dreaming of

dreaming of long paths in a green wood,
i'm one of a few finding my way but
we're separately seeking. i fly low,
at some points.
i come to the top plateau of
a waterfall, and realizing i can't go down, i must go back
up over a slate rock ridge, and as i realize this, others
show up. we help each other back onto the path.

another scene, i'm traveling - on a ship or
a train? - with a wealthy, haughty, older crowd.
and sitting at a round dining table in a dining car or
room, and one individual is more alone than the others,
and for a reason: he's a bit obnoxious. but he makes a point:
he went from world traveler to all alone in an airplane bathroom,
and someone mis-interprets and finds him even more obnoxious,
but i re-interpret on his behalf, and make sure he is
understood correctly. and i'm happy to play that role.

another scene, much like the path, i am with some friends,
some strangers, in a massive, gargantuan home owned
by two older women. dark wood, dark rugs, antiques, all
old and stately and dark. we are let loose in the house for the night,
and i explore room to room, we all do, as though there is
an endpoint, though we leave once we find a way out.
more helping each other, and a laotian boy becomes enamored with me
when he thinks he hears me speak his language to a young girl.
and as i so often do, i allow him to project upon me, and
see what he wishes, and be pleased, knowing that i may one day
break my back arching so far to be what i am not. i never admit to
what he suspects, but i never deny. just smile my knowing smile
and let him be.

one other piece: at the end, in early morning, we leave. but there is a
very very very tiny dog. a golden retriever or some other long-haired
classic, standing on a very tiny book by the foyer. he's small enough to
palm, and quite alive although my instinct is that he's really
a human in canine form, and that he understands
quite well human action and speech. anyway, the owner of the
home encourages me to take him with me and keep him,
and i seriously consider it (he comes with a short paragraph of
instructions printed on the back of the book, including
"wet with finger twice a day" to keep clean, and i've so been wanting a
dog and this might be the ticket to a low-maintenance pet),
but the woman senses my hesitance and decides not to push,
but offers to keep the dog there for me if i want to come back.

wierdwierdwierd.

to be warm

to create space, to make love
tangible, to scatter powdered sugar
over those i love and have before.

to sink down in feather-fed
pillows, to eat with gusto,
to breathe with spontaneity.

to forget with patience and
remember with my head
tilted to one side, accepting. to bury the
memories in years of sand and dig them
out from time to time, to find
the images scratched and grainy now
and the words muffled. to wipe away the
sand and see the rough sketch,
the general significance, to let the details go.

to sit on the sand, over memories,
to breathe in the sun and be
warm.

fruta de la muerte

I requested from Ashley-
friend, confidant, newly practiced in
matters of health-
that she administer a lethal dose.
I lay face-up on a hospital bed
in a starched room, and accepted first
from her a raw egg, which I swallowed
dutifully, and then a purple ball,
fruit-like, perfectly round and cut
in half. Just as I finished swallowing,
the darkness closed in and I focused
on the sensation of losing sensation,
calm and ready to end my life.

Later, I awoke. I considered what I had
done and determined that it was better
I live, as I had accomplishments yet to
attempt. I left the bed and sought
out my friends at a local eatery; others
at a bar. I hugged and thanked them
for their support, but announced that
I would be living, for now.

No one was particularly shocked one way
or the other. This was comforting.

oh, the magic

This morning I ambled a bit awkwardly
through the market, peeking
around bundles of green
onions and over piles of Japanese
eggplant, searching for someone.

She was a middle-aged blond at a small booth.
Spying her, I burst into tears.
Sigh, typical.
An older man shook her hand in thanks,
took up his cane, and
walked away.

I, being quite brave given enough
time to prepare, ducked around a corner.
I cried, in preparation, and had a phone
conversation with the one person whose
permission I sought. I calmed down,
sidled up, and sat on the folding chair opposite her.

After establishing the facts, she allowed:
Your sign is opposite the sun, right now.
That is to say...you're searching for light,
in darkness. Brilliantly, she concluded after
my face crinkled, weeping, that I was in
a great great deal of pain.

Money is flipping you out, she said.
Check.
So what would you like to know? Relationships?
I asked what options were on the menu.
Well, she said, I'll just start talking, and
we'll see how it goes. I learned the following:

My current love(d) is not so new to my soul as I might like to believe,
but rather, our love is recycled, 248 years after the fact.
That's right: in the year of our Lord 1761, we were
together. My great loves are destined to be Cancers.
Astrologically speaking, that is.

Some big decisions October 10 of this year, and
I'll find the great career of my life in January 2011.
I'll be 25, and that's much ahead of the 28-year, 8-month
point at which most regular souls find their callings.
(I'm recording this for posterity and revision at a later date).

Anyway, what struck me most was her inclination that
I AM A HEALER.
Yep. That's right. A healer.

It sounded so right and sweet to my ears. The matching
of "you" and "healer" infused me with a confidence
and a patience and a power I hadn't felt in ages.
I am more sure of my capacity to heal myself, now,
so that I can work towards opening myself
to my own healing powers. I look forward to both.

