It’s sad... so sad

What is so, so sad, in this situation, is that sorry is disposable.
Sorry is not a hard word to say.
It is so very easy.
Sorry means nothing except a slight acknowledgment that something was wrong.
It is not ownership.
It is not repentance.
It is not heartfelt sorrow with a desire to make things right.
Sorry, especially, means nothing when it is followed by repeating the same behavior over, and over, and over, and over...
Sorry is cowardly simple.
It involves no humility.
Sorry greases foolish skids and manipulates the other that wants so badly to love.

You don’t “gotta do” anything to make someone love you, or to hear.
It’s absurd to think sorry is a magic wand that restores love or extends grace.

True love forgives.
While true sorrow (sorry) repents and asks for forgiveness.

When one loves, and is truly forgiven, there is real change.
Visible change.
From the inside out.

It is only my opinion, but the hardest word is truth.

And there simply is no love without it.

It’s a sad, sad situation.

For some...

Thy Will be Done...

You are God.
I am not.
I know you see me.
I know you hear me, Lord.
You know the plans you have for me.
Even though I do not understand.
Even though I cannot see it.
On my knees, all that comes to me...
is
Thy will be done.

Snow of the Soul

Face upturned.
Eyes open.
Then close.
The velvet shadow of the black sky opens and icy confetti dances down, exposed by the soft white of a lone streetlight.
Chilled kisses on my child's cheeks.
Mouth open, catching winter's bits.
She turns to me, giggling.
Mom!  Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom...!
Watch me.
Watch this.
See me?
Oh, isn't it beautiful?
If the sky could feel the warmth of my heart for this little thing, it would turn these crystals to a tropical rain.
Overflowing.
What a gift it is, to see through her eyes, to feel that same innocence.
Purity.
Her arms open wide, stretching.
Can I hug God, Mom?
Look, I'm hugging Him.
And He's hugging me back with the snow!

I remember feeling the exact same way, watching her older brother and sister as they experienced so many simple things adults tend to take for granted.

She tramps inside for her cocoa, cheeks flushed with cold, and a child's wonder.
No one is looking now.
I step out from under the eaves.
Face upturned.
Eyes open.
Then close.
And I feel the chilled kisses on my smiling cheeks.

Wonder.

Don't Give Up

(Lyrics)
When I look into your eyes
It's like watching the night sky
Or a beautiful sunrise
Well, there's so much they hold
And just like them old stars
I see that you've come so far
To be right where you are
How old is your soul?

Well, I won't give up on us
Even if the skies get rough
I'm giving you all my love
I'm still looking up

And when you're needing your space
To do some navigating
I'll be here patiently waiting
To see what you find

'Cause even the stars they burn
Some even fall to the earth
We've got a lot to learn
God knows we're worth it
No, I won't give up

I don't wanna be someone who walks away so easily
I'm here to stay and make the difference that I can make
Our differences they do a lot to teach us how to use
The tools and gifts we got, yeah, we got a lot at stake
And in the end, you're still my friend at least we did intend
For us to work we didn't break, we didn't burn
We had to learn how to bend without the world caving in
I had to learn what I've got, and what I'm not, and who I am

I won't give up on us
Even if the skies get rough
I'm giving you all my love
I'm still looking up, I'm still looking up.

Well, I won't give up on us (no I'm not giving up)
God knows I'm tough enough (I am tough, I am loved)
We've got a lot to learn (we're alive, we are loved)
God knows we're worth it (and we're worth it)

I won't give up on us
Even if the skies get rough
I'm giving you all my love
I'm still looking up
_______________________________

Appropriate today. Every day. The love and faithfulness of brother to brother, friend to friend, parent to child, family to family... committed, believing.  Those who do not walk away easily, but stay, to make the difference, to love through the mud and rain, and into the sunshine.

Learning... what one has, what one is and is not, and who one is.

Alive. Loved.

Look up.

Is Love...

I close my eyes.

Imagining.

Love wakes me, his voice a low whisper in my ear, “Coffee, baby.”
Languid, I stretch, arching my back, and lazily grin.
Like the coffee’s steam, I rise.
Happy.
As I stand at the kitchen sink, lost in thoughts which float out through the window, a hand playfully grazes my bottom.
Giggle.
Early to work, I open my laptop and find a note “Thinking of you…”
Smile.
Flowers for no reason.
Corrective words in their season.
Kisses on my neck while I’m reading.
Love makes room, expands the circle to let me be me, never constricting but respecting the need for individuality within our bond.
Secure, I grow, reach up and out, and find my way.
Like a vine drawn to the light, I rise.
Nurtured.
Walking the streetside of the pavement, Love protects.
Truck door opened without any prodding.
Love’s lady.
Lady’s Love.
Sheltered from storms, and held in the eye.
Love gives good, and receives good from my hand, my heart.
Small consistent steps make Love’s journey.
The little things.
The “just because’s.”
The longing glances.
Long talks.
Silent steady walks.
The strong hand, warming my cold fingers.
The knowing, and understanding.
Through trial and fire.
Through passion and pain.
In mundane and ordinary.
The “here.”
Love wakes me.

