Thursday, September 30, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
dragon life
Love is enough to wake one up
to the nightmare one's life is becoming,
but it is not enough
to erase the nightmare
so what to do?
get your dragon slaying sword out and your armour made of baby's breath, while adorning yourself with golden rings made of fairy's hair?
i'm afraid not.
life isn't a book. its not roped together
in chapters
and bound up in bindings.
its not alphabetized,
it doesn't carry with it
the pleasant smell of yesteryear
guised as mold and dust.
words aren't always pretty, people don't always have time.
anger exists,
and hate, and hurt.
healing is true too. and peace and serenity and submission and letting go.
and its not really a nightmare dragon at all.
its just you.
trying to get out of your way,
and be ok with the choices you've made,
as much as you may not be able stand those choices now at all.
the work now, as always, is to be.
love and be loved
be a partner, a friend
involved and helpful
and important.
to love
dragon's off again to bed
to tell stories
to children still afraid
enough to listen
if you blink your eyes-
just a little bit-
chances are
you'll miss him
dragons tell secrets
like that too
making up just enough
bad parts
to make the good parts
seem untrue
so when a dragon talks
listen with just one ear cocked
and hopefully the half
filled with all the true
will be the part that
makes it through
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Revolutionary Dirty Pictures
it was a lovely weekend
spent together in a sort of
cloudy mumbling
drawing out ideas
in comments
made in
after thoughts
piecing together
future
tearing apart past
all the while, adjusting,
adjusting
adjusting to
the hour,
the minute,
moment
by
moment
suddenly 'now' came calling
and glasses full and empty
shattered everywhere
letting now be allowable-
allowing the now to just be-
is like catching a ride
with the tiger of time
outracing any thoughts
worth a dime
thoughts based on
memory
charading
far too long
as a measure of truth
oh, faulty
memory!
oh, untrustworthy
truth!
pictures are drawn.
pictures can be erased
- whitewashed -
scribbled over.
let go of, given out
-mailed away in an envelope
to europe or africa-
then carefully,
so very still,
painted over
with brush strokes
you never knew existed
and colors that have yet
to become real.
and the now becomes real.
the now becomes real.
the now becomes real.
just like that.
forever.
just for now.
Friday, July 16, 2010
turn tables
the moon goddess gathered everyone together one night,
"today we will rest from our plight"
the ocean goddess took it characteristically lightly
the goddess of rain just smiled
the goddess to whom noone shall lie,
strained hard to see in the dark
mountain goddess through up her arms
proclaiming this meeting to be in vain
the goddess of order and disorder too,
stood alone, and stared at the goddess of moon,
"tell me your pains, what work you have done,
and i'll tell you we've done the same- everyone;
but rest's not what we need, because
as we give out, we take back in- a million times over-
unless, you've been doing it wrong?"
the moon goddess winced and admitted her glow
had been fueled all on her own
and she never asked for anything returned,
"that is how goddesses do it," she said.
"with strength. with power. alone."
the goddess of order and disorder listened and understood
what had to be done.
"Mys sister dear, we don't need to sleep, we don't need to stop,
give me your hand, and let me help. take from me, what you need to give to the glow."
The moon goddess did as she was told, and the moon lit up brighter then it had in one hundred years.
and the brighter it glowed, the stronger the moon goddess became, until both were beaming as if they had just been born.
the meeting adjourned, with only this one lesson learned.
and the moon goddess was ok with that.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Collage Nightly Press, #1
the quote about rebellion, or lack thereof, is from an interview with sienna miller. i was perusing an old magazine, not even mine to start with, (not treating it as reading material, just looking for pictures to tear out) and the article caught my attention. when the emotion jealousy comes up, there's something there to really pay attention too. yes the grass is always greener, but sometimes people really do have super green grass. and usually people's grass gets more green the more they water it.
now if you'll excuse me, the water in my apartment was turned off earlier today, but its on now, and i'm pretty sure i can find a hose and go water the patch of something growing at the front of my building.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
P.S. Lulu Likes the Weather . . .
and sitting on ledges.
Lulu Belle shares only
the most important information
with others.
She communicates
rarely with words at all.
Her eyes speak
volumes.
Lulu Belladonna
is voluminous.
Lulu Belladonna of the Angels and Stars
sifts through all the images
she sees-
summarizes the tiniest details-
assesses sirens and seagulls, friends and foe-
Lulu can tell if a car is coming
or going,
merely by the sound its tire's tread makes upon the ground.
Lulu Belladonna is an information highway.
Lu may not know you,
but if you're there-
no matter how crowded the room-
no matter how loud the music-
how dark the corners-
she will notice you.
absolutely.
and Lulu will know what you want to do,
before even you.
