Friendship (2)

A stroke of luck makes the empty space shine brighter. 


                   I remember how when I wrote this I purposefully did not say good or bad, though at the time I was referring to good luck.  The whole point of it was that in any case, the movement, the presence of positive energy will reveal hidden secrets in the empty space around it-if you know how to look.  


                    I can't imagine what must be going through miss A.C's heart for her to hurt someone she has loved and trusted and been loved by for so many years.  After the news about her father, she felt she had to spend Christmas with the family she stayed with, but the next day she came out to my house and lay in my bed while my mother an I cooked quietly in the kitchen.  When she came out to eat, she knew she didn't have to put on a good face, or say much of anything at all; she knew she was safe.  


                   And now, with her absence in my life, there is a pain in my heart made of wondering if anyone I ever get close to will eventually run away from me.  She is not the only one, this is true.  


                   It's funny how, in order to be a better, healthier person, so much of my adult life has been dedicated to healing old wounds, some are apparent, but many are like this pain, just raw tragic questioning.  What am I worth?  On the one hand I have an organization that is willing to put thousands of dollars behind my predicted contribution as an employee, on the other I have a friend who has been longing to be rid of me.  One stroke of good luck and one stroke of bad; Where should I look? Which part has the message of value that I should hold on to?  It is possible it is somehow the same message?  


                   The empty space shines brighter.....but what does it say? Am I safe?



            

Is That The Planets Shifting, Then?

        Last night was my first night ALONE since moving to Dar.  The Little One accompanied my mother on a trip out of town; I had to stay behind for rehearsals for the play.  I thought I would be anxious about it, but for the first time in forever, I feel safe....safe, for the first time in too long.  It's sad though, in her absence, my heart can only now feel the full expression of my love for my daughter.  


        They say time flies when you're having fun, I would argue the opposite and say time slips through your fingers when your struggling to hold on to your sanity.  When everything's falling apart, the clock seems to tick faster and faster, like sand through an hourglass. Joy actually freezes time, in my experience.  When I am so content with the moment that nothing else matters, no future, no past, no wants, no unfulfilled needs, in those moments time does not exist.


         March came and went like a roller coaster ride through anxiety and tension, with brief moments of holding it together.  There was too little joy in March, and the struggle to figure out what the fuck was going wrong sucked all the grains of time down until, suddenly, the month was over.  It is now April, my birthday month.


         I find myself here, now, as if finally coming out of a really bad hangover.  I am still amazed at the loss of time, still confused by how it happened, but feeling, at least, like I can breath.  The air is different, infused with a cleansing agent; the light is clearer, showing me things I did not see before. Is that the planets talking, then? Can this be explained with by a shift in the Cosmos, a change in the weather? Or is it just my Faith in these things that somehow survived the pressure of melancholy and the onslaught of worry so that with the shift in time and a new rising sun, like magic, the curse seems lifted? Is it so simple, then? Planets move and shift, time slips by, and suddenly even my trivial mortal circumstances have shed the weight of futility and regained the lightness of hope.


         My breath is slow and steady. And the small achievements that did occur now rise up into my consciousnesses having previously been suppressed and drowned in such heavy, damning, despair.  I have my health back, a good 20 lbs heavier unfortunately, but strong and vital and myself again.  


         My blood work confirmed no more anemia and all other organs are functioning (at least organically speaking) with full vitality.  While doing my check up, I managed to finally find a proficient dentist and go through the first of several stages of treatment to my damaged mouth. Having done it and survived, having found a doctor who actually understood how terrifying these procedures have become for me, and having had my mother go full on warrior by my side through the whole affair-all of this is still hard to believe, to internalize.  It has been this running commentary between my mother and I, "what are we going to do about your teeth??"; the frequent days of pulsing pain and the inability to chew properly have just become a part of my life. Now, just like that, it is all gone; I am healed.  


         A small, physical example symbolizing a much, much larger affair: The Stumble Out of the Path of Light and Peace. It always begins with a simple slip and fall, a wrong turn, a misplaced move; then the initial denial of trauma or danger, the attempt to ignore and the hope if you just keep moving all will be well; finally the awareness that you are in fact wounded, you are limping and scared that you have forever lost your way. And then one day, you are safe; you are healed; the process is over; those scary moments are gone. You will only ever understand only parts and pieces of how you were healed.  Some things you remember, others you will never know. Like did the planets quietly shift in your favor? Did the moon tilt to help you see a way you hadn't seen before?


