And I shall write.

Isn't this an amazing mug? I wish I could give it to everyone.

Esperanza means to wait -

Oh if I'd known this alternate definition,
I'd have suffered patiently,
to wait for healing, and precision

God exists within this pain -
she, triumphant in this waiting tumult,
years passing with each day

Inside my cold and wasting heart,
blossoms bud in silent reverence
for this Abba others cast away,
to ease their confusion, disbelief

I am quiet in my closet,
marking down with lines each day,
waiting for my esperanza - hoping God will find her way

I wrote this poem a few years ago, when life was bleak and I wanted something to hold on to. I was looking for God, or meaning. I was looking for a reason for pain. And I found that sometimes there are no reasons, that to truly accept the depth of evil, deep down in your soul, is suicide, and all we can do sometimes is love one another, and speak truth, and hold hands, and all that good mushy gushy hippie stuff.

Much love.

Hey you.

If you have a dog, you will most likely outlive it; to get a dog is to open yourself to profound joy and, prospectively, to equally profound sadness.

Marjorie Garber

Nothing.

The thing about trash and recycling, is that there's always something there, a tangible object, a thing to feel and see (and sometimes even smell). When you throw something away, that thing goes somewhere (usually to a landfill). You recycle something, and it gets transformed and used again. The cycle goes on and on and on. It's a beautiful thing.

But with love, sometimes there is nothingness and emptiness, and "no more". Sometimes feelings disappear, and can never be found again. Where they go, we don't know. We go to marriage counseling to find them. We take lovers, hoping to feel good again. We drink. We laugh. We try to want and long and ache the way we used to.

Nothing.

I am feeling a bit empty of love at this moment, wishing and missing for what I once carried with me every day like a warm, tear-soaked, blanket.

No more love like a life force that could leap tall buildings. No more love. No more love. No more love.

I guess it's 9/11.

I work with people who are hurting, and oftentimes within that hurt are questions of forgiveness. What is forgiveness? How does a person forgive? What does forgiveness mean? And I never answer those questions for another person, because those are deep questions about faith and belief, and it's incredibly important for a person to be able to make decisions about forgiveness autonomously, without the interests of other people getting in the way.

Larger issues of peace are incredibly complex. Forgiveness and peace may be inextricably linked, but how one goes about finding peace is also a deeply personal issue. Sometimes we get very sidetracked with blame, and wanting answers. Sometimes there are no answers. Sometimes life sucks and we just have to keep going.

In Bikram last night, the teacher (or supreme yogi, or whatever they're called) reminded us that Bikram helps us to find stillness, or forces us to be still. All I know is that at the end of the class, I want to jump up and run out the door. I want the hot to go away. I want to breathe cool air. But I heed those words (because what am I there for if I don't listen?), and I lie as still as I can, for as long as I can (probably less than the recommended three minutes), before I hurry to test my sugar and get some fresher air.

When I lived in the jungle, I had few moments of cool crisp air to breathe. When I came off the plane, I thought I would die. It felt like an oven (it was the equator, after all). And my body suffered in the heat, and my soul suffered with loneliness, but I survived. Sometimes all we can do is survive, and hope that God really is there and real, or else none of it means anything anyway and there is no point.

So breathe the hot air, because it's all you have. Be mad if you want, because it won't make the hot air go away. I like to be mad at God. God can handle it.

Taking a lover :)

Aren't these super cool?

Don't hide your love...

Michael McDermott - "Lantern"

So if you've ever spent any kind of significant time with me, you have heard me talk about sex. It fascinates me. It scares me. It's endlessly interesting to discuss. I've been trying to work it out, figure it out, for a long time. I think I'm at a better place today than I was fifteen years ago, and even five years ago, but I still have questions about morality, sexual ethics, and the very Megan-esque question, "Should I take a lover?"

Every six months or so, for the past thirteen or so some-odd years, I ask myself this question. And several of those times, the answer was "yes". But for the past few years, the answer has been "no". I entered seminary, quickly got into a relationship, and was confronted by my spirituality and sexuality, all at the same time, in the same room. It wasn't pretty. It was scary and not healthy. I was old enough to know better, but I didn't know how to make decisions that were good for me.