I open my eyes.

Imagining.

Forever Autumn - Justin Hayward

A gentle rain falls softly on my weary eyes
As if to hide a lonely tear
My life will be forever autumn
'cause you're not here...

 -----

 Like the sun through the trees
you came to love me.
Like a leaf on a breeze
you blew away...

 -----

 A poignant melody from my childhood. I remember as a young girl, in the weeks before Christmas, being unable to sleep, and sneaking into our small living room to listen to my brother's record on the turntable. The whole house was asleep. Not I. The multicolored glow from the holiday bulbs was the only illumination, and the soundtrack was the "War of the Worlds" by Jeff Wayne on LP.  Transfixed by the lights, and drawn into the drama and horror of H.G. Wells' work of fiction, it was a heart-wrenching turn to hear the beautiful strains and Justin Hayward's voice so full of sorrow and longing in the middle of the action.  Even as a child, I wanted to reach into the story to comfort him and let him know he would see his love again.  Through the years, I've chanced to hear the song every now and again.  It moves me, and stirs my heart like the chilling autumn wind stirs the crisp leaves of November, just before the winter snows dampen them and they are trodden under foot.

 For those who grieve loss, and are longing, this song depicts November so aptly.

 ...forever autumn.

Through Tears

I ask “why?” so often.
Some questions will never be answered.
There is much I will never understand.
Even in prayer, in scripture, in meditation, and in silent waiting, I have found no explanation.

A little child.
Innocent.
Longing for love, for acceptance, for care, for safety...
Not only rejected, but damaged in indescribable and unspeakable ways by those who should have nurtured, protected, provided, and LOVED.

Why, God?

For what possible reason?

From whence come the blessing in these things?

The Shack, a book recently made into a movie, dealt with some similar subject matter and the loss of a child, dealt with forgiveness and peace after horrible tragedy.  I barely got through the book, and cannot/will not see the film.   I have to get up and leave a theatre, or burn a book I start, because of my visceral reaction if there is any harm or abuse of a child.  I remember becoming ill at one particular scene involving a child in American Sniper... having to hide my face, and make some noise to cover the sounds of it, wanting to throw up and run.

As a parent, I look at my youngest daughter and question how could anyone ever reject such a innocent and trusting angel? Let alone harm her?  She has a fierce protector in me.  I love her with everything I am, just as I love my older two. And yet how many children suffer at the hands of selfish, violent, and demented adults, even their own parents? How many cry into their pillows (if they even have them) at night so no one hears, or have become too numb to cry? How many bear the scars from wounds to their bodies and souls that no time or medicine can heal?

Why, God?

And what can I do? I tried to work in the field before but could not bear it for long, as my heart broke every day. How does one detach their heart (or hands?) from children who just want to be loved, especially as all my heart wanted to do was take them in my arms and love away their tears, wash away their pain, and see them whole?

I hear a cry, a scream, a pleading... and my heart aches in the dust, breaking.  The anger in me boils, wanting retribution for those who cannot defend or protect themselves.

Where is the blessing in those tears?

Why?

Waiting for an answer,

Allyson

You may never understand

Tongue-twisted and torn
Tempest tossed amid
Tornado turbulence

Tears

Time.

Tempted to turn

But truth!

Quiet and Tacit

Wait!
Fortitude
Strong
Determine

Trust.


A lot of alliteration to illustrate a heart.

Grace... and thanks

"They say beauty comes from a spirit that has weathered many hardships in life and somehow continues with resilience.  Grace can be found in a soul that ages softly, even amid the tempest.

I think the loveliest by far is the one whose gentle heart bears a hundred scars from caring, yet still finds a way to pick up the lamp, one more time, to light the way for love."

- susan frybort

This quote chokes me up, and causes my heart to swell in my chest.  

I think of my mother, and her precious spirit, who gave out of a scarred heart, never keeping a tally, never tiring in her prayers and devotion.

I think of the grace extended to me by those others may ridicule.

Beauty.

What is beauty to you?

