connection cause hope but without medical intervention, it's a lost cause.  No one can truly come back without help.  But getting help means giving up control and I've come to accept that the need for control is all that the sick can rely on.  If they control their environment and those who step in and out of their circle, they're able to convince themselves that sickness isn't within them.

Watching others encounter ill family or friends for the first time is equally frustrating.  No matter our experience, our advice is useless because hope springs eternal for those newly exposed...exposed to seeing their loved ones drift away or create havoc within the relationship.

That moment of "I told you so" will never pass from my lips as I watch the destruction take place for others.  Sadness instead as we see them struggle to comprehend their loved one's unhealthy mind and realizing that helping our friends manage their pain is more important than understanding another's madness.

What We Permit, We Promote

It's the simplest of sayings and the hardest of truths.  Our courage is challenged daily by its premise.  When do we step in to protest, initiate action against injustice, or state our opinion loudly?

I was reared in the submissive culture of passive aggression.  Unruly discontent was frowned upon; many in my Appalachian/Southern society learned to be disagreeable without being insufferable.  In other words, if we chose to stab you in the back, we did so with a butter knife to extend the misery...much more polite that way....

The desire to keep confrontation neat and civilized, maintaining our courteous Southern facades has always smacked me as hypocritical.  Why can't we be passionate and messy when we disagree?  And yet, it is hard to break free of one's upbringing.  I pride myself on being independent and equally castigate myself for not being more blunt when I observe appalling behavior or hear inane comments.  Pride goeth before the fall....

All those ignorant or inappropriate social media posts?  I don't always comment; people dig their own holes and I let them.  But I don't hide others' messiness from myself by unfriending or deleting them.  It's good to know where folks stand on issues and to see their how their psyches are incompatible with mine.  Plus my inner psychoanalyst knows it props up my own self esteem.  We humans are insufferably egotistical.

Enemies.  Frenemies.  We have them regardless of our good intentions to keep the peace.  And so then I look at the saying and ponder:

What we permit, we promote...

Is it enough to sit behind a keyboard expressing opinions?  Do my protestations fall on deaf ears during friendly debates as I encounter fixed thinkers versus fluid thinkers like myself?  And in today's hyper cyber society, does it matter?  The news cycle is so frenetic that absorption seems impossible.  We move from tragedy to ecstasy, entertained in a hamster ball mentality that moves quickly without getting anywhere.

Philosophy versus reality tends to be my motivator.  If an actual outcome can be altered by my oft unwelcome comments, then I open my mouth or tap my fingers to cry out an opinion.  But I'm learning to stay quiet upon hearing a philosophical rant from someone who never alters their view.  Their need to reinforce themselves doesn't translate into wasting my breath or usage of my gray matter if they're not open to hearing other ideas.

What we ponder then, can we eventually solve?
Perhaps.

Post Traumatic Fog Syndrome

Luxuriating in one's stable state of mind is a curious way of finding out that "stable" is practically impossible.  What kind of balance is achieved?

It's easy to wax and wane away one's days believing that past hurts have disappeared.  Faint scars may still be visible but we don't want to believe that scar tissue underneath can still cause problems.  Yet when pressure is applied, pain reappears and so it is with the trickiness of our mind fog.

Most days, the brightness of the path before me pushes away the fog.  I don't allow pessimism to steal days from my journey...most days.  And then a tiny niggle of pain works it way through a crack in my joy, seeping quietly into my dreams.  No rest for the weary, nor answer to why one feels adrift...just a quiet thief reminding me that scar tissue can hurt.

I suppose that I no longer believe in lifelong balance, happiness, fog free existence.  It's a strange fairy tale to give up as we're told so often by "experts" that we can prepare ourselves for pain...past, present, future pain.  My only preparation is recognition now.  I can at least suck in and ready myself for the punch of pain when it arrives.  A small gift.  Preparation.  Sight.  Acceptance.  Resolution. And then patience for it to pass.

Perhaps that stable state of mind is just what we need for the next round of fog to come upon us.  It is easy to fall prey to its tempting calm...peaceful stability.  Turning over during our rest, our souls pressing down on the scar tissue awakens us, pains us, reminds us that we are simply waiting to make our way through another fog.

A Hacker Remembered

Today's "hackers" can stake claim to this new moniker but I grew up observing my grandfather perfect the art of hacking.  Many among his generation might also argue that they too are the original hackers.  Survivors of The Great Depression, war time rationing, etc. set about up-cycling and inventing new uses for the ordinary, transforming how we viewed everyday objects.  Consumerism took a back seat to necessary reinvention and society as a whole profited from this outlook.

Post war times brought many back to the sales counter and my grandfather partook in the new gadgets as well.  He was the first to set up a television in the backwoods of his small community and he was an active ham radio participant.  I remember my grandmother railing at him for setting up huge antennas but it didn't stop him...he simply disguised them better or made sure the landscaping was up to her standards.