Celibacy is an awful word. So much of the person I want to be is plain hard core. And celibacy is not hard core. But it's also a reflection of how far I've come in those thirteen years. At the beginning, I was sixteen, totally in love, and unable to move in my own body, accept my own sexuality and act on it. When I lost that relationship, I did a 180 and slept with anyone who would have me. I was heartbroken and confused, and it took me a really long time to work through those feelings. It took me a long time to forgive that sixteen-year-old girl who couldn't sleep with her boyfriend, the one person I ever really loved. But I have forgiven her. It was a lot of emotion for a previously unloved little girl. It was overwhelming and terrifying.

So maybe I'll take a lover, but I probably won't. I want to be with someone I love. So yeah, that's the thing I've been talking about lately, that painful, suffering, wanting. I want to be with the person I love, and it's an almost impossible thing to wait for.

What do I do with my car?

Two days ago, I was in a hit-and-run on a local freeway. A large truck was swerving in the far left lane, ran into me on my driver's side, then sped away. There was a fair bit of traffic, and I couldn't move or swerve. It all happened so fast, and for the next several hours, I wasn't quite sure if I had done something wrong, but no, it was an accident, and it sucks, and that's just how it is.

So now my car is in worse shape than ever, and I don't want to deal with it anymore! I just want it to end, this whole car craziness. I don't want to drive a car that people feel compelled to run into (as per this comment last night from a friend: "Yeah, I'd run into that"). This darn rabbit keeps digging me into a deeper financial hole, and all I want is out, out, out!

Yesterday, on a lovely trip to see my parents, and do their laundry (disabled parent = need to be productive in the face of chaos), a friend offered me a non-running 1990 Toyota Corolla which needs the following: serpentine belt, temperature gauge, radiator. It's been sitting in their back lot for at least a year, and was running fine until the aforementioned items exploded from the dashboard (no joke). The car has air conditioning, four doors, and upholstery, all of which I covet. And it may be free (before repairs, obviously). So I'm spending a few days deciding what it will cost to fix, whether or not it's wise to do so, and praying to God that somehow, in some small way, I can be relieved of this mess.

Peace out :)

Have you ever been in love?

I don't have relationships with exes. I imagine that some people do. As I said before, I am like a sponge, and I don't do well managing feelings without slipping into old patterns. I doubt it's always the healthiest option, but for me, it's the best one. It protects my heart, and in odd cases, the hearts of other people (I just don't imagine anyone is too hung up on me post mortem).

And it works well. I leave, try again, mess up again, and no one is destroyed in the process. I was finding that every time I went back to my ex-boyfriends, my heart only became more attached, and more difficult to pull out of the relationship. Where once we might have been able to make somewhat of a clean break, re-entering the fray only made it more difficult to leave a second time without major trauma to my heart. Maybe our hearts were made for monogamy. I don't know. Sometimes I imagine that they are. But I don't think that our human-ness makes us able to not hurt eachother, and sometimes moving on is the best thing for everyone involved. Maybe in a perfect world, we could all mate for life, but I doubt anyone makes it to adulthood without breaking a heart or two.

Be kind. Being a grown-up means sacrifice, usually the sacrifice of things we thought we needed to survive. Maybe it can be okay to let go, if it means that in the end, you save a heart or two.

Single and in need

Oil + vinegar + seasonings = Homemade dressing

Are you married, or partnered? Is there a single (i.e. unmarried) person in your life that you love to love? If not, get one, and soon. The fate of single-kind rests in your hands. We are weak and unorganized. We tend to gather in groups, but real unity doesn't always stick. We need more stable entities to ground us, hold us to a neighborhood, a home. We need people who will stay even when that staying is not a civil agreement marked by the courts.

I don't know when I first started adopting families. I was probably about fifteen or so. I needed something that my own environment wasn't providing, and I looked far and wide for something boring to latch onto. I found that stable boring wonderful something in my best friend and her parents, who sat down every night at 9pm to have dinner together. I was always welcomed warmly, though I never had anything to give beyond my strong dish-washing abilities ;) Those moments helped me stay grounded in a chaotic world, and have served as a template for other families and other dinners.