Where does it reside?

Is it the face? the form? that which can be seen and desired?

or

Resilience?

Perseverance?

Grace?

Softly aging, even among the tempests?

Loveliness?

Gentleness?

Caring?

Finding a way (where others may see none)?

Lighting the way?

This is beauty.

This is love.

You may note that many questions, often rhetorical, are asked on this blog.

The author is inquiring, always wondering... and therefore asking.

The subject matter may seem all too similar.

Well... it is the path my thoughts tread.

Faulty, scarred, ugly even...
Yet aspiring to be counted among those like my mother.
Full of grace.

Heartfelt thanks to those who have continued to light my way to Love.

Watch love burn?

Haunting...

This song is magnetic and sensual, while simultaneously repulsive.

It amazes me what we can do (or not do) in the name of love... and what we call love.

Oh, but we romanticize the sexy struggle of self-made drama, the violence, and the turn-on of illicit "love."  All while scorning fidelity, commitment, and trust, passing these off as boring and dull.

Some take abuse, some give it, under the guise of love.
Some sacrifice all, some take all, for the sake of love.
Others lay down their lives, their hearts, while the object of their love walks over it, boots muddy...
Some speak words, some use fists, and say it is love.

Some call it a feeling.
I call feelings fleeting.
Some call it a choice.
I call it a conviction, an act of will.

Some mistake sex for love.
Saying passion defines the heart.
But sex is not love.
And passion has many faces.

Love is not pain.
Pain is pain.

And lies are not love.

Familiarity - Lamentations of the Heart

This is entitled "Lamentations of the Heart."  It sounds very much like a song I wrote back in 1988 when I moved to South Africa. Of course, Philip Wesley is a much more accomplished pianist than I, and he took his instrumental piece to the next level.  My song was written from the heart of a 18-year old, missing home, missing the one she left behind that said he would wait for her.

I never wrote the sheet music for it, but once in a while will sit at my mother's ancient upright piano, and my fingers well remember, and some of the words come back to me...

Groveling

In the past three days I have received phone calls and texts from close friends who are in very painful circumstances. These are some of the most capable, compassionate, intelligent, and cultured friends in my circle.  Having been through my share of challenges, and remembering their often hard-to-swallow exhortations ("Don't be a marshmallow, Allyson!" "Grow a spine!" "Have some self-respect!" and "You do not need to beg for crumbs, honey!"), it is somewhat strange to echo their words back to them.

One's spouse has cheated on her (with his ex-wife!) throughout their marriage, squandered her money, and flaunted his indiscretions among their community.  This man wants his cake and kibbles, too, and knows she would never initiate a separation or divorce.  My friend wants so badly to believe he will change, end his affair, and become the unicorn husband she thought she married.  Hopium is addictive, I know...

Another has enabled and given to her drug addicted sociopathic narcissist daughter til it hurts, only to have her love trampled upon, her generosity abused, items pilfered from her house, and attempts by her daughter to frame her with the law.  My friend wants a relationship with her daughter so badly, and admitted to begging, crying, and pleading with her daughter to let her "try to make amends, to make things right, and that she is so very sorry." (My friend's only "sin" was to finally set a boundary in her own home.)

We are wired for relationship.  It is intrinsic to our nature.  Wanting to love and be loved in return is part and parcel of the human condition.  Be it husband and wife, father to child, child to mother, siblings for each other, or friend to friend... relationships are where we find acceptance, sharpen each other, and (hopefully) experience meaningful bonds that see us through all the joys and sorrows of life.

This strong desire for relationship can often mask the reality of the other person's character.  There can be imbalances and unequally yoked bonds that are disregarded when smoking the hopium pipe.  If only one party has integrity, it is not absorbed and acquired through osmosis by the other party.  You cannot give character to someone, nor can you transmit integrity to another person who does not share your values.   To see my beautiful friends lower themselves to begging for crumbs from people who only betray and shame them, well, it is a travesty.  I want to shake them and say "Stop it! You are worth more than that!"  They are groveling in front of pigs.  Yes, that husband and that daughter are human beings with souls and, while there is breath, there is always hope. But they have revealed their character, clearly, and my friends need to guard their own hearts with some self-respecting boundaries.  They do not need to beg!  Their hearts, their love, their relationship - these are pearls!

Reaching

What do you hold in your hands?

Are you clenching tightly?

