there is something that unravels in your chest when you are in the right spot. shoulders let down, breath slows.. its a piece of you that you don’t even always recognize as being wound. (this one is tricky. not a wound. but wound, the tightly wound spool of thread…)
I think, even in a good marriage, you forget to take those moments of unravel. but I don’t know, surely, as I only had a good marriage for a short while.
it is akin to surrender, this unraveling, as a vulnerability in and of relief, a certainty that you are in a safe spot.
seems so simple.
but hello. it isn’t.
all the tiny steps you take to get there. to unlearn and relearn and step out and step back… those tiny steps to move away from a gigantic broken, blistered heart? ‘tiny’ being a euphemism for ‘each and every one is a gigantic, monolithic mass of granite that you can’t see the top of when you first approach. we’re talking rock climbing every step of the way, with our out-of-shape, middle-aged everythings. I’m talking bloody fingers every reaching hand, every single one. and then the release. that spot.
hot apple cider, available at the coffee shop. not coffee. and boy, when you ask for it plain, you get a look. however, this is new England and hot cider is a required force on a fall morning.
cider smells like breast-fed baby poop. i’m happy about that. also glad that it doesn’t TASTE like breast-fed baby poop.
I ran out of my kitchen (at 8:30 am) because my tenant was there. she lives there. I don’t have any problem with her. I just ran away, because.
I am afraid to talk to people at the ‘real’ health food store. because I feel guilt for fast food, and high fructose corn syrup and not enjoying cooking, and so I feel a fraud, or like I have to confess. Makes for an awful lot of drama.
So many people here are still wearing flipflops, or sandals of some sort. I don’t care about toes but I do care too much about warmth and chilly-ness. too much, I know. but hats are imminent, people!
there’s all these women with babies under 6 months old. some mommy and me class must’ve just finished somewhere.
plus, its gone from before 10 am to after 10 am and the place is hopping. who lives these lives? I wish they would all stop by my table and tell me. (not really, maybe. maybe.)
I’m too distracted by my phone. memes can be really funny. i’m still tired of snark though.
I don’t ever want to be around pumpkin spice. i’m a purist. apple cider. i’m going to make a flag for my pickup.
maybe they are nannies. this one does not have a body which has carried a child. are nannies a thing here? maybe i’m in the wrong end of town.
I have to go back home to take a walk, and to hear me some more Mother Teresa. because. what else would you do while waiting for the work to roll in, right?
I think a dozen is a pretty good place to stop. I imagine my Lionness getting down with the apple cider too.
(seriously, where the hell are all these babies coming from? there are SO many babies here! a meet-up?)
shitcakes and fuckery. I wrote that this week in a shared space and made two women laugh. and man that feels pretty great.
yep, you read that right. I’m on day 3 of listening to * Carolyn Myss talk about Archetypes, and how we all can relate better and feel more connected when we use a common language of symbol and metaphor. (of course, cross-cultural might provide hills and valleys, but Mother, Mother is the broadest thing in the universe, potentially, but is still Mother. Child, Warrior, Student, Saboteur, ) These are elements we have within us, not what we do to others, necessarily.
For fucksake, Mother Theresa wasn’t even a mother, and she was. right? we dig? Its not ‘literal’, its symbolic, full of meaning that doesn’t even need to be spoken. men can be Mother, ladies without kids can be Mother. whatever.
again, whatever. So, work is slow and I’m looking into the things I love. I love mysticism, have, do, but because I went to a Jesuit College, I studied a whole bunch of mystics, and I don’t envy them a goddamned bit.*= I mean, we’re talking very very dark trials and tribulations, some including blood and abandonment and hysteria, and super early deaths. So, you know, not that much of a celebrity thing.
BUT, I love Mother Theresa. And I’ve been getting into the whole ‘Listening to things on tape/phone’ thing lately. it allows me to concentrate in a way that I haven’t for a very long time, almost collegiate-ly.*-
“If I ever become a saint—I will surely be one of ‘darkness,’” Mother Teresa wrote in September of 1959. “I will continually be absent from heaven—to light the light of those in darkness on earth.” *& This site
oh, man, she is my guy. (I know)
and one of the archetypes that i’m learning I have in me is that of the Innocent Child, the Magical Child… ooooh, sparkly lights and rainbows and steadfast faith and oooh, a butterfly!! its not an immature thing, or naïve, but it is a pretty significant part of me in much of my life thus far. And… every archetype has its flipside, or ‘shadow’ and the times when my child is despondent, and believes in nothing, and hides in the blanket fort, are for real. Disappointment, loss of faith in the goodness, oh man, they swing through and knock me down.