Tonight, I shared one such dinner. We discussed pink slime and my current employment status. Many strawberries were eaten, and I had an extra helping of salad. It was wonderful because it was shared. I don't sit at home and cry when I eat dinner by myself. I enjoy silence quite a lot, and often long for it during the chaos of the day. But there are times, usually Saturday nights, when all I want is a family to eat dinner with. So thanks to all of my family friends, who welcome me warmly into their homes no matter what I'm wearing, or how much I monopolize the conversation.

Funkdigity

Knitting? Gardening? Staring out the window?

Should I be doing something else? Should I be watching less television? Should I be walking on the grass and staring at the sky more? I'm in that weird place where my life is changing and I don't quite know what to do while it's happening. I've been talking about it for the past nine months or so, but now my graduation is a week away (nine days to be exact). I'm in a funky funk, and I'm just going to have to ride it out.

I'm pretty much a professional now. I'm a professional who sells trash on the internet (when I'm trying to convince someone how lame I am, I create really pithy sayings like that). I'm actually pretty awesome, but I don't know if it's okay to really live in that feeling. I might become obese or sociopathic if I care about myself too much (or too little for that matter). I guess I have a core fear that I have to maintain some kind of emotional balance that errs on the side of depression. That way, karma will repay me in my next life by blessing me with many virgins (seriously, why are virgins so valuable in the afterlife?) or cows.

I created an outfit for graduation day. I bought a dress yesterday, and took it to be altered today. I still need to have my earrings fixed. Everything fell apart at the beginning of the school year, and I've just kinda limped along ever since. Now I'm on the other side, and everything needs repair. Including me, probably.

We are not cylons.

 

I'm starting to hope that somehow, some way, I can overcome the monstrosity of my childhood and manage to eek out a healthy, long-term relationship. Most of the time, it feels hopeless. People who don't really know me assume I'm attached, because for all appearances, I look like someone who has a stable person in her life.

I'm not trying to be coupled to meet anyone else's expectations. I don't even know if I could manage a long-term relationship under one roof. I don't know because I've never done it. I don't know, because in my life, it has not yet proven possible. It is a very difficult thing to hold two things in constant balance: the desire to be with another person along with the need to be comfortable in my own skin and content with my own life, as it is, today.

Somehow, I have to hold on to both of these parts of myself, and continue to move forward. I have to choose to be the person whose life I have lived, whose full life I have lived, and still hope for something different to be created in the future. That person has suffered. That person hurts. But that person is only a person, a human being, if all of those things are true. To be human is to feel pain, and not be able to turn it off, or successfully wish it away. To be human is to be imperfect and my imperfection happens to be highlighted in this one particular area.

We are not cylons (tee-hee -- I am currently hooked on Battlestar Galactica).

Ideals vs. reality

Today was not a good day for me personally, but it was a pretty good thrifting day. I spent less, which is always great. I didn't take care of myself as well as I should, though. I'm losing steam, and making unwise decisions, or maybe I'm just being thrown complex problems. Who knows?

The dog and I are not a good fit. We're just not. But I'm caught between the ideal of never going back on an agreement, and the reality of a dog who needs a different structure to thrive.

Can someone bring me some ice cream? I think that ice cream would make me feel better.

My un-straight spine

I kinda wish I had a job where I could be a little more flashy. In some ways, I feel like the way I might normally dress, even nicely, might draw too much attention to me, and my work is not about me.

When I get dressed, I don't think about how I want to look, or what I feel like wearing that day. I just pull out my slacks, and pick a shell and sweater that I haven't worn together lately. Then I try to make my face look like I haven't slept in hay, cover up my white lips, add some earrings, and it's an outfit. My medical ID bracelet is the only other "jewelry" I have. I believe I've previously disclosed my inability to wear necklaces. Maybe in another year or so, I'll try a necklace one day, when my neck is all the way straight.

I have a lot of tension in my neck and shoulders. This is something that I have dealt with for a long time, but is only becoming worse over time. Yoga helps, but it doesn't fix it. The best thing that I have found is getting adjusted by a chiropractor, and not little tweaking-major wrenching.