Lulu Belle can just tell.
Lulu likes table tops and things lying on the floor.
Lulu enjoys the covers being on top of her
and tiny places, like pillowcases.
Lulu likes to drink water out of glasses,
even when her own bowl is full.
Lulu tells the truth, in every situation.
and she never ever laughs at another's expense.
Lulu rarely laughs at all.
She rather, smiles- with her eyes.
Lulu likes you,
because you're an interesting person.
You have a nice way of carrying yourself,
and a soft voice. sometimes.
You have a kind heart and
are willing to play with her at the drop of a hat.
Lulu appreciates that.
Lulu thinks the two of you will get along just fine,
but she wants you to know, if the weather is particularly
exciting, she may want to spend some time alone.
Lulu expects you'd understand.
Lulu knows you need time with just you, too.
And she's ok with that.
Monday, May 24, 2010
note to self-
ape girl gone nuts.
over peanuts and thoughts
not hers.
evidence thrown out
into bins labeled
not for sale
ever.
uncanny how real these ideas
look with name tags
all properly sewn on
by hand.
"whose hand?" is the creepy part.
castle walls tumbling down
blocks as large as boulders,
but all is safe.
these weigh nothing.
as they are made out of air.
the scary part was the anticipation
as always.
now she lives all tower and sky scraper free
in a small room
just large enough to house
herself, her brain
and her cat.
her brain takes up the entire
living room.
she must live in the kitchen.
the cat takes the toilet bowl.
thankfully at night
she can squeeze into bed and slumber off.
sleep comes for her these days like the police.
"take her in boys. she's had enough."
exploration in madness?
finally, this is no book of
"what ifs."
this is the story of is.
and what is, is not as forgiving as insanity.
counting stars again, the ones she can remember,
it appears that all her favorite
goddesses have ascended into
constellation form.
drawing lines between bright spots in the sky,
her friends appear to her,
though far far away.
driving past the ocean,
on the way to topanga
the waves remembered
to say hi.
that felt nice.
trees still twist around and make
patterns on clouds,
front gardens are still polite enough
to swim by on walks
and not say a word.
to anybody.
there are a myriad of things to be done.
she just cannot think of
why she should do them,
except that, it
would take the silence away.
changing the chatter
from what is wrong with the world
to what is right,
has just
quieted things down lately.
that's all.
the suits still fit, but hang
in the closet.
day after day.
she is sewing a new one.
with her own hands this one.
and even though she's never worked a sewing machine
it will still be prettier then anything else
she ever owned.
because
it
will be
hers.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Chapter 37
If our lives are a story that we tell day by day, I may have lost my pen. Even when I have my pen, I never know just when to close a chapter, and begin a new one. Chapters of my life tend to overlap and meander off on tangents. When composing these chapters, I sort of skip around. Chapter 23 comes after chapter 25, while chapter 31 forgot to be written at all. Some chapters have a comprehensible and literal time line, while others may be entirely about the way the toaster made a funny sound one morning and then refused to work again and how troubling I found that experience to be, being that I had just bought that toaster last month. Now, that’s just an example of the type of meaningless nonsense that can engross a person. It never actually happened. I much prefer toaster ovens to toasters, they’re far more versatile and reliable.
As days go by, and weeks go by, and then months and years, we each one of us, continue to write the novel that is our lives, stacking up page after page, shelving volume after volume. Within the boarders of these chapters, besides recording the silly and absurd, we also record our lessons, our triumphs and failures, our hopes and our dreams. Together these pages work to continually create the ever changing creature that is ourselves and flesh out the ever evolving world that is our state of mind.
Some chapters demand to be written. Yes, some can be skipped, and gotten back to when there is time or inspiration or inclination. Last year, I was meant to write chapter 37.
Ah… chapter 37. Originally, it was to have been completed even before the start of last spring. It wasn’t and I probably even made a New Year’s resolution to get it done, but alas here we are, 5 months into the following year and I’m just getting to it. At the time, I felt I could put it off, and get back to it at some later date. Maybe, I thought, I would leave it to do for a weekend that was gloomy, or when friends were out of town; perhaps I would leave it for a week when I was feeling under the weather and not up to doing anything else anyway. “Yes,” I thought, “I will leave it for some time like that, I will write it when the time comes that I am free of distractions and have nothing better to do!”
So, I left it.
And left it. And because the subject gnawing at my ear was a topic I really had no energy or desire or no-how to tackle, I left it for the whole year and then some.
