series; the mind

dangling, it has its own feet, sweeping me off into a delusionary suite. a room full of choices to which my hopes cannot compete. treading, it steps along the lines given to follow, tiptoeing softly among the path that is inevitibly hollow and hard to stand beyond the shallow end. grasping, it is losing its grounding, the directional chaos is compounding. the navigation of what direction to trust is a confounding compass.

pleasant, the satisfaction attained, when accomplishing a goal acclaimed, set out and in reach it is ascertained perhaps even easily. joyous, it is high in elation shaking hands with rejoicing conversation and communicating through proficient verbalization leaving no flaws of meaning. What is said is what is heard and the over analyzing is no longer a paralyzing part of the deciphering agony over words, I pass the test.

Dropping, a rope that hangs selflessly awaiting for the next useful demand. Swinging into the weather and pulling away from its tethered command. Offering an anchor to let away the experience of expectation with one hold in fear and the other in glorification. Gripping the idealistic approach knowing that it is just a fast paced reach of hopes reproach and slipping under the conditioning that was supposed to be a decision. Knowing that whichever way, letting go or reaching higher the result is an unwanted mess.

Playing, as if choices were really choices. Speaking as if those choices were given voices that were heard and submerged in the acts and actions of applicable life situations. Listening, yet desiring the change of station where what is absorbed through the delivery of chords doesn’t take over stimulation. Betting against the odds that it will end up in a win, fighting the urge to give away the cards that were given, and being asked to play or to pass…

Hate upon hate

I hate myself. I don’t want to do this to my children any more. I don’t want to be the reason that my kids are destroyed. I am destroying them. I am destroying them. I am destroying them and I can’t stop. I don’t want to do this any more. I wish I would have been the one to die. Although I am glad she doesn’t have to live in this bullshit of existence, I wish I would have died with her. I hate being who I am. I hate who I am. I hate my face. I hate my body. I sincerely hate my mind. I want to go to sleep and never wake up. I hate how I can’t find happiness within myself. I hate that I need others approval in order to feel good about myself. I hate that that’s only short term happiness. I hate that I perpetuate hate. I hate trying to love. I hate that I can’t feel love. I hate that my kids don’t listen to what I say. I hate that I’m the one who suffers the most. I hate that I feel like I’m the one who suffers the most. I hate that I am selfish. I hate that I’m selfish because really I hate who I am so it seems superfluous to be selfish for one that I hate so much. I hate that I need you. I hate that I want you so badly to come to me when I am feeling like this knowing you will most likely never come to me when I need you to really be there for me. I hate that I’m not that important. I hate that I am supposed to feel like I am that important. I hate that I have that need. I hate that I don’t want to play or have fun with my kids anymore. I hate how hard it is to find joy in their joy. I hAte that no one can fix this. I hate that I feel so unworthy. I hate that I feel so unlovable. I hate how complex and conflicted and crazy I am. I hate having to be strong and persevere. I hate that people foolishly think I’m good. I hate that I have to keep being something I’m not because I fear I won’t have love yet can’t really feel that love anyway so it becomes all a resentful bitter battle within my mind. I hate that I care. I hate that I want to care or be cared for. I hate that if someone was told to read this that they probably would have stopped after the first several hates because it is irritating to be in the presence of someone who hates so much. I hate that about humanity. I hate that there is so much hate in the world and so much violence and bullshit and yet all I can do is think about myself and my own hate. I hate having hate. I hate me. I hate that when I look into your eyes I can see so much love for me and the instant I look away I think you must hate me. I hate that the silence between us haunts me. I hate that it matters so much to me and I feel like you must be distancing yourself from me but the second you finally reach out to me , I feel love, and now it’s all ok. Or at least for the next five minutes of our communication process. Then I begin to hate myself again for letting that have a hold over my happiness. I hate that I have expectations. I hate that I want a life so bad that I could never have and I watch all the other lives and I wonder why I’m hated so much that I was created to suffer and want and hate. I hate that my life is better than a lot of lives. I hate that their mindset is much braver and stronger and more grateful than mine while they suffer so unnecessarily and immensely and it is all about some self righteous asshole hating that there are people who have less than them or look different than them or believe opposed to them and still those who truly suffer still don’t hate. I hate that you don’t text me first thing in the morning and tell me good morning and you love me. I hate that our love isn’t like the love we had when we very first began, when it wasn’t love but the love of the idea that it could be love. I hate that I’m sitting in a really cold house as I write this knowing that I will never have the ability to possess the means to make this house or any other house my own and beautiful and solid and safe. I hate knowing that I should be grateful. I hate that I’m full of hate . I hate me. I hate that the strength I attain comes from such raging emotion and it boils my soul and I can feel it’s reserves coming to the top and all the pain surfaces and I cannot stop. I hate that it’s my children who are in the fallout. I hate that it’s never something or someone who deserves it but my beautiful formable moldable impressionable, filling hate into their souls, children that are the ones who really suffer on account of my overflowing hate. I hate that I thought I was a good enough being to bring these precious prizes into a world and mother so full of hate. I hate that I feel so weak. I hate that hate breaks me down so far down and crumbles under my own perception of what I hate. I hate that I can’t prove your love for me to me. I hate that I feel like you are just appeasing me or settling. I hate that I think constantly about love and what that actually means and how is it truly shown when I can only see so much hate, meaning to me that perhaps all my hate about the way you love or don’t love me flaws the receptivity of your love. I hate that you do the opposite of what I tell you I need and it makes me question your love for me and I wonder if it’s that you can’t give me what I need but I don’t want to let you go because I love you and my biggest weakness is not hate, it is love.

