Continuum…

(written August 2013)

Today it occurs to me that I may as well accept my broken-ness.

I may as well stop waiting for anything to change.

I took the risk, gave my all, and lost everything.  So what?

That’s life.  That’s bitterness.  That’s irony.  That’s people, we make choices and then have to live with the mess.

Do I regret it?   Not for a second.  I was right to try, even if it didn’t work out.  It was love, even if it didn’t last forever.

So here I am, six months later.  I am no longer wracked by grief each moment of each day.  But…  there is a void, a dark, empty place inside me, that won’t go away, no matter what. I may as well acknowledge it, invite it, allow it to play its part, whatever that may be.

Perhaps the urge to paint everything black, to start over from scratch, isn’t a bad idea after all.

After all, what do I have to hang on to?  All I know for sure is that I don’t know anything.

Each day I wonder, what on earth am I doing???  The answer is:  nothing.  Just…  existing.  None of it means anything.

Habits.   Expectations.  Routine.  It’s All The Same.

Survival.  Getting older.  I wanted my life to be some kind of journey, some kind of path with a destination, but deep down I suspect that all that stuff is just baloney I tried to believe so that it wouldn’t seem so futile.

There is nowhere to go, and no one to become.  It’s All The Same, and I don’t care anymore.

I don’t care if I succeed.  I don’t care if I fail.  I don’t care what anyone thinks.  I don’t care if I ever find love again.

I don’t care if I live or die.  It’s All The Same!

Is it depression, or just absence of illusion?  I’m not unhappy, just… empty.  It’s peaceful.

But loneliness takes it’s toll.  I long for someone to talk with, who could understand.  I wish for some kind of release from this dreary repetition.  I hope for… some revelation that will make it all worthwhile.

In the meantime, I suppose I will continue.

now i will ignore you

(written summer 2013)

now I will ignore you, who

were once inside of me,

your name bursting from my lips

in a moment’s ecstasy.

I, who loved you so-

will walk right by, as if

it never happened,  as if

I do not know.

For if I were to face you,

or allow our eyes to meet,

you would see that I am beaten-

and I WON”T admit defeat.

Strangers we were long ago,

and now we are again.

And though I won’t forget you,

I may as well pretend.

So, go ahead and love her.

(the one who has you now)

Perhaps she’ll be the one for whom

you’ll finally learn how.

Red Sonja

My body is burning. Can you smell
the smoke? You may touch my skin
As I gently choke
on whimpered words
of sweet desire
My armor cracked
by tongues of fire

As winds of icy winter fly
my wishing well is never dry
So dip a finger in and drink, oh
drive me to the very brink!
and when your thirst is satisfied,
just lay your body by my side
and fall into a world of dreams
’til morning light’s
first awkward streams
Then wake me, softly sliding in
and slay me as the day begins.

Chess II

We played chess at the

french cafe, while I ate a

crepe with strawberries and

whipped cream.

I was flirting with you

and wearing my new boots

You said I looked like a

Barbie Doll.

I don’t know what was

more exciting; the gleam in

your eye, or winning the

game. 

Chess; a true story

I slept with a man I loved, (but he didn’t love me the same way)

and while I slept,

I dreamed of a Boy I’d just met; (he came into the shop the day before and bought a shirt)

In the dream, the Boy was playing chess with some friends of his (they were in some kind of Science Club) and the way they played chess was Different.  (They spent most of the time arranging the pieces before the game even started, and once it began, it was over in a flash.)

I woke up and described the game to the man I loved; he said, “It sounds like sex.”

Catching the Light

Why write?

I have kept a journal all my life, at least, since I learned to write.  The empty page has always been a friend to me, listening without judgement, and remembering everything I say.

Thoughts and feelings happen every moment of every day; they pass through us, reverberate, move us to motion or tears or laughter, shape our world view and define our experience.

Writing is a way of “catching the light”, a phrase  I adopted from a movie (Bee Season) that explores mystic theology.  It describes the act of making ourselves whole again by focusing intention and effort in the direction of love.

Living a human life is an awesome experience.  It can also be a terrifying and painful journey.  Allowing all that is to come to the page, unhindered, is an art form and also a therapeutic exercise.  As I write, I often find that I follow a loose pattern; first, just blurting out whatever thoughts or happenings are foremost on my mind.  Next, I explore my feelings and reactions.  Finally, I project my desires into the mix, turning my ideas over and searching within them for purpose and meaning.  I encourage myself, if I can, to do whatever it will take to bring about harmony within my heart and mind.

So, why write?  It is alchemy.  We can start with the base materials of consciousness, and transform them, through focusing our attention, into understanding.