Many mornings I would see him walking alongside the road picking up litter that marred his property.  He didn't throw it all away; he kept a collection of vintage liquor bottles in one of his sheds as well as hub caps.  Long before there were "man caves," he built various sheds to hold his found treasures.  Waiting for the next great financial calamity was part of his generation's psyche...they truly felt the hunger and despair.  My generation has seen nothing like this and I can only hope that I nor my children ever will.

Often times, I tell people that I grew up in the area that was ground center for the "War on Poverty/Hunger" yet I did not go hungry nor want for necessities.  The lessons my grandparents learned were to save, to survive, to hack enough to keep clothes, food, and shelter in abundance for their families.  Even now, I tease my children that I'm headed back to the hills for an apocalypse.  It is ground zero for survival and I take pleasure in my own small hack jobs.

Young hackers who spend time on YouTube learning and teaching others, keep up the good work!  Past generations are counting on you to pay it forward, to survive, to persevere and hack on.

For Grandpa Clint, Happy Hacker's/Father's Day!  You live on in each project I pursue.

Shaken, not Stirred

Ah, the complexity of a martini or a life.

Ingredients, adornments and the mix-up...shaken or stirred.

Life's transitions can rise slowly, cresting river-like and afterwards,

A mess.

To be shaken seems harsher but then,

There is no surprise at the damage.  It is expected.

How then to choose, to proceed when mixing a martini or life?

What final taste will we experience?  Bitter?  Smooth?

A choice...

To gulp or to sip

And to melt away in its grip....

The Destination

I don't think there is a way to effectively share my new found definition of "destination" to my children.  At their stage of early adulthood, all paths are clouded with hormones and expectations.  Would it be that I could go back to myself at that stage, I would advise my erratic self to seek wisdom from those outside my immediate circle...away from parents. friends, lovers and toward experienced thinkers and doers.

My confidence was not developed enough to find those individuals.  I'm hopeful that my two ducklings aren't stunted with that malady.  Did I do enough to inspire them to be adventurous?  To trust their gut and mute the cautious naysayers...including myself at times?  Hopefully.

As a young person feeling trapped in Appalachia, I coveted the experiences of others who traveled and experienced new cultures.  I thought that the only way to share that was to leave behind my heritage.  Funny enough, when I moved from Kentucky 25 years ago, I felt only despair.  My love for novelty did not outweigh my need for HOME.  That first move taught me quickly that the only way to enjoy the world was to stay tethered to my upbringing.  Live and learn....

I take my Appalachian sensibilities with me everywhere.  All that I see and do, all who I meet and absorb are translated through my early life experiences...adventures that I was participating in without knowing they were rare and precious.  Now I know.  Now I appreciate.  Still I am part of my beloved Kentucky and still I am part of my beloved hills.

And so I do not have a set place to get to in life.  Instead, it is a feeling of peace, safety and a need for exploration that guides me.  The moves I had to participate in to keep my family together toughened my heart and challenged my soul.  All of the bonding and severing that takes place when one moves consistently changes a mindset.  I accept now that my life will be very fluid.  What I hold on to is the knowledge that houses are just a place for me to hang my hat...home is my heart filled with love for my family near and far and friends scattered about the country.

I take joy in present time, present experiences and I don't count on being anywhere for long.  I love and hate the moves simultaneously.  I covet and despise the unknown.  I am content in feeling my wings and roots.

The journey, NOT the destination is enough for me now.

Sisters of Pain

The old saying that "worrying about tomorrow takes the pleasure from today" perturbs me.  Truth stings.  One would think that my skin would be thick enough at this age to bounce away pain yet it isn't...it absorbs the impact well but I find that the cuts are still deep enough to leave scars.

Is it possible to inoculate oneself from past pain?  Can believing in the modicum that "time heals all wounds" keep one forward thinking and still able to grasp life's pleasures?

Perhaps time heals all wounds because eventually, we run out of time.  Our finite supply is haunting as it can be extinguished quickly without reason.  The wound then disappears because the body and soul no longer exist.

For those of us lucky enough to escape the perils of modern day living, we pay for our good fortune by living a purposeful life...or we're told we must live that way to honor those who've passed.  Guilt-shaming runs rampant in today's social media, from self-help gurus and from our own conscience.  We're the ones who have the gift of life, therefore, our duty is to make the most of it.

Saying goodbye to those we have loved, living or not, is extremely difficult.  It takes time and rushing serves no good.  I found this song captures what so many of us deal with...saying goodbye and willing to follow someone "down" in our pain yet in the end, carrying on with the hope of healing without worry and guilt.