I am not equating my mood swings to Mother Teresa’s dark nights of the soul. except metaphorically. **
anyhow, i’m freehanding this, and I want to stop now to go back to thinking. so, there. Oh my word, I just started to type something about how my bulletpoints below are hollow but stopped to look up what that meant literally and oh my god, guys, what kind of world are we living in?!
*I don’t know much about Myss or Sacred Contracts, or what not, but I ‘GET’ the idea of archetypes, whether we grasp them on the surface or just recognize them floating under the dock. I just ‘get’ it.
*=my language is pretty damn funny/punny. unintentional, I swear.
*-let us now talk about the girl who is deaf getting back into ‘listening’, shall we? no? okay then.
*& I don’t know anything about this site but its where I got the quote so I had to link.
**if there is a God, and a ‘living’ Mother T, then i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m not worthy… full on face in dirt.
I don’t have any work to do today. I mean, I’ve got two jobs that are on hold, or i’m awaiting a response to the last message, etc. So I really have nothing to do. I’ve moved the sofa. I’ve got a wing chair in the middle of the kitchen now. I’ve measured something. I’ve danced. I took a bath. I’m clean and I watched a zombie show. I am keeping the chickens locked up today because there is a fox, and he has been fed twice in the past two days and hella, stop.
Last night I got a text message from a mom whose kid is/was a friend of my teenager. sometime in august some shit went down and she just heard about it now and was texting me to essentially find out about it, complain and judge me and my job as a parent.
let me be clear: my kid was part of something mean and unkind to her kid. my kid was mean and unkind.
but I don’t really take kindly to the notion that I then get a lecture on parenting from another parent. As if my 14 year old kid is not responsible for his decisions. Because I was upset at the text series, I looked again through his phone, talked with him about the incident yet again and when I told him that the boy’s feelings had been significantly hurt, he had remorse, again, as he should have.
AND YET, it is still not my responsibility to control his first actions. I’ve given him a model, and earlier on, explicit directions on how to treat people. And he made a mistake.
I do feel sorry for it, and sorry for her kid, because it sucks to be in high school sometimes. it really does. and he got hit with flung shit (not literally).
But the patronizing, and the moralizing, and the judgement that I got? I fling that shit back and out. No.
BUT because I avoid conflict, even within myself, the anger splurted out at my kids last night.
“SHUT UP. I LOVE YOU BUT PLEASE SHUT UP.”
lots of fun at bedtime. guilt. anger. guilt. anger.
so I leave you with this:
a new pink sofa. free, by the side of the road, with a twin. small enough to haul around the house on a freelancing kind of day.
I’m slowly coming back into the world. I’m working each day and making absurd money in small bits of time. Its not enough bits yet, but this morning I made $100 in twenty minutes. So that math? You dig? shoot. And i’m not even a hooker.
I’m coming back into my intellect, with a little removal from the hectic of childcare and whatnots. I’m listening to a workshop that a woman named Alison Armstrong gave, on Audible. Its the first time I’ve spent so much time listening to something. Her website is called UnderstandMen, which cracks me the hell up. I have the fancy earphones which STRONGLY resemble earmuffs, so I walk around in my slippers on purpose so I can feel like some kind of Nordic Lodge Bunny. (that’s a thing, right?)
I’ve even felt my spirit stirring, as I tend my home in the tiniest of ways, here and there, attending to space in a seasonal transition. Tending, without rush, with a feeling of satisfaction at tiny change upon tiny change. And there is the light here. And I have a new painting on the wall that Jessica Kinsella painted, and its astonishing. I’ll try and photo it when the light is right. Maybe I’ll get it in here.
Today is my sister’s birthday. It is a fantastic day to be alive, all the more so because of a day we all remember for something else. It is a fantastic day to be alive.
Thank you, Shannon.
My heart is trying its damnedest to stir to full beat. My intellect and fear-based life experiences are getting in my way. But I’m trying to understand myself, and be gracious to myself, at least, more often than not. and, LM seems to be a very patient man. I’m trying so hard to allow myself to have faith in another person. Its way trickier than I thought it would be.