         I shouldn't regret the loss of time, when so much of it was filled with hurt and worry; I am glad for the speed with which it seeped through me, though there are still residual aches.  I am not even looking forward yet.  I am here, now, on this day, and it feels safe.  Let the planets move me at their will, let the moments settle down and take on new shapes. I think I see my Path up ahead; it is there still, waiting for me.

        I will not look for the bliss and joy just yet, but I will not stop them from coming either. This is my silent day. I am alone (but full of love); I am MINDFUL; I am healing.  


        My breath is slow and steady.

Adopting Woes

         "But how?? How d-d-do you open your heart?"  She wails.


         I respond without hesitation; I respond instinctively from some place deep within; some steel center of Divine Force. I respond while having to convince every doubtful, broken, willful bit of my being that what I speak is Truth. I have to do this with such reflexive speed that the questioning, internal healing, and resulting response leaving my lips happen in a seamless transition. We step through a portal....


          I'm beginning to understand all the horror stories I've read in adoption blogs and forums. Parents safely claim, "it only gets worse". Bitches. I understand the need for them to make this claim; having become conditioned to that first version of the child they bring home (specifically if the child is above the age of 6). What they-we-fail to comprehend is that, that first version is just a shell, a protective layer made of head-nodding obedience, and intuitive, survival-bred manipualtion  (actually, they say babies are biologically designed the same way: with large eyes and reflexive smiles, they are made to seduce us into nurturing them).  It is US who make the mistake in believing that their instinct for survival, their adaptation is some special secret saved for those that have suffered and is thus a permanent gift of theirs, a skill, a magic weapon, that they will use without guidance or teaching forever and ever as they see fit. I understand it, but I do not approve.  Having read the horror stories, and commiserating woes found in many of these forums, I am left feeling disgusted.  The laments are always the same, "she/he was so great when we brought him/her home, but now we don't know what to do?!?"  How foolish they all are when the creature grows so comfortable it lets its guard down and bites, because biting is all it knows...
         How dare we-they-be so shocked that when that loving shell cracks, inside there is a vulnerable little thing, perhaps malformed from lack of exposure to the Light. A scared, broken being, perhaps vicious from fear that you will now see it and turn away in disgust or fear-"this isn't what we were expecting".....


       Watching my child collapse in anguish has that cliche, slow motion, car crash feeling.  It is actually happening.  This is happening and everything I say to her will cement, now and forever, my emotional bond with her. Yes, it IS now and forever, because I can remember wailing out my anguish at her age, my mother holding me, and me knowing she had no FUCKING clue how to help me; she had no FUCKING clue how much of my pain was rooted in her careless behavior; she was so busy being frightened.  And that has never changed.

        
         This thought only adds to the secret fear that what I am seeing in the face of my wailing, agonizing, child is the results of a few months under my influence.  As if this fear is not damned-full enough, beneath or alongside it is the thought, "also, she does come from your blood, maybe she is just revealing the same innate flaws you daily fight with; after-all, we all know how her mother was....


         All this while, we smugly pondered at how easily the Little One has been left seemingly un-affected by her tragic circumstance.  It was easy to get used to someone who seemed to reject the natural damage of a tragic circumstance [maybe it's just as easy to get used to a daughter who has always steeped herself in mourning.  So used that you never think to pull her out of it].  It was easy to feel arrogant (even though we only lucked out) that this poor, innocent thing-innocent of her poverty-should fall into our care; as if, by her natural ability to adapt, we have proven ourselves capable.  It's been easy, and the hard part is just beginning....


          I scramble to retard the momentum of despair that is building fast; I sing the pop song* I've written her.  Even in emotional upheaval, she has time to pause, listen, and smile at me with sincere enjoyment. (I knew it was a hit) but it doesn't last for long.  As soon as the song is over her eyes go large and black again; her shoulders squeeze together while her body shudders and shakes with her cries. 
           So....I speak French;  the bits and pieces of inaccurate phrases tumble from my lips while I stroke her controrted face: "Ne pleus pas mon fils-ma fille (ma fils...damn that's not right, but it sounds a lot better-whatever she don't know); "c'est pas grave"....


       [Unless it is, unless its you crying because you want to go live with my sister and not moody, silly, me.  Unless it's you crying because the genes in your body just kicked in and this is only the tip of the iceberg. Then, I'm afraid, it might be a bit more serious- Or not? Am I so regretful of who I am, I fear the idea you might be like me someday? Hmmmm....I can't say that I am my Love.] 