A series; body

it is a time capsule and it knows pushing the limit. it is in the beginning stages and yet is approaching its finish. it bends and twists and also straightens its edges. it houses experinces that pushes minds off of ledges.

it sways and remains immobile. it reaches further into the unkown and remebers the infantile. it moves in a fashion that is foregin to some. it is disgust to others it is beauty to none.

it has housed souls beyond one and it has desire to keep growing. it is isolated sometimes by choice but yearns to be chosen. it is the infinite and everlasting and insists it is finite and not worth the effort of holding or clasping.

it is a miracle and deserves to be revered. it is immaculate to which nothing can be compared. it is often used for the purpose of superficial carnage and left aside while its spirit is picking up the wreckage.

it is strong and terminally weak. It holds big breaths of hope yet exhales the bleak. It remembers the sunshine and warmth while projecting a coldness of disposition forth.

It is bound by desire and trembles at the touch. It offers less and requests too much. It could be yours for the rest of time, yet still with or without, it is mine.

I fell in love today.

I fell in love today. It was this primal and raw kind of love that made me comfortable feeling raw and primal as a lioness. It was a beastly love of two wild animals that were silently chained together by the intertwining of desire for years at best. It was of urges and of seek and capture, prey of scents guiding the way of conquer from a long time quest. It gave way to passions of permitting a pathway to discovering the separation of love from lust.

I fell in love today. A silent and seductive yearning of the feminine in plain divine. A longing of lingering my hands through the strands of knowledge growing from the crown of time. A love so pure and withheld creating an inner tension of wishful and wistful combined. A touch of goddess and a touch of stone made me pulse for a censored exchange to be mine.

I fell in love today. Fully feeling the swing from the ever swaying pendulum. Full of fear and confidence in in the movement of loves ever present momentum. Full of logic and reason as well as wonder and imagination. Fully splitting the chances and choices of fantasy and life’s presentations. Fully appreciating the balancing required to see that the opposites are attracting me by desperate invitation.

I fell in love today. Given that at the beginning it was a love of projection and intent. Given that there was barely a truth to the verbal exultation to which love could proclaim or present. Given to me a truth that parted the thickness of the fog that the emotional storms could invent. Given to me was the clarity and unobstructed interpretation of where the looking glass was offering a purity to reflect.

I fell in love today. In the search for the heavenly the darkness was expunged. In the journey of the healing, the pain wanted to cling on from the lack of nurturing from the time of young. In the exposition of redefining love, the resuming doubt and contrition wanted to be the heroes unsung. In the face of fear, love came to the forefront with a ferocity to never be undone.

I fell in love today. Love was given a chance to speak its case. Love was showing up regardless of how far it was shipped off or put down or displaced. Love gave itself a manifestation in every physical, spiritual, and mental embrace. Love dangled its limbs out in the storm, held onto the winds wailing and gusting threats of creating malaise. Love stared directly at the depths of doubt’s twisted shroud and veil, bringing to the light of love….. my face.

intimacy and infidelity

Intimacy… I’m not sure it means to you what it means to me… intimately… the sharing of my most inner and darkest parts of me… infidelity… I suppose we will see it differently…

intimacy… giving only to you, what others long to see… intimately… expressions of love only given to me…. infidelity… I was not the intended choice, just present company…

Intimacy… where I feel your soul as deep as you penetrate me… intimately… thinking, longing for only me … infidelity… wishing it was her instead of my lips you see…

Intimacy … when our spirits combine to become one energy … intimately… the belief within that we understand our connectivity… infidelity… when one week prior, to her declaring your desire, then claiming love for me…

I gave you me. Don’t mistake my love pouring outwardly as a statement of any weakness or inability to live with hope for intimacy while waiting for the infidelity….

lonely pain. thanks grief.