We avoid the things we need most sometimes. I have most recently discovered the overwhelming extent to which I am an incredibly unconscious animal, acting predominately out of fear and survival instincts. Most of us don’t really like to confront issues, because this usually means some big overhaul in an area of life needs to occur. I think the survival instinct comes into play at these times; it kicks in when presented with the idea of change, because logically it cannot be proven that change, no matter how small, doesn’t actually mean complete destruction. I think the unconscious part of the brain just sort of freezes everything and thinks, “I’m alive. No matter how frustrating, limiting or unhealthy a part of life may be, we’re just going to leave it alone, because nobody can fully assure me that if that part is changed, I’ll keep breathing and this heart will keep beating. So, conscious self…back off!“
Chapter 37 originally had such lofty aspirations. In truth, it wanted so much to be a chapter about love and communication and turning the other cheek and standing up for what you believe in. Chapter 37 had wanted to be written out of enlightenment and dreams and telepathy. It wanted to be the culmination of all the things a person could learn on this planet, the coming together of intellectual knowledge with pure spiritual understanding, producing an orgasm of delighted comprehension in the universe within and without, wholly and fully. It wanted to be the greater good, the all knowing, the answer.
It felt that it deserved that. It felt it was time. It felt ready. Chapter 37 knew about all of the other chapters that came before it (it was also very aware of the unwritten chapters purposefully skipped by its author, but it forgave the author that, since those unwritten chapters were probably only going to be broken toaster story chapters anyway.)
Chapter 37 knew that the chapter on how to handle disappointment had been written, even though it also knew the author rarely remembered to review that particular chapter; it also knew the chapters on letting go (chapter 18), personal faith (chapter 10) how to identify a cult, when to say no to a friend and when to take responsibility in a working relationship (chapters 8, 24 and 32, respectively) had all been written and that these had taught the author much. If anything, chapter 37 was sure of three things: 1) it was going to be quotable 2) it was going to be a very interesting read and 3) it was NOT going to be a toaster chapter!
The author had some bad news for chapter 37.
While its wish to be interesting, quotable and meaningful were going to be met, it was far from becoming a tale spun about spiritual epiphanies and quantum physics.
It was going to be more a story about looking honestly at what is set before you. It would grapple with the problem of loneliness; in short, it was to be just another rung on the author's ladder to enlightenment and self-realization. The author just wasn’t yet where this book thought it needed to already be, and that was merely a reflection of the author’s own lessons to be learned surrounding Chapter 37.
Chapter 37 world become a necessary, and, up to that point, the most important lesson of all the chapters yet written. It would be a chapter about growing, accepting and living in the now. But it would be a hard knox tale about these things. It would be a little cold, a little harsh and have absolutely no frills. The inspirational quotes would have to come later.
Whimsical broken toaster story are well and fine and helpful too, but in the long run chapter 37 will relish even more the very speific part it has to play in the telling of a well-rounded story about a well-rounded person. Chapter 37 will find, in time, that being the bull horn for taking care of yourself, eventually leads to great respect, gratitude and thankfulness.
I don't know when I will finish this chapter. When I do, I'll be sure to share it with you, though be prepared. Its not going to ask for tears, but you may shed some. It isn't going to require you to share your feelings, but you will feel them. It isn't going to pamper, spoon feed or sugar coat. There will be absolutely no coddling. And we, you and I, will be the better for it. When then time comes to coddle, and cuddle, we'll be better able to do so. It may be getting cool here for a while, but that will only help us to feel the warmth that much more in the future.
As days go by, and weeks go by, and then months and years, we each one of us, continue to write the novel that is our lives, stacking up page after page, shelving volume after volume. Within the boarders of these chapters, besides recording the silly and absurd, we also record our lessons, our triumphs and failures, our hopes and our dreams. Together these pages work to continually create the ever changing creature that is ourselves and flesh out the ever evolving world that is our state of mind.
Some chapters demand to be written. Yes, some can be skipped, and gotten back to when there is time or inspiration or inclination. Last year, I was meant to write chapter 37.
Ah… chapter 37. Originally, it was to have been completed even before the start of last spring. It wasn’t and I probably even made a New Year’s resolution to get it done, but alas here we are, 5 months into the following year and I’m just getting to it. At the time, I felt I could put it off, and get back to it at some later date. Maybe, I thought, I would leave it to do for a weekend that was gloomy, or when friends were out of town; perhaps I would leave it for a week when I was feeling under the weather and not up to doing anything else anyway. “Yes,” I thought, “I will leave it for some time like that, I will write it when the time comes that I am free of distractions and have nothing better to do!”
So, I left it.
And left it. And because the subject gnawing at my ear was a topic I really had no energy or desire or no-how to tackle, I left it for the whole year and then some.