       "Life is sooooo HARD!!". She is mourning for the FIRST time since the day I watched her across the grave where her mother lay while dirt was thrown on top. My sister clung to me, and even through my own tears, I could not help but notice how she cried and sniveled like a broken, little girl-except there was the little girl whose mother was disappearing, looking on, calm and serene.  


         "Well it's about fucking time isn't it", the deep steel center of me throbs this feeling out through my bones,  "Bare witness Lady: THIS. Is. Your. Job."


         Whatever is yet to heal in me has to be left for another day, my daughter is flailing herself into a pit of despair, and that isn't going to happen on my watch.  I am not going to stand back in fear.  I know, in that moment, it is up to us to decide, once and for all, how we are gonna live our lives, or else our pains/fears will decide for us:


       "No! Enough now, Vannesa! Come on, this isn't you!! Enough crying, NO! Life IS BEAUTIFUL!! Yes it is hard sometimes, okay, and yes you can cry, but then you have to stop and say ENOUGH.  It's beautiful even when it is hard, my Little One.  And sometimes we have bad days and the sad thoughts shout at us, but then you just have to shout back, with your heart (I place my hand on her thin chest and INVOKE the Will of God that what I speak be a Blessing) You have to SHOUT back with all the wonderful blessings you've had in your life, all the good memories and stories.  Come on now-"


        Her wailing has stopped, but I think-I know-it is only paused, "But how?? How d-d-do you open your heart?"


        I speak quietly now, but with feverish force-["yes, I know this is Truth-give it to her and tell your fears to shut the fuck up about it." my heart reminds me]:
        "By Loving someone; by being kind to someone who needs it (her thin arms snake their way around my neck and pull me close to her face so I have to whisper); or by being Loved or having someone be kind to you; by those moments when you let yourself feel total Peace (Relaxed Body, Easy Mind*); by seeing something beautiful-like the sunlight in your eyes, or the clouds or the trees, or a baby smiling; by laughing with a -"


      "You know what?" she whispers, "I need a book.  I have to write down everything you've ever told me.  I have to not forget."  
      "You're going to write down what I say, like I write down what you say to me?" (she nods) "Okay, that seems fair; good idea, baby."


      There is a brief stillness, "I will NEVER forget my mother." Her eyes well up again, she sounds so damn desperate.  [No, My Love, I have you now, I won't let you fall again.]  
       "Of course you won't!! No, of course not. Baby, sometimes we can open our hearts through sadness too! Through the mourning of someone we loved who is gone, through feeling the pain of someone else's loss, or the pain in the world, but only when we let that sadness teach us, and in the end we find Peace again....  And you know what?  I will never forget her either. I have learned so much about life from your stories of your mother.  I think about her everyday. Every. Single. Day.  So of course we won't forget her. Both of us.... Actually, why don't we write down in a book all the stories of your mummy also, so that we won't forget?"
       "Okay...."


        Our bond perhaps exists in our screwed up genes, or in our broken hearts-perhaps.  No matter; it will, definitely exist now in the way we choose to remember, in the stories we choose to tell, in the words we use to tell them.


         Our hands are dirty; her mother is buried; she is in my arms now; we will walk away now, and we will write our stories, because Our. Life. Is. Beautiful....


       

Give Me Faith and Joy

    (I needed to Pray today):

"Dear Father,
         I come to You again; I come on all fours, crawling slowly,...hesitantly; eyes cast downward, forehead kissing the floor, to Beg again for Your Mercy and Your Strength. I am ashamed to ask for Your Love, to need You so much once again...
         Why is that?
         Why do I think that when I feel Your Grace fill me up, that then I must fling myself out of the safety of Your embrace and rush off blindly and boldly to fight my mortal battles?
         Why do I think I need to abandon my Need for You in order to meet my needs in the world?
          I hate that I think of Life as Good when I forget to pray.
          I find Your Voice in the quiet stillness of Desperation. Others seem to take Pride in carrying the Knowledge of You through their lives; I think I have to make a choice between Your Love and living my life. So I get quiet and still and seek that desperate place so I can be near You. When there is movement I only remember you in intellect and careless, neglectful gratitude.
          I Love my Life, but I NEED You. God, of all the things that I have ever asked of You and all the things that I will ever ask from You, please teach me (gently and lovingly) to be proud of this Need.