I'll Follow You Down

Worry and Guilt

Worry and Guilt
The pairful prayerful sisters
Of Pain share it

Share the shame

Today's not tomorrow
Reminds us the same
is constant...is blame

Share the shame

Worry and Guilt
The saddening happening children
Of Pain know it

Know it's a game

Life's puzzle pieces
Fitting askance
Solving no problems

Know it's a game

Worry and Guilt
Playing again
With life's treasured promise

Breaking with pain

Dear Lover

Dear Lover

You don't complete me...
You enhance me.

You don't make my dreams come true...
You encourage me to have them.

I'm often at odds with myself...
And you're enchanted with my oddities.

When fear overtakes me...
It's comfort that you offer rather than rescue.

Dear Lover

When courage overtakes me...
It's celebration that you offer rather than envy.

I'm often at peace with myself now...
And you're happy with my peacefulness.

You don't make my heart beat faster...
You give it a reason to thump deeper.

You don't absorb me...
You let me wash over you.

Dear Lover
Dear
Love
No err

Take Your Time: Life Speaks

I'm sure that the word patience appears in my writing countless times.  It must.  My mantra falls back to it each time I feel restless with life.  And that happens daily.

Restlessness isn't new to me nor is patience.  They're oddly compatible.  I like to get things done yet defining things is becoming more difficult.  Clarity is the treasure I seek.  How laughable!  And so I get aggravated with the rhythm of life and its disregard for my urgency.  

Take Your Time

I've given you this treasure, Life says. 

Wrapped with the comics, I observe.

Time is funny.

It passes too quickly, no...too slowly.

It passes.

All day l-o-n-g.

You don't like my gift? Life asks.

I can't understand it, I sigh.

So many want this treasure.

I feel guilty because I have it.

No one begrudges you this time, Life remarks.

I have so much of it now...I'm lost in it.

Do you remember when it was rare?  

I do.

You wished for more and all of it yours.

And you have given it to me.

A treasure  you have dipped in guilt?

A pleasure I don't deserve?

Take Your Time

Where?  Why?  How?

On your journey.  Because you earned it.  Carry it in your heart.

Time is heavy.

Only if you wrap it in guilt.  Unwrap your gift.

Thank you.  

 

  

Earned It

Do we have another soul inside us?

As I learn about connecting to one's soul, one's own spirituality, I'm curious about our competing desires.  Science gives us much information about our impulsive nature...hormones, psychological secrets, our personal interactions with others that guide and sometimes wreck our best intentions.

In trying to make sense of my next 50 years, I find it hard to understand how my past self is the same one who will carry me forward.  The term "reinvention" irks me.  As a catch all phrase for life's foibles, it bears more weight with magazine covers and catchy social media tags than how reality works.

We can't reinvent the core of who we are without destroying our identity.  Maybe that's the goal for some, to escape their own identity.  I'd be more comfortable with reading the headline of "Woman Explores Herself" or "Mid-lifers Confronting Their Own Evolution."

I remember reading the novel Sybil as a middle school student.  At the time, many of us fantasized about being ruled by another presence inside us, manipulating our thoughts and actions.  As most trends go, it gained media traction for a while and it became popular to jokingly blame our other personality for mistakes.  Increasingly, multiple personalities appeared in court cases and medical claims until pure science fell on the side of their rarity.  And we masses were back to confronting our motivations and desires as belonging to just ourselves...just our own error pocked selves.

Merriam-Webster defines "soul."  The corresponding comments ponder how the soul differs from the spirit, etc.

Soul.  Sole.  I think I just answered my own question.  The soul is sole.  It is wholly within myself and I, I am just one but a mosaic of my life.

And I've earned it.  Now to become comfortable with the evolution of my soul.

Pain Killer

I've been reading a lot about pain management and most of it doesn't involve physical distress.  Mental and emotional pain can be direct offshoots of body malaise and vice versa.  As a symbiotic trio, it seems we're constantly chasing a cure for the pains that ail us.

My head aches.  I grew up observing a grandmother get "sick" headaches...modern terminology=migraines.  It astounds me that she was able to get through life with this malady.  Minus medication, they are life sapping beasts!  Even with its numbing power, I'm able to feel the drum beat of pain.

It seems the genesis of our being is to avoid pain...hungering for more, loneliness, heartbreak, physical deterioration...all inevitable so why not learn to coexist rather than to fight its existence?




We run from it;
We covet its power.
Our fear of pain transcends
Our other needs.

Hurting hearts and
Insane gripping thoughts
Keep us transfixed,
Keep us chasing

A cure.

Why not adapt?  Why not accept?
Pain always happens with mind, body, and heart.
Living within it, sharing its confines...
Why not survive?  Why not start?

Writhing among us,
The broken in pain,
Beating a drum,
Escaping in vain

It's ongoing.

We run toward it;
We covet its strength.
Our embrace transports us
Our agony becomes sane.

Pain killer is us.