We avoid the things we need most sometimes. I have most recently discovered the overwhelming extent to which I am an incredibly unconscious animal, acting predominately out of fear and survival instincts. Most of us don’t really like to confront issues, because this usually means some big overhaul in an area of life needs to occur. I think the survival instinct comes into play at these times; it kicks in when presented with the idea of change, because logically it cannot be proven that change, no matter how small, doesn’t actually mean complete destruction. I think the unconscious part of the brain just sort of freezes everything and thinks, “I’m alive. No matter how frustrating, limiting or unhealthy a part of life may be, we’re just going to leave it alone, because nobody can fully assure me that if that part is changed, I’ll keep breathing and this heart will keep beating. So, conscious self…back off!“
Chapter 37 originally had such lofty aspirations. In truth, it wanted so much to be a chapter about love and communication and turning the other cheek and standing up for what you believe in. Chapter 37 had wanted to be written out of enlightenment and dreams and telepathy. It wanted to be the culmination of all the things a person could learn on this planet, the coming together of intellectual knowledge with pure spiritual understanding, producing an orgasm of delighted comprehension in the universe within and without, wholly and fully. It wanted to be the greater good, the all knowing, the answer.
It felt that it deserved that. It felt it was time. It felt ready. Chapter 37 knew about all of the other chapters that came before it (it was also very aware of the unwritten chapters purposefully skipped by its author, but it forgave the author that, since those unwritten chapters were probably only going to be broken toaster story chapters anyway.)
Chapter 37 knew that the chapter on how to handle disappointment had been written, even though it also knew the author rarely remembered to review that particular chapter; it also knew the chapters on letting go (chapter 18), personal faith (chapter 10) how to identify a cult, when to say no to a friend and when to take responsibility in a working relationship (chapters 8, 24 and 32, respectively) had all been written and that these had taught the author much. If anything, chapter 37 was sure of three things: 1) it was going to be quotable 2) it was going to be a very interesting read and 3) it was NOT going to be a toaster chapter!
The author had some bad news for chapter 37.
While its wish to be interesting, quotable and meaningful were going to be met, it was far from becoming a tale spun about spiritual epiphanies and quantum physics.
It was going to be more a story about looking honestly at what is set before you. It would grapple with the problem of loneliness; in short, it was to be just another rung on the author's ladder to enlightenment and self-realization. The author just wasn’t yet where this book thought it needed to already be, and that was merely a reflection of the author’s own lessons to be learned surrounding Chapter 37.
Chapter 37 world become a necessary, and, up to that point, the most important lesson of all the chapters yet written. It would be a chapter about growing, accepting and living in the now. But it would be a hard knox tale about these things. It would be a little cold, a little harsh and have absolutely no frills. The inspirational quotes would have to come later.
Whimsical broken toaster story are well and fine and helpful too, but in the long run chapter 37 will relish even more the very speific part it has to play in the telling of a well-rounded story about a well-rounded person. Chapter 37 will find, in time, that being the bull horn for taking care of yourself, eventually leads to great respect, gratitude and thankfulness.
I don't know when I will finish this chapter. When I do, I'll be sure to share it with you, though be prepared. Its not going to ask for tears, but you may shed some. It isn't going to require you to share your feelings, but you will feel them. It isn't going to pamper, spoon feed or sugar coat. There will be absolutely no coddling. And we, you and I, will be the better for it. When then time comes to coddle, and cuddle, we'll be better able to do so. It may be getting cool here for a while, but that will only help us to feel the warmth that much more in the future.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Crushing on Creativity
I wrote these and made this when my heart swooned over a man I never met who ignited in me the flames for my own passions. Ah...passionate stranger. People come, people go. Little bits of them stay on and on...lets always hope for the good bits.
.....................................................................................
Meet me where wind meets earth,
where grownups reach for childhood-
Meet me in a window payne,
in a daydream during rain-
Meet me where sun meets sky,
in a sidewalk artist's eye-
Meet me in a lullaby.
................
incompletion.
satisfaction
in the undone,
savoring
the unsung,
the just about to-
hovering in limbo-
sensation
before the go.
passion
in the unknown.
.................
little muses dance away in me
little daughters of Zeuses
play away on me
and I take it
because I love it!
and I take it
because i know it!
familiar heartbeat, extra nine,
bang away until
the the end of time
(or till the end of
my little rhyme!)
.....................................................................................
Meet me where wind meets earth,
where grownups reach for childhood-
Meet me in a window payne,
in a daydream during rain-
Meet me where sun meets sky,
in a sidewalk artist's eye-
Meet me in a lullaby.
................
incompletion.
satisfaction
in the undone,
savoring
the unsung,
the just about to-
hovering in limbo-
sensation
before the go.
passion
in the unknown.