It may be you have reached a place of satisfaction, sitting with fists full of the stuff of life. Rich, fat, happy, full hands.  But wait! What's that you see over there? Want it?  Hmmmm... No room in those meaty hands. That grip is tight.  Might just have to relinquish your hold on something.  Frustrated?  Oooooh, but that goodie looks sooooooooo tasty. You drool. You want it!  Maybe, just maybe, you can fit one more sliver in your grasp?  Something may be damaged or ooze out between your fingers, should you attempt it.  Should you release a less desired thing and replace it with the new? Decisions... decisions...  

Or are your hands empty?
Are you reaching?  Forward? Or in reverse?
Longing, but never possessing.
There are times one may stand, a hand palm out to the future, and one palm down to the past.
Pulled by wants in both directions.  The tension is great. And typically, it is the present that suffers.

Or perhaps you cling to handholds on the rocky face of a present challenge.
For the moment you are safe, fingertips gripping, toes feeling for an indent in which to rest your weight, even for a breath of time.
Eyes search above, furtively, for the next reach, knowing time is short;  you cannot remain perched precariously, exposed and vulnerable.
You HAVE to press on, and up.  One hand at a time.
And at once there is one hand holding, and one hand reaching.
It's a wild ride, for sure.  

You may be rare.
An arm around your present, hand resting on the breast of your contentment.
The other arm stretching, inquiringly, into what lies ahead.

What's a heaven for, if not to reach towards? To strive?
Staying still is not an option, as the present becomes the past as the moment passes.

What do you hold?

A little Hump Day Happy

Gotta live and love like there's no such thing as a broken heart. 
Life is a risk.
Love is risky.
Fear of potential pain can hold you back from experiencing all the joys and blessings life has to offer.

So... just a Hump Day happy jam to get your smile on.
(and maybe, just maybe, to help you readjust your focus)
It's a sweet perspective.
Choosing.

A Man Who'll do to Ride the River With

Read this today and it made quite the impact.  It caused me to wonder not only if I have been this kind of friend, but also if I can count such a one among those I hold dear.

There is little more I can add to this article, other than to say I have wished for such a companion as described here.  And, as a goal, I aspire to be a person who will "do to ride the river with."

------------------------

By Stephen Bly

   1944 - 2011

Copyright©1993, 2009

In the Old West, a person’s reputation often meant the difference between survival and death. So, it was a guarded commodity.

For many cowboys, his reputation was the only thing of value he could rightly call his own. Lots of terms sprang up that described a man of good character. One of the more meaningful became the phrase “he’ll do to ride the river with,” the highest compliment paid to a cowman.

Back in the days of trail drives, cowboys had to swim thousands of heads of cattle across swollen and dangerous rivers. To make it across required riders of exceptional skill, courage, and level-headed thinking. You quickly learned who you could trust to ride those rivers with you.

You may have wished for that sort of companion.
A good decision maker...
One who keeps commitments...
A friend who stays cool in a crisis...
A partner who helps you cross the stream of trials, the river of troubles...
Someone who’s a stander, not a runner...
A person of faith who seeks God’s wisdom.

It’s a great goal for which to aim yourself: become a person who’ll do to ride the river with.

*************

Has there been that kind of friend for you?