 

i picked up a book last that was given to me shortly after Archaea passed. i was accepting of the gesture then but knew i would never read it. it was a christian author. it has been sitting next to my bed for over a year and then recently moved to a pile of other books that i put on the ground by my side table in my room. i read the foreword. i read a few sentences of the first part of the intro. something has changed within me.

i wasnt changed because i decided to give this book an opportunity and it changed my life. no, the change has been taking place this whole time. since the day she died. but it was the fact that i was willing to even open this book is what the indicator of change was. the idea that i had enough grace in my world to offer space for God.

hahaha…. me, human… offering space, holding space, for God. what a riot. but that, is exactly what i am doing, in a very human form. i have cleared out a place from where my anger has been bunkering in my soul and allowed a gap for lighter living to take up its residence instead.

this has been so difficult.

this morning i made a cup of tea and sat in Archaea’s corner. i brought the book with me to the rocking chair. this rocking chair that i was supposed to be rocking my beautiful baby daughter in, singing to her sweetly while she nurses to slumber. the rocking chair that i was supposed to rock with Solly on one knee and Archaea on the other to read story time and ogle the silly pictures and make silly sounds together. the rocking chair that has been in my family for generations and is a solid piece of framework to the home of which we live in.

back to reading the book. so i opened the book to pursue reading and the first few paragraphs hit me like a ton of bricks. it hasn’t told the story yet, but i have gathered that he too, has lost a child and in that present moment of the story, he was deep in the throes of double life and grief. my world.

he spoke of the reality that he was walking in there, into this public location filled with people, but alone in his pain. his pain. i read the rest of the chapter, but it was that takeaway that is poignantly haunting me. alone in HIS pain, while others are potentially sitting alone, in their pain, among the people. its absurd. all this pain. rubbing up on each others symptoms and diagnosis in the world of loss and grief.

it reminds me of the scene in ferngully where crysta puts her hand on the tree that was marked by zaks human affection and says, “can’t you feel its pain?” here is this tall beautiful ginormous and protecting tree surrounded by all the other trees and fauna and flora of the forest, yet still standing alone in this pain. and the irony here is that the human condition once again has afflicted something with pain. this amazing and overarching monument of the earth is surrounded by others of the like… a little similar looking on the outside. feeling their own twists of fury and fate in their design and growth, and appearing to stand alone. underneath it all though are those roots deep in the ground that are reaching outwardly toward freedom and also toward one another.

we all are experiencing or have experienced or will, a sense of  loss, and grief and pain will inevitably become a process of the this humans living experience. not all stay there, and not all grief is felt on the same levels.

my grief is unknown.

i begin to realize that i, indeed, have not yet finished grieving. not that i ever will but this morning when i woke i was overcome with this sadness and i again felt so alone, and so so sad, and so so alone. and when sitting in Archaea’s corner reading this mans words of his pain, the one that i am regarding in the same category as mine, my heart broke a little more. he was or is not alone in his pain, i am there too. but i realized that there is no way that anyone can really understand that, unless you have been there. even then…can you really?

i felt a sadness. it was a sudden dense sadness that said i will always be alone in this. the ones that mostly get it have had their own membership to this unwanted club for a while. but that is not a comforting thought. another uncomfortable thought is that no one will ever be able to fully love me if they are not able to reach into my grief and sadness with me and hold my hand and heart so i can at least “feel” physical comfort, which is massive to my emotional process. i see that i need to be reached out to, sometimes prodded, sometimes offered space, about my grief.

i often feel like a burden. no one wants to hear about grief. no one wants to hear about pain. we all have it. we all have it one way or another. the reality is though, that i need to talk about it. and not to just anyone. that is what my blog is for. but to people who love me and care about me. to help me better understand where i am. to accept where i am and acknowledge the pain i am in. it can’t be gazed over briefly, creating a paraphrase and a summary of my state. sit in the space of sadness with me. i don’t need cheering up. i am a funny and witty person who finds humor in the darkest of hours. i dont need a smile. i have one that will beam brighter in my pain to light a path for those who need a light for themselves in their pain.