Maybe I am unique in this way, maybe not, but my spine is not as it should be. Working with a chiropractor has begun a reversal process (reversing what, I don't exactly know). The process isn't complete, but it is a whole lot better than it ever has been in my adult life. Thank you awesome chiropractor-you've helped me stand truly straight, for maybe the first time in my life :)

Shame in me

Shame is an awful thing. I can feel it in my chest. It's like a fist grabs my heart, and then wrenches it to the right. Ouch.

I am feeling shame at this very moment, and I am trying to talk myself through it. I feel the shame of a little kid who is tattling, something I don't directly remember doing, but imagine I did quite often. Doing the right thing is very important to me. And when I see it out there, possible, I want to grab it and make it mine. I want to own the essence of being right. I want to own it and let it define me. I want to be right. I want to be right. I want to be right. Ad infinitum...

Being right makes us feel safe. It makes us feel in control. When that is questioned, when we make small mistakes, we are struck with the uninvited wrenching fist in the chest.

I have to talk to myself often, remind myself that I am fallible, remind myself that I cannot know the right and perfect way to do everything. All I have is myself, and whatever faculties are available in that particular moment.

In all reality, I am human and flawed, and I never do the right thing. But so are you, so at least we're all in this thing together.

Nothing you can own...

"And I realised, there is nothing, anyone can really own"

That's the line that made me post the song. I get more out of it every time I listen to it.

I have a friend who is going through an unbelievably hard time right now; and it just keeps getting worse, like a Peter Sellers movie where nothing goes right (e.g. The Party). I keep thinking that life is just about holding on, that we have no control over what happens, over what other people do. All we have is how we choose to respond to the shit in our lives that falls in droves from the sky.

Oh yeah, and suicide isn't an option, because it just kills more people and keeps the death spiral going. Sucks, don't it?

Life sucks. But at least it's long, right?

The pain can't last forever.

Have you ever felt debilitating emotional pain? Have you ever done everything in your power to then cover up or numb that awful feeling(s)? If so, you are not alone. And I am here to tell you that that numbing that you seek is perfectly understandable. Those terrible feelings are oftentimes the reason people attempt suicide. Sometimes those feelings do indeed feel worse than one imagines death could ever possibly feel. "Hell? This is hell."

So this is a shout out to all those who have felt those debilitating feelings of awful, unspeakable pain. You are not alone. Ride it out.

Someday the pain will end. It has to. It really must end at some point. I'm beginning to think that if I equate emotional pain with physical pain, I can begin to imagine that this awful feeling in my chest that makes me want to die is actually my heart healing from a horrific injury. It has been blasted, and now it is doing the difficult work of putting itself back together. I'm not going to pour salt into it by sleeping around and making it worse. I'm not going to start drinking excessively. Alcohol will only make it worse.

All of things we do to ease the pain only prolong the feeling(s). And in order to get over those feelings, we must FEEL them. We must do the awful, heartbreaking work of sitting with those feelings and waiting.

So wait, dearies. It will end. Someday, somehow, it will end.

Thank you Sugar :)

I'm having a difficult moment; it will pass. I have difficult moments sometimes, and they always pass eventually. I made someone sad today on accident, and I got a new job, and I got hit on a lot. It was a busy day.

I talk a lot on my blog about wanting things: the nature of want, the appropriateness of want, etc. And in my mind, I keep coming back to it. I want things that I cannot have. I do not have things that I want. I tell myself, "God will give you everything you need", but that doesn't seem like a very long list. The list gets adjusted all the time. One minute I think I have something because I need it, and then it gets taken away, and I think, "Well, guess I didn't need that after all." I don't want to be the kind of naive person that thanks God for things that God couldn't possibly be concerned with, like my gas tank, but sometimes I wish I were. Today I ran out of gas at the gas station-way better than the freeway during a flash flood, let me tell you.

I wish I could live in the same city as all the people I love. I wish I could see my loved ones more often. I wish that some of my loved ones were healthy enough to have frank and honest conversations with, but that just isn't possible. I want things. I want.

"Most things will be okay eventually, but not everything will be. Sometimes you’ll put up a good fight and lose. Sometimes you’ll hold on really hard and realize there is no choice but to let go. Acceptance is a small, quiet room."