         There is only one person I have ever known that would perhaps make a similar confession. My love for him, in many ways, is born of this common conflict.  I would that we be the ones to teach each other this lesson. But that is another prayer for another day..."


       I think I need to trip the fuck out. I am planning my summer and I am planning a trip it has taken me three years to feel ready for.  I am planning a return-of course in my mind this will be an Epic   Odyssey/Alchemist  kind of a return; I will be changed and glowing with understanding and new insight into an old life.  (All of this may be true but such glowing tends to last for a brief period of time before all your regular issues new and remembered revive and dull your shine).


      I've been thinking more on this cycling thing. I think of how scared I am of the recklessness of my happiness; not happiness as an objective concept-just my own.  When I made this Odyssey/Alchemist journey back to a home I'd never known, it came from the same epic nature of those other heroic journeys; it was a quest, a submission in the form of a  quest, to come closer to God.  I made a pact with Him that I would allow anything, miraculous or trying, to happen to me if it brought me closer to Him. Straightening by Fire, it's called.


      Now, three years later, I am beginning to realize that that "fire", at least for me, comes from my own rejection of the Truth that He exists even in my peace and my joy. If God's Voice is in the clouds, I think He only speaks to me on dark grey days during heavy downpours; on the light, airy days of life I get so caught up in the blueness of the sky that I miss the wispy, white, whispers of Him floating by.  Or sometimes I just don't look up, as if the brightness will blind me.
       I think that's what that frantic, over the ledge, feeling is when I get caught up in the moment-um. I fling my gratitude at Him in a half-assed way: "yeah, way to Be, but Love, I gotsta go, I gotta keep moving, I gotta be pro-DUC-tive(in sing-song Oprah shout)!!!  And then that part of me, the one that made the pact, gets annoyed at my silliness and says, "well, bitch, I guess we gotta make it rain again, cause you seem to be forgetting our mission." That is why I have to back away from my life, back out, searching for the grey.  There I can throw myself into questioning and analysis until I finally hear Him say, "I'm. Right. HERE!" And it feels beautiful.  It is so easy to be joyful, it really is beautifully simple, but I find it excruciatingly difficult to be joyful and to hear Him at the same time. But this cycling in and out of my life, this losing myself just to find Him is getting old and tiresome.


       A dear friend of mine just wrote me that we were both Truth-Seekers (Amen!) but she wished she could find Joy in it, as I do.  But I don't; I get very frightened of Joy because I can feel the Truth slipping away like those, light, superficial clouds on a sunny day; Truth becomes insignificant to the brightness of my Joy.
      I want to have the two combined in one peaceful Knowing; I want to end the cycles and just have momentum and stillness so harmoniously intertwined that my life mimics the ocean: going nowhere, but always moving.


     Well....like ninety percent of the people I know who understand this conflict (not many do) but have somehow left it behind in their lives to ride their oceans waves, have done a LOT of acid (and other psychedelics).  They've tripped time and time again: sacredly, indulgently, capriciously-"anyone want some choc-o-late??", "here, lick this." (of COURSE this was all done in places where these things are LEGAL, so I am in now way endorsing or advocating for criminal activity). And I really think it's done wonders for them (the people I'm thinking about, not ALL people EVER, etc-whatevs...)


       I gotta trip until I see God in not just the downpour, not just the fluffy, light clouds, but in the whole fucking sky, the trees, my skin, the wind. (Turn on, Tune in, Drop out man-ha!)
      Like Arjuna, I get so damn caught up in the morality of living, it is time Krishna shows me the BIG picture....


       You know, it is moments like this where I get....perturbed by the philosophy of the Guru. I mean the whole idea-as I've found in my spiritualizing, is that the Guru comes when you ready-the Guru being a mortal being who has ascended through the journey of transcedence just far enough so that he can be in Communion with the Divine but still remains on the earthly plain to help poor suckers like me figure this shit out. Like the Jimminy Cricket of Spiritualism.  

http://web.mac.com/

       Well??? Where is he? I have been invoking my Guru ever since I began this whole journey-and still-nothing. I am READYYY.  Hmph, I am suspect that my Guru is sleeping on the job-or WORSE-he's chilling with folks like Madonna and Gwenyth Paltrow who showcases on Goop how ever so lovely he is in helping her rid herself of her "suffering": "macrobiotic or microbotic, how would I have ever known what to do..." Hmph and double hmph.  

  OM  AH  HUM   VAJRA  GURU 

PADMA SIDDHI  HUM