i need to be loved deeply during these times.

and that is a lot to ask of someone. so i don’t. rather i withdraw. into silence. into loneliness. and i try to do it alone.

or maybe i wont anymore. again i feel alone in this whole process. which again, i don’t understand. i am an open book. i feel like i am able to invite, welcome and sit with the darkest and the brightest and always offer that a love that i yearn to feel. it is an acceptance that this darkness is part of me. this darkness is why i shine so bright. but it is very difficult to shine sometimes. i feel like a lighthouse on a far distant shore shrouded in the thickest fog, that spins its light around and around hoping that there is a ship in the harbor still seeking the light. patiently waiting for the next rotation of discovery and bliss to come its way. because it will, if only it is willing to sit in the space of the void in the darkest of moments, and honor it.

 

gratitude

i woke up hungry with gratitude, i wasnt sure where the serving had come from but i knew it needed to be part of my new food group. i want to cut it down piece by piece and observe it. and savor it. and make it digest and become part of my everyday mood.

i want my attitude to reflect that of my gratefulness. i want it to show that even though i have been put down again and again i will rise up above this mess. like i always do when considering you. when considering it all really, ive been through.

a fall from so high that you shouldnt probably survive. but i did. i ve fallen more times than i care to count like literally, when i was a kid i fell from 30ft, 3 stories high.. and i fell down on to my back and it may have been something i should have died from, but i didnt. it was all ok. a scratch and a bruise and after  a hospital trip, i walked away.

it just goes to show that each and everyday there must be some kind of angel circling around me, guiding my steps and saying it is ok to fly. but sometimes i dive in too far too fast. and all that gratitude and gratefulness takes backseat, doesnt get the vip pass, and it wanders around kicking its little feet dragging behind me behind my ungrateful ass.

and every once in a while i will look back over my shoulder and remeber what it was i was grateful for and i’ll take a smile. and that gratitude comes back again. even though it was stuffed so far down within and so far down deep because the energy it takes to muster up that thankfulnes from the atrocities of your  life’s tragedies, you forget about bliss.

youre dark youre desolate and your life is in danger. and you give up a little bit. but you reach out a little bit. and then here comes some love in the form of a stranger. who reaches out a hand of hope, compassion and understanding , but not understanding why just knowing they think that you might be worthwhile in this life and they want to hold you close so that you can see it too ya you know where they say they hold you  so tight its like glue? putting you back, pieces together its true. sister it’s true, brother let me tell you

i can weather it no matter the storm now ive seen it all ive been through the worst. but this love that has come up through me makes me feel like im first. makes me feel like im in charge , like im the one who belongs like im the one who is strong. like i am the one who can keep going on and i do and i look at all the faces of you and i think you have been there for me and i will be there for you and you and you and you have kept me going and your love encapsulates me and keeps that little light of hope glowing

and i am thankful again i am grateful again i am hopeful within and that is because of you and your love and the attitude will become my daily food. and I will eat and I will consume and nourish back to you, love

chris(t)raitor

 

ah there it is. that emotion. so familiar. never too far gone to be missed. not like the way i miss you.

my kids keep asking me to set up a tree, set up some lights…they dont know that i think about doing just that every single night. my daughter begs me to just at least set up the lights strings, she doesnt know the kind of complex pain that idea brings. see these are the things that are supposed to be cozy, supposed to be heartwearming, singing  the kinds of songs that are inviting and charming. but not entirely to me, it all is alarming.

see they dont know that if i allowed this to take place, then my honor, my disposition would be a disgrace, erase the meaning of taking  a side so to speak, leave me feeling feeble and meek, and not to the definition this  season implies by festive speech. not to the implicative and traditonal form that i used to preach. back before i was, we were given a breech in the   trust, now a questioning of beliefs and integrations of those traditions is a must and back to those harkening heralds make my heart bust.

in my previous belief system, christ was with man and man was with him, gather around together and sing the worshippings and the hymns, circle around and give prayer for those in need and expecting that the “good Lord” will hear the good deed, and we look to the sky and we look to the churches to help our broken hearted get out of the lurches, but its those very same preachers and prayers that are giving the heart up for purchase.