Have you been that sort of friend for another?

~~~~~~~~~

'Tude?

“It never ceases to amaze me: we all love ourselves more than other people, but care more about their opinion than our own.”

― Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

It's a selfie.  And that's supposed to show arrogance, right? Vanity? Some may think it is narcissistic and selfish.  Overly confident?  Or insecure and needing validation?  Well...

This particular photo was taken a little over a year ago, after having gone through a dark period in the Valley of the Shadow, and then emerging from the gloom into the sunshine once more! (I came across it while looking through my files, and it felt so timely and appropriate.) If there is one thing I've learned, contrary to the fairy tales and unicorn imaginings of so many, the only thing constant about Life is... change!  There are tempests not of our own making to be endured, and those storms which we create all by our little ol' selves (but for which some do not wish to take credit, eh?). There are circumstances that surround us over which we have no control, and circumstances we need to take responsibility for.  I have heard people lament "but he/she changed!" as if we are static creatures. In my opinion, we live a metamorphosis similar to that of the caterpillar to a butterfly. While we grow and develop, there are characteristics intrinsic to our being. Be aware, however, we have the ability to choose what qualities we feed, and whether virtue or vice. Then, it is the stuff of life that reveals who we truly are, reveals our mettle, as it were.  And that which we are in the dark will be exposed by the Light.

I fall. I strive. I smile. I laugh. I fail. I grow. And guess what... I like me!  Warts and all!  I have to live with myself in the Shadow, as well as in the Light.  And the mirror of my soul reflects a character worthy of respect and love and truth... Sure, I screw up. But it does not negate my value. There is no need to beg another to love me, or accept me, or to "pick me!"  No need to convince another of my worth. Those who wish to see it, will. Those who do not...?  It is not my job to advertise (laughing). There is an abundance of love within me, as well as grace and forgiveness.  It would be a mistake, however, to interpret that as weakness.

Some gems on which it is valuable to meditate:

• The "king of philosophers," stoic Marcus, remained in control of his emotions through believing nature unfolds in a perfect way and that one must accept they cannot change the past or what other people feel in their hearts.
• "Live in the present."  And, may I add, be truly present in your life, not lamenting or idolizing the past, neither dreaming away in an uncertain future fantasy.
• When you remove your feelings from how you perceive difficult events, you are able to have empathy for the people who disappoint you and acceptance for the losses you suffer.
• Consider the benefits of such stoicism, in which someone chooses to "transform fear into prudence, pain into transformation, mistakes into initiation, and desire into undertaking." In other words, by causing all things to benefit for the good in some way.  Yes, even the painful, nasty, ugly, hurtful things can result in something good if you choose how you react going forward - by growing in virtue and character.
• "Find peace with yourself."  You don't HAVE to go to the woods, or a mountain top, or a Valley which echoes your dreams when you whisper them, or a Buddhist monastery.  You can find it in the quiet of your own heart.  Just seek...
• Don't resent people for their character (or lack of...) If someone's character flaw has caused one of your problems, do not exert energy trying to change that person's character. Let things go.  "You might as well resent a fig tree for secreting juice," Marcus writes.
• I am responsible for my own happiness!  "Choose not to be harmed — and you won't feel harmed. Don't feel harmed — and you haven't been."  Similarly, do not let adulation from others overwhelm you.
• Do not define yourself by others' perception of you, since the only way someone can truly harm you is if they change your character.  Do not allow them to!  Hold fast to your integrity!!
• "You could leave life right now," Marcus writes. "Let that determine what you say and think."

The point of it all is that it is about a personal journey.  It is YOUR journey.  Others may walk beside you, yes. But the steps are YOURS. You, and you alone, are responsible for your choices and reactions. Do they draw you closer to the person you wish to be? the life you wish to live?  Do you like you?

That jut to my chin?   It represents whatever I choose it to... and I am happy. 😄

Congratulations! You've won the Golden Turd Award!

A timely gem of wisdom floated across my computer screen this morning. While crude, using humor, it reminded me from whence I came.  Thanks to six years of distance for providing perspective, I giggled in the remembering.  It was even more fitting that the original question came from an Allyson (yes, also with a "y") from Canada, and yet the similarity was purely coincidental.  I would like to note, that I do not believe in "no-fault" endings to a relationship; the individual should evaluate their life for weak areas in which they can grow that may have contributed to the situation, or to their negative reaction and pain.  It may be there are co-dependent issues, delusions, personal character flaws, a lack of healthy boundaries, or lack of genuine self-respect.  That in mind, read on (if you dare).  If it applies, draw knowledge. If not, file it away for a future time to encourage a friend, or to remind yourself of your worth. :-)