.................
little muses dance away in me
little daughters of Zeuses
play away on me
and I take it
because I love it!
and I take it
because i know it!
familiar heartbeat, extra nine,
bang away until
the the end of time
(or till the end of
my little rhyme!)
Atom's Eye
I wrote this poem and made this collage together. I'm not sure what I was getting at. I must have been feeling lonely and unseen. Lost in the middle of the time of my life. Being alone, yet still feeling love was all around me, probably just confused me. Or made me mad. Or both.
.....................................................................................
Some might say the end of time rests merely in the
eye of an atom, actually in a thing smaller than an
atom, but whatever that smallest thing is, it is in the
eye of that smallest thing in which the end of time
exists. For time to end, some suppose, it would have
to be witnessed; even if only by the smallest of
everything that ever was.
Some might also say that love comes in shapes of
things. Loves is this size or that color or that form.
Or some form at all. Some would surmise that love
must take on form, because if it did not, how would
anyone know it ever was there? Some say, love must
look like something to be understood.
These same someones could go as far as to claim that
life itself must push forward to some purpose or
place, in order for it to be valid. For life to have
importance, it must go forth and do. Do anything:
Thrive. Make. Breath. Kill. A life must be busy so it
knows, and is known.
And there are theories about other things, like
beauty and structure and meaning. And they’re all,
as far as I can tell, as hopeless as the next. Whatever
they might say, it is only true that, beauty is ironic,
structure is flawed and meaning is sought, borrowed
and created.
And of time and love and life?
Life is valid, just because.
Love doesn’t flee, even if unseen.
And it is when we don’t look, that time disappears.
.....................................................................................
Some might say the end of time rests merely in the
eye of an atom, actually in a thing smaller than an
atom, but whatever that smallest thing is, it is in the
eye of that smallest thing in which the end of time
exists. For time to end, some suppose, it would have
to be witnessed; even if only by the smallest of
everything that ever was.
Some might also say that love comes in shapes of
things. Loves is this size or that color or that form.
Or some form at all. Some would surmise that love
must take on form, because if it did not, how would
anyone know it ever was there? Some say, love must
look like something to be understood.
These same someones could go as far as to claim that
life itself must push forward to some purpose or
place, in order for it to be valid. For life to have
importance, it must go forth and do. Do anything:
Thrive. Make. Breath. Kill. A life must be busy so it
knows, and is known.
And there are theories about other things, like
beauty and structure and meaning. And they’re all,
as far as I can tell, as hopeless as the next. Whatever
they might say, it is only true that, beauty is ironic,
structure is flawed and meaning is sought, borrowed
and created.
And of time and love and life?
Life is valid, just because.
Love doesn’t flee, even if unseen.
And it is when we don’t look, that time disappears.
Friday, April 23, 2010
The Day After Earth Day, I Stood Still
[reader warning: The following is hazardously convoluted, and there seems to be nothing I can do about it.]
The Day After Earth day, I Stood Still
A Mediocre Tale of Signs, Signals and Sorrow:
An illusionary, yet once seemingly passionate, two month romance disappears, revealing itself to be nothing more then a dispassionate, self serving and isolatory experience, thus inevitably coming to an abrupt, and non-consequential standstill, and how all the signs were there, if only I'd opened my eyes- all three of them- and looked.
Even in the hind-sightedly insignificant experiences in life, there often seems to lie concrete connections to the greater universe. Proof in pudding situations that reassure the journeyman (journey woman?)...journey person that his/her/their journey is meaningful, has deeper significance then just the present moment, and that no path seeker is alone.
Surely our brain is the maker and seeker and putter-together of such patterns. This however should never stand in the way of sorting out what these patterns might mean to us, the great creators of purpose. Whether the universe is literally revealing this purpose, or if it is just our minds making it up as it goes along, it is no less significant. In short, no matter from where destiny stems (be it from the moon,stars and cosmos, or from a pretend game swiftly made up by our cunning, trickster brains) destiny it remains.
The three following accounts, listed in no particular order, in fact listed quite out of sequential order, are three signs that may or may not have pointed to a destination I didn't see coming till I got there. Like most circumstances in life, I didn't know what hit me. I am hoping that by exploring possible signals that may or may not have existed along the way, it will help me in the future, and maybe even you dear reader, as you are so often called, to see the ball coming, if only for seconds before it hits. We can take the hit. Its the not knowing which seems to be the worse part, non? Alright, like hot sweaty teenagers in a rural community with nothing better to do then cruising and cow tipping on an early Sunday morning, lets open our trunks and start stealing those predestined signs off there metaphyscial make-shift posts!