She said, at the end, that I needed that. And whether
or not she's full of malarky, I agree,
wholeheartedly.

in my secret life

i live my days between two worlds. two, no, many more. navigating my way person by person by moment by emotion, never stopping or slowing. keeping an eye out for a port that looks like home, because i would like to get there, somehow.

in one of these worlds i find myself pulled toward a new horizon and an entirely new set of physical and emotional impulses, and once again i've strapped myself in to an external situation that bars me from pursuing my horizon without stepping, mashing on the toes of those i love. i won't believe it's my fault, but it's slowly becoming clearer to me that somehow i'm the one that weaves the ropes and binds me down and hems me in and keeps the weight of not just two but many, many worlds on my shoulders. the effects are clear and i believe i'm the root of my own evil but my methods remain hidden; my own means of self-disillusionment are murky, at best, and i sit here disatisfied and groping for any sort of pleasure. caught between aversion and grasping, too anxious to take solid steps forward. am i a cheater? do i use people? do i use myself?

probably so. i'm asking for my compass.

provindipity

for non-believers, miracles can be tough to explain. especially when they happen to you. thrilling, nonetheless. but the alignment of the stars and the happenings that just had to happen, oh please, makes you stop, lean against the wall, gaze in wonderment, and be humbled. amen for being humbled.

letters of sorts

mom.
you made me feel like a blithering idiot, a weak and indolent, useless child, to be tested and failed again and again. i was criticized until i reacted and then criticized for reacting. no crying, no yelling, no silence, no nothing was acceptable because i simply had to be wrong. you made me cry and then yelled at a child for crying because her mother made her feel bad. you gave me no voice, let me have no outlet for my fears and angers and sadness, justified or appropriate or not. i walked on eggshells for years and years terrified of making the slightest wrong move, and inevitably coming up short in my efforts at doing things the "right" way. the spilled milk was not a good excuse. you used the power you wielded as the parent and controlling agent in a natural relationship to make me suffer, and you were, at least outwardly, indifferent to my suffering, even angered by it. it's not my fault if you were treated that way. it's not a child's fault that her parent has his or her own issues. you abandoned me emotionally and sometimes physically, expressing your love on the rarest of occasions and, to this day, awkwardly. i believe it was the constant, harping criticism and emotional control that made me the emotionally untethered, unsure person i am today. this latest relationship in which i find myself completely emotionally lost at sea only makes it clearer to me the damaging and lasting effects of your constant insistence that whatever i was feeling was wrong. simply and stupidly wrong. i feel pity for and immense anger on behalf of the child that you hurt so seriously, but my rage cannot be expressed, because it could never be expressed, and i turn it inwards on myself and i live in a perpetual state of anxiety about what i'm feeling and what's to come. i live my life bracing for impact. i live my life waiting to be reprimanded for being myself. so i hide from myself, and now i'm here not knowing who i am, still trying to be whatever it is that you wanted me to be. but there is no answer to that question, so i am left grasping deperately at the wind.
in any case, i love you.

dad.
thank you for being the opposite of mom when i needed it. by sheer circumstance, you were the person i clinged to in the storm, as the only person in the world who could come close to understanding the horrible things i was going through in my home. i thank you for not being her, for offering me what you could, for being of even temperament and for commiserating with your pre-teen daughter about the emotional terror of home. nevertheless, the child in me is betrayed by your departure, even knowing that you had to leave to survive. but to leave a child in the hands of someone so unable to control her emotional impulses, in the wake of an emotional storm nonetheless, was heartbreaking to me. you were available to me on a superficial basis, but i was inevitably so torn up by the goings-on of homelife that when i was with you, all i wanted to do was escape, not discuss. until the evening hours at the end of the weekend when i was shuttled back home, and the unbearabe stomach aches of dread would bring the tears to my eyes and the complaints to my lips, and you would acknowledge and comfort, but keep driving. i should not have been left in my mother's house, i should have been offered further support, someone should have intervened. and you were the only one that was aware of the gravity of the circumstances, and you were afraid too, i presume. although i know i played down the intensity only to avoid an even more intense emotional breakdown, to avoid additional drama and further trauma. and i find myself striving to do that now - going great lengths psychologically, physically, emotionally, to avoid pain or suffering because i'm afraid it may kill me. i'm afriad, honestly afraid, of being honest, because i might not make it out the other side in one piece. and i was a CHILD for god's sake, how could i know what was the best and healthiest thing for me? why did no one take action? WHAT HAPPENED?!? why did no one see what was going on? is it my fault for hiding it? why was i left to deal with all this? and the emotional depth i received was riding on the wings of alcoholism, and petrified me even further. so there you go, now i'm terrified of emotional honesty and intensity, because it means someone was probably drinking and will say something hurtful and/or stupid and/or inappropriate. you offered me a huge amount of comfort in your personality alone, as the kind of person who carries themself with confidence and assurance. and i crave that now, hoping that there will be more depth to more recent incarnations. unfortunately, my grasping for that sense of protection and comfort left me vulnerable to the controlling behavior of abusers.
in any case, i love you.