(WARNING:  unsavory language ahead)

NOTE:  The piece remains uncensored, as to redact would diminish its essence.

In Response to Allyson in Canada

Dear Allyson,

Okay, she won. She beat you in the pick me dance for fantastic fucktard prizes. You got the set of luggage. She got the fucktard.

What did she win? Well, by your own description — a desperately needy, cruel, and unstable man. Yippee.

Oh no! But somehow in your imagination when they’re together it’s happy and wonderful. Somehow he magically had a character transplant with maturity injections and became someone capable of commitment and deep joy. That guy who walked out on his little daughter and you — a guy who abandoned his family and betrayed his friend — that’s Mr. Happy. That’s your prize there.

Perhaps you’re new here, but we call that a sparkly turd. All the sugar frosting and colored sprinkles cannot disguise a dog turd. It’s still a dog turd.

He can dress it up anyway he wants to — she’s his Twu Wuv, it was something bigger than them both (a huge turd castle?), the heart wants what the heart wants — he’s still a turd. And she’s a woman who won a turd.

It’s not about you, Allyson. I’m sorry — that’s at once liberating and infuriating. You didn’t matter to him. Your daughter didn’t matter. That does NOT mean you do not matter. It means he is not the benchmark of your worthiness — he’s someone more at home with fellow turds.

But you invested in him! Surely that must mean something! It means you got chumped. You extract the painful life lessons, and you move forward. You loved someone undeserving of your love. It was a one-way street. It doesn’t mean you were less than, because you’re not her. Thank GOD you’re not her! Do you want to be someone with less moral sense than God gave badgers? Do you want to be saddled with a narcissist? There is nothing here to feel jealous about, because she is not enviable. She just thinks she is.

And he wants you to be jealous, because that’s the pick me dance, and that provides kibbles to the cheaters. So please, I know it’s hard right now, but stop giving a shit about them. Start focusing on your new turd-free life. And stop worrying about Ms. Won-a-Turd being around your daughter. You’re the mommy, that love is primal, no one takes that away from you. This is your chance to model to your daughter how to be a badass. How you don’t tolerate disrespect. How you rebuild and reinvent yourself when life kicks you in the teeth. Do not model pick me dancing and turd envy.

You’re going to be fine, Allyson. You got the luggage set. YOU won.

This column ran previously. And somewhere in Canada, some OW idiot won a turd. I’m sure that worked out for her… 

Chump Lady Answers

Shadow

It's cold in the Shadow.
But the darkness covers my nakedness and wraps around me like an inky black friend.
The Shadow is lonely.
But I take comfort that no one can truly see me here.
And if no one can see me, or touch me, or know the truth of me, then I am safe.
The pain in the Shadow is great.
But I see the light from a distance and it hurts my eyes, which have grown accustomed to dark, to murky, to indistinct.
The Sun would burn my pale skin.
The Shadow has no joy and sucks what life there is from my soul. But it is a refuge from the Light. If I do not venture forth, and risk it, then I shall never feel rejection.
In the Shadow I can pretend I am seen.
Yes, they are lies, but it is better than the sting of reality.
The mask I wear can be whatever I wish it to be, and no will ever know what's beneath the crust.

Once, one came to draw me out.
But fear overpowered me, and I fulfilled the prophecy of rejection - I rejected her.
I retreated to the Shadow.
I could see her there, in the light, head bowed and shoulders quaking.
I reached out my hand, wanting to touch, but I couldn't.

The Shadow is familiar and doesn't challenge me.
Here I can stay small, and weak, and stunted, and no one forces me to grow... or to love.
Coldness is my comfort, lies are my cloak, and pain is my gift.
Isn't the gloom lovely?

You're gone.

There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza…

Eyes cannot see you.

Hands cannot touch you - if reached for.

Heart cannot meet yours.

Words cannot be heard - if whispered, if screamed.

You’re gone.

No place at the table.

No fire to warm the room.

No bedspread to smooth.

No sweet blue eyes.

No walks among the autumn leaves.

No shared stories.

No laughter at my silliness.

No voice calling in the night.

Even the last voice message you left is gone. (Last phone I had was drenched during my long ride in the rain up Vancouver Island.) 

No music over which to reminisce.

No chiding smile.

No memories being made.

I have your words ringing in the shadows of my heart, and I recall our history of long conversations.

I remember them…

I remember you.

Damn, I miss you so much.

Do you know the void you left?

Or are you so happy in your paradise?

Do you sing?

Do you dance?

Do you embrace those with you?

I’m so jealous.

Yet, I try to be happy for you.

You said goodbye… I knew you had to go, and I couldn’t keep you.

There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza…

And it will not be filled.

Young Old Love

“Young Old Love”

Butterflies.

Anticipation.

Eyes meet.

And hold.

The rush.

The touch.

Bodies broken in.

But the merging thrill.

Deep.

Strong.

Lasting.

Trusting emotion.

Dancing.

The edge is heady.

But steady.

Trusting conversation.

Spoken and silent.

Quiet confidence.

Passionate strength.

Aging mirror.

Character lines.

Sweet strong times.

