I’ve been in a lot of relationships where things have been broken…
Things that I’ve bought; things that I’ve earned;
been given, gifted-
…learned.
But bones often heal and time-
Well time, it blurs the edges…
Now I’m finding myself in a lot of situations where things are being restructured…
Things I’ve been taught;
things that I’ve chosen;
been given, gifted-
…learned.
But hearts often heal and experience-
Well experience, it sharpens focus.
Unopened presents-
Intended totems of love;
Artifacts of faith.
I’ve already began the process
Of grieving the products of my own imagination.
Recently implemented new rules of engagement;
Limiting all talks with friends,
all of them.
To under 5 minute long interactions.
Unless they’re my exes…
I figure I’ve dibs.
(I know! I knoooow.)
I know it makes me selfish;
Realizing more each day-
I want to be “chosen”
I NEED to be “chosen”
whatever that means…
I think I always have.
Reflecting on all the times
Situations…
I felt I needed to be…
Should have been…
Chosen…
by anyone-
Chosen…
over others;
over addictions
Chosen for me
Who I am
Not what I could be.
Not what I could provide.
Services I could render.
What I could become.
Just the real and authentic me.
Most only saw the mes
making the choices…
To leave
To make them
Sooner…
Later…
My choice.
I thought you loved me.
Today I just feel stupid-
“Why I sleep alone.”
I found myself there-
In that place, once again.
The cavernous mermaid lagoon;
a familiar yet frightening place; bound.
It was curious really-
Realizing where I’d arrived.
When by consciously avoiding-
My unintentional destination found.
Only for a brief moment yielding-
Like Yeats’ siren:
In cruel happiness I’d forgotten-
That even lovers drown.
Used to be…
I’d come across them-
Confetti strewn caches-
drawers of forgotten notes…
I felt sad, and missed them.
Question everything.
Then it changed…
I’d find them and realize-
I don’t know the writer-
Ghostwritten manifestos of complacency…
I’d feel disgust, and miss me.
Question everything.
Today I found more…
I read them and noted-
It really was a version of me-
Just a me adapted to them…
I feel nothing, and am missing nothing.
Question everything.
No one escapes-
Even with wars on all fronts…
The Croc’s ticking clock.
Lately I’ve been “nesting.”
Chasing serotonin and conviction- reclaiming my own curtilage.
And yet, entertaining;
Fellini-esque fantasies.
While balancing the romantic…
with the absurd.
Still, fantasies indeed are dangerous things.
Particularly;
when one feels unchallenged or complacent…
It’s easy to believe that things mean more-
Connections or kismet or fated-
too often just a novel distraction
They would soon grow bored of…
He gave her his heart,
she gave him a pen.
Is it ever real?
Too often oxytocin fueled.
And hypervigilance gives way
To resolute avoidance and/or
The altruistic conundrum-
there is no unselfish deed…
And like she said, “perhaps…”
I’ve already had my chance for that type of happiness.
Nonetheless, a growth mindset.
Endeavor to be present.
Stay the course.
Self actualize myself.
Alone is not so bad.
Lonely is much worse.
Photo from: www.shopstudiosisters.com
I can go months-
Years without a cigarette.
Until I get a certain sad that only smoking (thus far) relieves… maladaptive or not…
it’s a coping skill too…
Said certain sadness passes…
Cue subsequent guilt for even purchasing…
Then! (as if to punish myself for it)
I am compelled to finish the pack.
Oy.
We’re never really finished, I guess.
Surrounded by the ever present Spectre of death…
Mortality itself has haunted since the 11th year-
Family & friends dying like the Hemingways and Fondas having a competition…
Addictions and violence permeate a life… a society… a culture.
Supporting those you love,
Facing my own fears;
Tasked with aiding those in grief…
A lifetime of training?
They don’t tell you the right things to say…
Or even the wrong things to say.
“It will always come in waves… they just get further between…”
Weak tea for the knock kneed.
God
Life
Energy
Grief
Stages
Birth to death and all between;
Beautiful acceptance to righteous anger-
Fuck this mortal coil.
It’s not crazy-
To question all of your decisions-
While holding your knees and rocking…
At the bottom…
of a dark closet-
Simultaneously:
lamenting;
and experiencing déjà vu…
realizing the trauma root to your aesthetic preferences…
synthesizing information, emotions, perceptions, programming…
Understanding leads to despair and experience leads to scripted good guesses…
“Fear is the path to the dark side.”
Leaps of faith…
Crisis of confidence?
Hope being what’s left and hoping because there’s nothing left-
Love or fear, only two choices…
At the heart of it…
Still rocking…
Still rocking…
Still rocking…
Bottom of a dark closet.
Soundlessly chanting-
beneath the typhoon in my bedroom…
I’m ok.
I’m ok.
I’m ok.
I’m always ok.
it’s not crazy- it’s human, right?
Have you ever wanted something so bad,
you work and sacrifice….
Go a little mad…
Obtain said goal.
And then-
As though you had been…
chasing the proverbial dragon,
you are again unsatisfied?
Its easy to feel very sad and isolated-
Lonely in this big house-
Full of white noise and silences…
Inconsistently closed yet open doors.
Still trying to adjust- adapt…
Handle all the new noises
Suppress all the annoying ones,
Lament the loss of the old ones;
Not regret not covet-
Missing the tiny place somehow-
Although cramped quarters-
Happiness was found in those small spaces;
No choice but intimacy-
And shared purpose.
I live in a huge house now…
full of closed doors;
For energy conservation,
Of course.
How much can one heart hold:
Sadness-
Love-
Anger-
Happiness?
Swelling and contracting
Heaving like a deep breathing chest
Rising and falling;
like rapid cycling moods.
Hearts can heal
All too often it seems
Just in time to break-
again.
Love-
Love is a tricky bitch.
And hope?
Hope is a fickle mistress.
I’m spending time with a hospice client today who is telling me the secrets of life… they’ve been married two times, 20 years the first time, and 52 years the second. (!!!!)
They say the secret to life is “…to love and let them love you. It’s the only thing that lasts and the only thing you can control. Sometimes. Anger and hate fade away and you don’t remember what exactly you were sore about, but you never forget the reasons you love someone or how it felt when they loved you.”
I’m not crying. YOU’RE CRYING.
Carry on.
From one Pisces fish to you.... 