Sign #3 The La Cita Stomping
Thursday night, happy hour night.
While at the LA Club/bar La Cita, and after three margaritas (well, most probably after many more actually, since there was a wrist band involved that night which allowed the purchase of 25 cent drinks) and while getting our mutual groove on, a girl in stiletto healed boots stomped on my left foot.
I stared at this girl in the stylized weapon of chic, she stared back at me, mouthing the words, "I'm soooo sorry." I slowly exited the dance floor, one limp after the next. I was in such a flurry of dance and tequila I had to be alone to quietly ascertain the situation: "Was I in pain?" "Did that actually hurt me?" "Was I being unreasonable in gasping and shrieking like that?" I quickly assessed the following: Yes. It was pain I was experiencing, but I was currently too numb to physically yet feel the implication of the pain I somehow already felt emotionally.
Satisfied that I least knew where I stood, though due to tipsiness, heat, and injury i could indeed barely stand, I limped my way the whole three feet back to the disco lit arena, and continued to dance under what I have recently come to realize is a very weird mural of a seemingly very excited bull painted along the front of the La Cita dance floor. (I don't get why its there, but it has nothing to do with anything, so, as is life, we must move on.)
The next morning I awoke to a purple foot and strange feelings surging through me, suggesting that perhaps the tequila had numbed me from more then just a stranger's spiky stance.
Sign #1 The Wine Drop
One entire week before the La Cita Stomping, while checking out of a grocery store, a friend dropped a wine bottle on the very same soon to be bruised and battered left foot. When the bottle fell, having not yet drunk from it's contents, I cussed immediately. My friend stared at me and said "Sweetie, please don't do this. Its not like I did it on purpose." This friend, it must be noted, is my gay boyfriend, and if you know anything about gay boyfriends' relationships with their straight girlfriends, its pretty much all about the boy. Its also pretty much known that we girlfriends put up with this unavoidable homo-narcissism in exchange for free haircuts, facials and empty promises of lots of presents once the gay boyfriend is a famous tv star. (Girlfriends also generally put up with hetero-narcissism from straight boyfriends, but for very different reasons.)
Sign #2 Soap Unleashed
Cut to two days after the wine drop, five days before the La Cita Stomp. Same foot, in a shower. My then (straight) boyfriend drops a bar of soap on the very same foot, in the very same spot the wine bottle had crushed, and that the stiletto heal would soon smash. Once again, completely sober, I gasped. Straight boyfriend gives no remark at all. As I'm rubbing and grasping onto my foot, I sort of mutter "um. ouch. OW. wow. That really hurt." Straight boyfriend finally gives the surprisingly sincere acknowledgment: "I didn't do it on purpose." I whimper to myself, "hmmm....hetero-narcissism. we should go back to bed."
Shuffling it all together...
The Tuesday following the La Cita stomp, I explain these three separate foot abuse scenarios to my friend Paula who is promptly convinced these three episodes are symptomatic of my inability to step forward into the strength of my femininity. For those who may not be so savvy to metaphysical musings, let it be known, the right side of the body represents the masculine, while the left side of the body represents the feminine.
Paula and I both very much enjoy talking about the world in an upside down, spiraling, inter-dimensional manner because it satisfies our need to explore the world in our own ways. I enjoy it because of my background in literary symbolism and mythology, and also because it helps me to make sense of a world in which I don't actually want to do anything, like work, pay off credit cards or make long term goals past planning what movie I want to see at the Archlight on Friday. I think Paula enjoys it because she used to be Mormon. Due to these Mormon years, Paula keeps a fully stocked pantry and extra water bottles, enjoys board games and loves to delve into the mysteries of the unknown.
Mysteries like why a 34 year old woman's left foot might be stomped on in exactly the same spot for two weeks running- and the fact that the smashing occurred a total of three times? Well in a metaphysical grab bag world, it is a blatant sign of . . . something. As Paula puts it, "Its obvious."
Marching Forward
Some may say I haven't a leg to stand on. Getting hurt in the same place isn't a sign, its a coincidence. A silly lark really. But on Earth Day, which happened to be the Thursday following the La Cita stomp, the last of the 3 part foot episodes, my then boyfriend, the straight one, the one who dropped the soap on my foot and then courageously defended his honor, voted to stop seeing me. He didn't want to see other people, he just didn't want see me. He cited, nothing really. When prodded a little, he said he didn't feel differently about me, just about the relationship.
And he isn't wrong. The relationship changed. Well, I guess one could say it dissolved into a quiet nothingness. Which begs the following questions:
Had the wine bottle come to warn me to stay present? to step forward? that change is coming?
Was the soap a subconscious act on my now ex-boyfriend's part to warn me that he was ready to "walk" away from me and the relationship?