Treasured kiss.

Solid bliss.

Cherished.

Shared history.

Double story.

Warm as honey.

Rich and enduring.

Satisfying.

Knowing.

Being known.

Wouldn’t trade it for fleeting youth.

Still get butterflies…?

Who are you... Truly?

Who are you when no one is looking?  Who are you under that skin of yours?

Oscar Wilde’s character, Dorian Gray, was a beautiful, but malleable, young aristocrat.  At the time his first and only portrait was being painted, Dorian’s vanity was appealed to by an unscrupulous mentor. It was suggested to Dorian that, due to his innocent good looks, no one would ever suspect him of anything but that which was righteous and pure. In the presence of an Egyptian relic, Dorian wished the new portrait to grow old, while he remain physically unchanged from that day forward. 

His wish involved so much more than the mere signs of aging. Dorian began to explore the dark side of his desires, with small unrighteous acts, callous disregard, a deception here, a lie there.  His initial exploration soon grew to indulging in the temporary pleasures of illicit sexual activity, substance abuse, and the most depraved materialism.  Along with this came extortion, cruelty, and mafia-like destruction of anyone who suspected his indiscretions.  Eventually… murder(s).  He sowed a garden of lust, greed, lies, madness, and hate – all things unrighteous. 

Dorian’s physical appearance and youthful vigor never altered.  As time passed, those around him aged naturally, their characters and life deeds etched on their bodies.  The first sins were almost imperceptible on the face of the portrait, noted only in a slight arrogance to the eyes, or a twist of cruelty in the lips.  Dorian soon moved the portrait from his public parlor to a corner of the attic where only he could view its deterioration.  Like a magnet, the portrait drew him to witness the true state of his soul.

Wretched with the weight of his choices, and the reality of the man he had become, Dorian decided to attempt a change.  One conscious good deed… Did the portrait change?  Why, yes, there… there it is… a slight lessoning of the horror.  Yes!  It was possible to change.  Dorian grew hopeful.

I wish the story had a sweet ending, one in which Dorian saw the portrait revert to its original state, and he lived the remainder of his days, aged appropriately, and with a pure heart.  However, it does not.  I will not ruin the ending for you, dear reader.  I will say, though, that there was redemption.

All of this was written with a purpose.  One can feel judged and condemned, or even held back by the fear of rejections of one’s externals, yet hold a soul so full of promise and hope… Unrealized potential. Contrariwise, one can take excessive amounts of pride in one’s outward appearance, and yet have a soul black as ink... Denial of one's true self.   How to help one realize it is the true heart and soul and mind that is the treasure, and the body is simply the shell that houses this amazing being?  How to encourage the former to see past their own perceived deficiencies, and emerge strong and beautiful, head held high?  To realize the man (or woman) beneath the skin…? Authentic!

Do you accept the person underneath? Or has the carefully constructed facade taken over?

My body is aging. The lines deepen, the skin thins, the hair grays… I am no youth, and have passed the boundaries of middle-age.  Does my own heart reflect to others? Or do they see only the older woman? It is none of my concern what they see, really…  I look in the mirror at the Allyson that stumbles and regains her footing, and I love her… fallible and flawed as she is.  She is me.  And for all her failings, she loves… and lives.

Do you, truly?

Untitled

...and the answer was

to leave.

Current Thoughts...

I write in weird prose, often savoring single words. My writing is not meant for everyone to digest at the same rate, or even to appreciate. Rather, it is a very personal outlet, an expression. Why so many single words? Because to my mind, they are rich in depth and meaning, all while standing alone.  I like to pause, absorb, and reflect. Simple, single words can move me. Not for their number (as mentioned in a previous post), but for their individual weight.

What a banquet can be feasted upon... even with three words.!


(NOTE:  There is a lot going on politically and socially in our country, and you may notice a lack of comment. It does not reflect a lack of awareness or concern.)

Loss... and Found

Breathe.

Laugh.

Giggle.

Play.

Grieve.

Sing.

Dance.

Smile.

Cry.

Make love.

Fight.

Make up.

Pray.

Eat the damned pie.

Drink that heady wine.

Stay up late to watch autumn's harvest moon, even if your feet are freezing.

Camp out under the stars and watch a horse's breath mist the night.

Plunge into water that takes the very air from your lungs.

Smell the sulfur from a freshly lit match and touch the flame to your fire.

Unfurl your sail and feel the strength of the wind as it drives you forward.

Place one foot in front of the other and crest that ridge.

Get a glimpse of the world from a fresh vantage point.

Cut the wave with your paddle and strain against the current.

Break your own heart and repair it with more beautiful glue.

Kiss.

Read.

Embrace.

Sweat.

Fail.

Grow.

Learn.

Thrill!

Shiver.

Feel the burn.

Feel alive.

Do.

Be.

Gloriously flawed.

On the mountain of your life...

Live!

Gift of Sight

