Skinned Knees

I wore a dress to work today that shows my skinned knees.

I've made up a pausable lie just in case someone asks.

"I tripped jogging up those darn concrete stairs!"

Lover who is my lover felt bad

but I told him it's okay,

that all new sexual relationships

deserve the initiation of rug burn.

They really hurt too.

But the pain brings a sweet memory.

Love and Death Require it of Me

I woke this morning thinking that the reason I stay in difficult relationships is because it is the perfect practice for dying.  I'm clear that I also stay for the love.  I'm not talking about receiving love from another although that's a part of it.  I'm talking about staying in the flow of love, keeping myself in love--not "in love" with another, although that's part of it too.  But I'm intent on keeping myself in the truth of love, the reality that love is everywhere, permeates everything, whatever the circumstance and to know love in this way. But I second guess myself always.  I chastise myself over my inability to let go, to swim ashore and walk away.  But the truth is, I'm letting go constantly as I grapple with the influx of consistently mixed messages and the lack of being met, that keep me off balance.  I struggle to keep my head above water, to breath, and relax into what is.  And to realize that it's about meeting the other where they are also, and that is very tricky...meeting and being met when two people are in different places.

I see this vision of myself as being in a boat with LWINMLT, floating along on calm waters with my foot hanging over the side, dangling in the cool wetness.  I'm enjoying his company but also, I'm just enjoying life.  Enjoying his love, while being connected to the big love that permeates all of life.  The next thing I know, a storm has hit, the water is rough and I'm thrown from the boat.  I'm struggling to swim, to keep my head above the water and he doesn't even acknowledge my predicament.  He offers no hand to pull me back into the boat, he's preoccupied with something else and is looking the other way.  I'm on my own.  So I do whatever it takes to survive and get myself back into the boat.  I pull myself back in, I'm soaking wet and half drowned and then he turns toward me and offers me a towel, seemingly surprised that I was even overboard--as if I had jumped in the water of my own accord.   The next thing I know the storm has passed and the sun is shining again as we continue floating along on calm waters.

This same scenario plays out again and again in my relationship with him.  And every time I'm in the water, struggling to get back into the boat I look over at the shore and wonder if it's not more prudent to swim ashore and walk away.  Why don't I just abandon ship and let him float away...oblivious of me and my struggle?  Would he even notice, or care, that I was gone?  Why do I care for someone so much, that at times, seems to care so little about me?  But there are so many mixed messages.  There is no doubt that there is a lot of love available in that boat, when the water is calm and the sun is shining and it's so obvious that he cares. But the pain and struggle when I'm thrown overboard and his back is turned is excruciatingly painful.  I attempt, but it's so difficult, not to take these things personally.

This is my dilemma.  I know I have deep abandonment issues rooted in my father's choice to not be a part of my life.  He turned his back on me.  He ignored me.  He never offered me a helping hand.  He was unavailable.  I'm vulnerable to a man's attention in this regard.  I have a thing for unavailable men.  Men who open their hearts wide and invite me in and in the flick of a switch, become unavailable...and then available again.  The love is obviously there but something is missing.  The commitment I suppose.  I don't fall in love lightly, and when I do,  when I allow these men into my heart,  I get very attached.  At the same time, I'm a big girl and fairly emotionally mature.  I do my utmost to take responsibility for myself, feeling my emotions,  understanding the truth of my stories, and experiencing my pain.  I try my very best to not hold others responsible when I'm working through my stuff.  At the same time, human life is about connecting with others, we affect one another in big ways and love asks us, love requires us, to show up.  So to the very best of my ability, I keep showing up.  I don't swim to the shore and walk away.  Sometimes I think this is most foolish of me.  But that's my "father" in that boat.

Besides that,  my father is on the shore too.  It doesn't matter if I crawl back into the boat or swim to the shore.  My issues with abandonment will greet me wherever I go.  So I keep showing up for love.  It requires this of me.  And I know that this showing up for love, is preparing me to show up for death.

Over the Edge

The picture sent me over the edge.
What the fuck is it that I'm trying to hang on to?
The emotional investment is just not equitable.

A Helium Balloon

My tears are so close to the surface, waiting for any excuse to break through.  Today I went to work and did my job.  I helped my students while having no real connection to being there.  I have no grounding.  No connection.  I feel like a helium balloon, floating, tethered by a string.  I don't belong there.  I don't want to be there--and I can tell that people notice.  It's not a bad experience.  I'd just rather not.  After work today I got another massage.  The touch is a good excuse to for my tears to flow.

Lifting

If you are depressed you are living in the past.
If you are anxious you are living in the future.
If you are at peace you are living in the present.
--Lao Tzu


I notice the depression lifting
     as I release my grasp on the past
          and find my footing in the moment.


I relax into the peacefulness of what is
     remembering that my ego has the habit
          of thinking it knows what will make me happy.


That feisty, faulty, friend
     telling scary stories to my vulnerable heart
                 always striving to keep the pain alive.

Heavy Cloak of Bla

I'm not going to say I'm depressed because that would be identifying with it as who I am.  But it's official.  I am most definitely experiencing depression.  It's a lousy space to be in.  I'm still functioning.  Barely.  I'm not bedridden or stuck in couch potato mode...well kinda I am.  But I'm puttering around the house engaging in this and that but accomplishing very little.  I'm on the verge of crying but really don't want to go there so I'm ignoring the deepest feelings that reside underneath this heavy cloak bla.

Wanting What Isn't

It's been a hard week and it's only my second day back to work.  I took four weeks off after my mother died.  I wasn't ready to go back.  I felt vulnerable facing people.  Especially with the cards and flowers waiting for me.  It made me nervous.  But I bucked up and maneuvered my way through it.  Then, when I looked at my schedule yesterday I was pleased to see the lunchtime hour was scheduled with prep and on-line counseling.  That meant I had time to go visit my mama.  Oh yeah, except she's dead.

Today I worked on a different campus and it was the same thing, facing people and a card and a gift certificate to get a plant in honor of my mother.  I appreciate these kind gestures and yet it reminds me of how tender I still am. Losing my mama made me an orphan.  And her death has triggered this deep sadness in me and it's broke open wounds that were in the process forming new skin but hadn't completely healed.

I'm really pretty much overwhelmed with sadness, loss, and grief.  I regret not spending more time with my mother when she was younger and healthier, going for walks in the park and having her tell me, just one more time, a story from her life.  I've already forgotten so much and it's difficult to bear, this forgetting.  I feel like I didn't even know her.

One of her photo albums is missing.  I thought there were only four of them but so many pictures aren't to be accounted for.  I can't stand thinking about her pictures that I can't find.  The ones I remember, and the one's I know are gone that I can't recall.  Too much loss.  I'm just really overcome.

I got a massage today after work.  I started crying as soon as I laid down on her mat.  More tears came the moment she touched me.  It's so much to let go of.  I know that this holding on is what is making it hurt so much but I just can't seem to let go.  I don't know how to accept all this loss, to want what is.  I'm attempting to give all this sadness a sacred space without allowing it to devour me.  It feels so all encompassing.  Trying to keep it moving through me and not get stuck in my body and stagnate.  Trying not to be too angry and depressed for wanting what isn't there for me.