Was the La Cita stomping my final hail to wake up and realize that I was immobilized and this current relationship wasn't going anywhere?
Yes. I think its obvious.
On Earth Day night, a few hours after the agreement had been reached that he and I would now finally just walk away from one another, for no reason other then nothing seemed to be moving forward, I returned to La Cita. This Thursday night, there was no dancing. The floor remained empty the entire night. No wrist bands, no parties. The mural bull stood quietly in his strange little half retro/half tongue in cheek world. The disco light dazzled, but it seemed to spin a little slower. Much like a low flying flag set up to remember the past, and take a quiet moment to think about what isn't; it told me to move on, step forward and trudge, trudge, trudge along.
Dancing into the Now...
My foot is now fully healed and all of this seems like a hazy, distant, dream-like memory. I am now focusing on being present, looking at what is really happening around me in life and being healthy. I've been going to the gym too. Its a funny thing, but I seem to have hurt my shoulder there. There is a horrible round mass of muscles that won't seem to relax. I've never quite experienced anything like it before. My sister tried massaging it out, but it is quite a determined, nasty little knot, as if there to say to me, 24 hours a day, "notice me!" My brain wonders if this may be the beginning of some kind of Atlas Syndrome- a "weight of the world" on my shoulders type thing. I guess I'll wait it out and see if my brain pieces anything else together. If it does, I'm sure my third eye hind sight vision will be out in full 20/20 force.
The Day After Earth day, I Stood Still
A Mediocre Tale of Signs, Signals and Sorrow:
An illusionary, yet once seemingly passionate, two month romance disappears, revealing itself to be nothing more then a dispassionate, self serving and isolatory experience, thus inevitably coming to an abrupt, and non-consequential standstill, and how all the signs were there, if only I'd opened my eyes- all three of them- and looked.
Even in the hind-sightedly insignificant experiences in life, there often seems to lie concrete connections to the greater universe. Proof in pudding situations that reassure the journeyman (journey woman?)...journey person that his/her/their journey is meaningful, has deeper significance then just the present moment, and that no path seeker is alone.
Surely our brain is the maker and seeker and putter-together of such patterns. This however should never stand in the way of sorting out what these patterns might mean to us, the great creators of purpose. Whether the universe is literally revealing this purpose, or if it is just our minds making it up as it goes along, it is no less significant. In short, no matter from where destiny stems (be it from the moon,stars and cosmos, or from a pretend game swiftly made up by our cunning, trickster brains) destiny it remains.
The three following accounts, listed in no particular order, in fact listed quite out of sequential order, are three signs that may or may not have pointed to a destination I didn't see coming till I got there. Like most circumstances in life, I didn't know what hit me. I am hoping that by exploring possible signals that may or may not have existed along the way, it will help me in the future, and maybe even you dear reader, as you are so often called, to see the ball coming, if only for seconds before it hits. We can take the hit. Its the not knowing which seems to be the worse part, non? Alright, like hot sweaty teenagers in a rural community with nothing better to do then cruising and cow tipping on an early Sunday morning, lets open our trunks and start stealing those predestined signs off there metaphyscial make-shift posts!
Sign #3 The La Cita Stomping
Thursday night, happy hour night.
While at the LA Club/bar La Cita, and after three margaritas (well, most probably after many more actually, since there was a wrist band involved that night which allowed the purchase of 25 cent drinks) and while getting our mutual groove on, a girl in stiletto healed boots stomped on my left foot.
I stared at this girl in the stylized weapon of chic, she stared back at me, mouthing the words, "I'm soooo sorry." I slowly exited the dance floor, one limp after the next. I was in such a flurry of dance and tequila I had to be alone to quietly ascertain the situation: "Was I in pain?" "Did that actually hurt me?" "Was I being unreasonable in gasping and shrieking like that?" I quickly assessed the following: Yes. It was pain I was experiencing, but I was currently too numb to physically yet feel the implication of the pain I somehow already felt emotionally.
Satisfied that I least knew where I stood, though due to tipsiness, heat, and injury i could indeed barely stand, I limped my way the whole three feet back to the disco lit arena, and continued to dance under what I have recently come to realize is a very weird mural of a seemingly very excited bull painted along the front of the La Cita dance floor. (I don't get why its there, but it has nothing to do with anything, so, as is life, we must move on.)
The next morning I awoke to a purple foot and strange feelings surging through me, suggesting that perhaps the tequila had numbed me from more then just a stranger's spiky stance.