“If there is any need that is perpetually unmet on this planet, it is the need to feel seen. To feel seen in our humanity, in our vulnerability, in our beautiful imperfection. When we are held safe in that, a key turns inside of our hearts, freeing us from our isolation, transforming our inner world. If there is anything we can offer each other, it is the gift of sight. “I see you”-perhaps the most important words we can utter to another. I see you…”

― Jeff Brown

Humanity.

Vulnerability.

Beautiful Imperfection.

I never looked.

Yet I saw.

And held safe...

The other closed their eyes.

Invisible.

Isolated.

I see you.

Acta non verba

How do you love?

With words?
Vapor
Air
Noise
Build on air?
Remove the words...
Your love shows its quality.
Empty.

With actions?
Solid
Earth
Silence
Build on earth?
Words are superfluous...
Your love shows its quality.
True.

Time. Presence. Essence. Effort.
Caring. Understanding. Affection. Communication.
These are words... of action.
These actions build love.

"I love you."  Effortless to write.
Three words. Less than three seconds.
The naive believe.

A man may speak the words. What draws love into existence and galvanizes it are the actions that prove the heart. If only words are given, without corresponding proof, then the words are void... hollow.

A man may never utter "I love you." But observe...
And the truth will reveal itself.

Oh, how I would rather experience the pleasure and pain of life through silent love, while holding a lover's  steady hand... than read skeletal declarations of love in epic language!

From the mundane to the thrill...
It is in the presence of love that life has greatest meaning.

Who truly loves?
The one who declares in sporadic word?
Or
The one who acts according to words unspoken?

How can love be shown?
Acta non verba.

Known?
Just watch.

Cracks

Tonight, yesterday, the day before... too much seeping from the cracks in this heart, watering the dust.

Time...

  Sooooo... dear blog of mine,

  I love my son so much.  Having him home with us feels almost unreal. Well, except for the reality of groceries disappearing at a fantastic rate from the fridge and cupboards, that is! Oh, and the mounds of additional laundry... But yes, it is wonderful having Orion here!  His presence has been missed and we love the creative sparkle he brings to our lives. Elly adores her big brudder, and Charlie's partner in crime has returned to draw her out once more.
  My brain has been buzzing with thought, and my heart overflows. There is so much happening from without, and from within.  Today it felt fair to bursting out of my chest. The questions began - Do I write it all out? Do I attempt to make sense of the seemingly conflicted emotions of euphoria and heartache?  I've been writing so much more lately, more on paper, than in the last few years.   This is a communications blog? Or is it a space for my personal reflections?  Hmmm....
  Well, regardless, the photo is blurry and imperfect, but expresses joy... and that is my big revelation for today 😊

Ramblings...

(Written by tiny phone keyboard...)
     It is late and, although weary from work, be it office or home, the spirit is so very alive. So awake. Life and it's mysterious ways can cause one to rejoice at blessings, grieve (or rage) at sorrows, or (more often than not) scratch one's head in consternation.  While there is much outside the realm of one's control, there is still accountability for choices made, actions taken, and reactions knee-jerked 😜.  (Yea, I used an emoticon, smile, get over it, and read on if you like...)
     We are only given one life and, while many say we are only given one chance, I beg to differ. Every day, and often every hour, we are given chances... or choices. With what do we fill those hours, those days? Do we choose to fill them with meaning, savoring the mundane, even, as the gift it is?  Is our attitude one of gratitude for the breaths we take?  With the right perspective, even the simplest of moments can be treasured - from scrubbing baked-on food from the bottom of a crock pot, to pausing from watering the garden to gaze up at the sky and feel the sun kiss one's cheek. I have found, from experience, that it is in treasuring the simple, the good, the often monotonous, that I find joy in life. While exciting, passionate, and thrilling moments can enrich one's life, I choose not to wait for these, but rather smile over the little things. Giggling with my five year old on the swing is a memory I treasure even more than landing a Piper Cherokee on a Mozambican airfield littered with bullet casings.
     My senior year quote from the high school yearbook read, "Go... make your own life extraordinary."  Now, years later, while still encouraging others to do so, I believe it is in the heart and mind that one's life can be EXTRAordinary.
     Songs touch me, this one above probably more than most. Years pass more quickly as I age. No, I do not want to turn back the clock, but choose to live in the present.  Make yours mean something...

Change for the Better...

Earlier today I heard the most hauntingly beautiful instrumental piece playing on my Pandora "Debussy" channel. After not feeling very inspired for quite some time, and believing I had been encouraged, I had determined to write down the emotions this piano composition evoked in me. It was reminiscent of stars revealing themselves slowly, as the night supplanted the day, and stirred a similar awakening within, with the revealing of those tiny points of light, of truth.

However...

The Lovers

Symbiotic.
He stands, strong, supportive.
Embracing from the core, roots held fast beneath, arms stretched to the heavens.
Tender.
She bows, gentle, and firm.
Balanced, they dance, unmoving.
Giving, receiving, and loving.
Necessary.
Interdependent.
They glide, yet still.
Intertwined.
Two.

One.