-Dear Sugar (full letter here)

Lots of labored breathing

My backyard is a mess; years of neglect combined with an "organic" mindset have created a minefield of cockroaches, old trash, and layers of dead grass. I've been going through it a little bit at a time. There is something so therapeutically cathartic about hacking away at the dirt and tearing out weeds.

I was on my hands and knees today in mud trying to dig an old root out. There is something on my hands now that won't completely wash off. The root is still in the ground.

Sometimes I suffer for change and growth. I work my butt off trying to make my life pretty and manageable, but in the end, life does what it wants no matter how hard I work, even when I'm up to my elbows in mud.


I used to want to always be in a restful quiet space in my mind. I thought that guaranteed that I was right with God.

But to live in the world is to live in a discordant place, full of chaos and unpredictability. It is unwise and naive to think that we can clean it up at the end of every day. Sometimes things stay messy. Actually, life is always messy. To think otherwise is to live with blinders, rose-colored glasses, etc.

I'm hoping that this time will pass and that life won't always be as laborious as it is right now, but I know that I have mere moments of tranquility to look forward to, not years. Life is hard, and long, and I am human, and flawed.

Hang in there.

Do your own dirty work

So I've been watching Mad Men on Netflix. I'm on Season 2, and there's a scene where the Draper family has a picnic and leaves all of their trash behind. It's a metaphor for all of the trash in their lives that they aren't willing to deal with; they're just leaving it for other people to clean up.

Cleaning up, or dealing with, your own garbage is a time-consuming and thankless task. All one gets is perhaps a self-directed pat on the back. Sometimes only you know what you've done. The greenbelt in front of my house is a full-time promenade for the neighborhood. It's always packed with groups of people and children, especially after school.

On a walk last night with the dogs, I noticed that there was trash everywhere. The riding lawnmower had been through, and made lots of big pieces into many more little pieces; it wasn't pretty. I didn't know how to handle it. Do I pick up other people's garbage to set an example? Do I ignore it because it isn't my problem? I thought about making signs that say "Respect the Greenbelt". It seemed like a communal message, "Let's take care of our shared space". But I know that I very rarely, if ever, am able to get someone to do what I think is right, so maybe I'll just hold off on the sign-making for right now.

Sometimes I wish I could throw my messes on someone else's doorstep. But I don't. "Why not?", you ask. Because I wouldn't go shit on someone's doorstep just to make them smell it. If it isn't productive, I don't need to whip it out and throw it around. That just causes more pain for everyone. There is no deserve. No one deserves pain. We all just kind of deal with it in the best way we can, and hopefully, along the way, we won't cause more of it.

Hopefully.

Thrift Inspiration

Bad dreams. Fleas. Paperwork. Work, work. More paperwork. School work. More bad dreams. More fleas.

But then I rescue something absolutely beautiful, and I am inspired to continue.

Also, I got a good night's sleep.

The depth of death

So, for probably the first time in my life, I went to an estate sale on a Friday morning, at 8am. Yup. I'm that awesome. There were already people leaving. Meh. Whatever.

The house smelled like urine. It was awful. I seriously thought, "How long was this person dead before they found her?" Then, to top it off, the people running the sale happened to be professionals and relatives, so I got to talking with one of the women about the deceased. She was 97, single all her life. Once, she traveled around the world in 69 days. She loved life. This I learned while going through her books on her living room floor, wonderful art, architecture, and bird books, and of course the full Left Behind series.

I started to think about how my life would look to those closest to me if they went through my belongings right now, like if I died today, and people had to figure out what to do with my stuff. I know I'm a really honest person, but I wouldn't want just anyone going through my things. It's so personal, even if there aren't necessarily things that I want hidden. I still want the deepest parts of myself to only be known by a couple people. I still want to have special intimate relationships where the other person knows me better than anyone else does. I think I sometimes come across as someone who will tell anyone anything, but that isn't true. I think it just looks like that because I'm a complex person. There's a lot to me, so there's a lot of surface material to work with. But there's a whole hell of a lot underneath that I don't bring out every day.

I hope you know that. Because I want people to see me as an open, honest person. But I also want people to see me as I am, as imperfect, flawed, and human.

And again, I fantasized today about having my own estate sale business. Ah, a beautiful thought.