Sign #1 The Wine Drop
One entire week before the La Cita Stomping, while checking out of a grocery store, a friend dropped a wine bottle on the very same soon to be bruised and battered left foot. When the bottle fell, having not yet drunk from it's contents, I cussed immediately. My friend stared at me and said "Sweetie, please don't do this. Its not like I did it on purpose." This friend, it must be noted, is my gay boyfriend, and if you know anything about gay boyfriends' relationships with their straight girlfriends, its pretty much all about the boy. Its also pretty much known that we girlfriends put up with this unavoidable homo-narcissism in exchange for free haircuts, facials and empty promises of lots of presents once the gay boyfriend is a famous tv star. (Girlfriends also generally put up with hetero-narcissism from straight boyfriends, but for very different reasons.)
Sign #2 Soap Unleashed
Cut to two days after the wine drop, five days before the La Cita Stomp. Same foot, in a shower. My then (straight) boyfriend drops a bar of soap on the very same foot, in the very same spot the wine bottle had crushed, and that the stiletto heal would soon smash. Once again, completely sober, I gasped. Straight boyfriend gives no remark at all. As I'm rubbing and grasping onto my foot, I sort of mutter "um. ouch. OW. wow. That really hurt." Straight boyfriend finally gives the surprisingly sincere acknowledgment: "I didn't do it on purpose." I whimper to myself, "hmmm....hetero-narcissism. we should go back to bed."
Shuffling it all together...
The Tuesday following the La Cita stomp, I explain these three separate foot abuse scenarios to my friend Paula who is promptly convinced these three episodes are symptomatic of my inability to step forward into the strength of my femininity. For those who may not be so savvy to metaphysical musings, let it be known, the right side of the body represents the masculine, while the left side of the body represents the feminine.
Paula and I both very much enjoy talking about the world in an upside down, spiraling, inter-dimensional manner because it satisfies our need to explore the world in our own ways. I enjoy it because of my background in literary symbolism and mythology, and also because it helps me to make sense of a world in which I don't actually want to do anything, like work, pay off credit cards or make long term goals past planning what movie I want to see at the Archlight on Friday. I think Paula enjoys it because she used to be Mormon. Due to these Mormon years, Paula keeps a fully stocked pantry and extra water bottles, enjoys board games and loves to delve into the mysteries of the unknown.
Mysteries like why a 34 year old woman's left foot might be stomped on in exactly the same spot for two weeks running- and the fact that the smashing occurred a total of three times? Well in a metaphysical grab bag world, it is a blatant sign of . . . something. As Paula puts it, "Its obvious."
Marching Forward
Some may say I haven't a leg to stand on. Getting hurt in the same place isn't a sign, its a coincidence. A silly lark really. But on Earth Day, which happened to be the Thursday following the La Cita stomp, the last of the 3 part foot episodes, my then boyfriend, the straight one, the one who dropped the soap on my foot and then courageously defended his honor, voted to stop seeing me. He didn't want to see other people, he just didn't want see me. He cited, nothing really. When prodded a little, he said he didn't feel differently about me, just about the relationship.
And he isn't wrong. The relationship changed. Well, I guess one could say it dissolved into a quiet nothingness. Which begs the following questions:
Had the wine bottle come to warn me to stay present? to step forward? that change is coming?
Was the soap a subconscious act on my now ex-boyfriend's part to warn me that he was ready to "walk" away from me and the relationship?
Was the La Cita stomping my final hail to wake up and realize that I was immobilized and this current relationship wasn't going anywhere?
Yes. I think its obvious.
On Earth Day night, a few hours after the agreement had been reached that he and I would now finally just walk away from one another, for no reason other then nothing seemed to be moving forward, I returned to La Cita. This Thursday night, there was no dancing. The floor remained empty the entire night. No wrist bands, no parties. The mural bull stood quietly in his strange little half retro/half tongue in cheek world. The disco light dazzled, but it seemed to spin a little slower. Much like a low flying flag set up to remember the past, and take a quiet moment to think about what isn't; it told me to move on, step forward and trudge, trudge, trudge along.
Dancing into the Now...
My foot is now fully healed and all of this seems like a hazy, distant, dream-like memory. I am now focusing on being present, looking at what is really happening around me in life and being healthy. I've been going to the gym too. Its a funny thing, but I seem to have hurt my shoulder there. There is a horrible round mass of muscles that won't seem to relax. I've never quite experienced anything like it before. My sister tried massaging it out, but it is quite a determined, nasty little knot, as if there to say to me, 24 hours a day, "notice me!" My brain wonders if this may be the beginning of some kind of Atlas Syndrome- a "weight of the world" on my shoulders type thing. I guess I'll wait it out and see if my brain pieces anything else together. If it does, I'm sure my third eye hind sight vision will be out in full 20/20 force.
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