my heart was paid for they say, but they dont say how much i actually paid for my beliefs that day, when i had to put my head to the floor and give everything in my soul to believe and to pray, to let the words whispser out of my mouth, let thy will be the way… oh i did pay… that inglorius play that i had to play a part in starring as my own character, wacthing myself become the worlds worst mother, listening to him say that he will take the other.

so now back to the season of hope and of healing and all that i see are the backs of my eyelids peeling as i try to peel back my pain and judgment of all that i see and hear, when it is the time for me to hold the “lord” near. and i know there are other meanings to this time, but for me it was the only celebration that had brought a semblance of mind and the hopes and trusts of this world and his to combine are now falling as fast as the snowflakes dissapating near the roadside. and now to the glimmering lights of silver and gold i am blind.

but i beg to see. i beg to feel good, feel better,  feel all the love that i should from my creator, from the master of love and hope maker. but if i gave into that then i would be a traitor, because it was me that he asked to trade for her, it was me, he asked to keep my life over hers for. so if i go about the world, singing of joy to every boy and girl, then i am forced to remember, that my little girl is an angel forever, he became a demandor, and that is not something that i can choose to be a worshipper of and play my used to be love and master christmas, life decorator,.

my name

the thing is that i don’t really know, ya know? i just kinda sit back and let it all flow, let it all roll, down my thick slick skin like a hippo in its oil, chilling out, not worrying about the recoil from any thing that was said or even implied. i lied.

at least that is not what my heart says to do. it says to turn around and say, fuck you. it says turn around and end this abuse. the misuse of my heart is so easily acceptable by myself when myself is feeling a little mentally untrustable. is it un or is it able?

waning i make my way to a table of cards that you dealt i pull up a chair. it’s fragile and broken, in need of repair. and it is so easy to observe, relentless, absurd how much the seat of which i sit reflects now for me to see what i always have heard.

fuck you.

alright i wont say it again, but sometimes these words are the only ones that can begin to describe the amount of energy it takes to contain all the chaos and darkness that consumes this supposed brain, when i have to refrain from explaining to you the actual you.

you say what you need to, say what you must… but the persistence and insulting insistence makes me inwardly combust. it’s all unjust, emotional dusting and spiritual stifling, remaining too long, but now i am strong,

and strength is my name, literally, everyday of my life i have been fighting for something figuratively, but also fighting for life every day positively and truly, seeking out the higher truths which have led me back to a bit of my characteristic youth.

and has led me back to explain something deeply about me to you. it’s not all about what you did to me or what i didn’t do, its not about the twisted result how with myself i am repulsed when i should have been upheld., held up,

hold up, no no no,

it’s about how i let me slip away how i fell into the silence game, how i gave away the meaning of my name, and redefined over time. reimplied whom it is i was supposed to be, yet here i am rediscovering that me is a she who is fine and able. she is learning to cast shadows to those uns and shine light on the ables…

fuck yes. i am stable.

i am labeling a path, “now mine to take.” and im sorry for the pain youve endured on behalf of my mistakes. it wasnt me. or i know some was, but im getting the impression that i am better than i was, but now with a voice. and a desire to voice it, tell my truth, whatever that is. no matter the consequences.

and i realize that not all energies, with mine, will form alliances… i realize that it doesn’t change the fate of my future intolerances. oh the dancing of chances and the passing of glances….

i am now learning i was good but i was quiet and withdrawn, those are for reasons that could take days to go on, wanted to speak, but i never did. like i was a kid whose voice was heard but not really.

so, really, now, i am hoping that i will, now i can, i am trying, no longer trying to cling to a life where it is all about self silencing, that self sabotaging route needs to step out of the way, because im here, to reclaim this day,

for me, strength is to remember my name

write about it

write about her, write about him, write about you, write about them. write to survive the night against the demons with whom to contend. write about courage, write about fear, write about speaking, write what there is to hear. write to forget that fervently it is wished for love to be near. write of the struggle, write of the tests, write of the secrets, write of which has been confessed. write to remember the moments that develop and your existence is blessed. write to create emotion, write to silence a crowd, write to give a voice to the quiet, write to soften the loud. write to stroke the ego of the philospohically proud. write about lust, write about restraint, write about temptation, write about the saint. write about the euphoric imagery two bodies create. write about despair, write about loss, write about hope, write about progress. write of the lengths and the turns of the healing process. write about light, write of the glimmer, write of the vibrations, write of a hearts shimmer. write of the fight that goes on to shine within her.