Tag Archives: Kristina Marie Morgan

Today is May 18, 2014. I am alive and well.

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I want my inner self to be a souped up engine in a black Sting Ray Correvette. I also want my inner self to be a wisp of cotton caught on the arm of a reaching cactus. The day is loud. The day is quiet. I want them both. Even the middle of the two will bless me with time well spent.

I spent time today on my hands and knees scrubbing my tile floors. Spic and Span works wonders. My inner self was pleased with the motion of my body. Just as my inner self was pleased with the motion of my body this morning at the gym–cardio on the cardio machine (I can’t remember what this machine is called) and weight lifting. The outer self connects with the inner self and together they sing arias.

I feel fortunate that I have all of my limbs…both arms, both legs, all my toes and fingers. And I can see and hear and talk and write. One day I was moaning abut the mile walk I had from my parked car to campus. Then I came upon a young man missing one leg and using a crutch. He too was walking the mile. I’m certain he could have asked for a handicap sticker that would enable him to have less of a walk. From that day forward, I didn’t complain about the walk. God is good to me and allows me to witness the drive of the human spirit.

Today is May 16, 2014. I am alive and well and a bit sad.

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Mother’s Day has moved on like a semi, all gears engaged leaving a truck stop. The soup at the cafe was good, but not good enough to keep her off the road for another three hours, when her hunger returns.

My mother lost her hunger to a coffee cup filled with vodka. There was no Easter Egg hunt the year she died. No hanging lights to entice St. Nick to come down the chimney. Hell, the Fourth of July didn’t even get a flag waving from her crumbled hand. I don’t remember the year she died, but I do know it was bleak. She was only 58-years-old.

I was not prepared for my mother to die; there’s knots in my long black hair that conditioner will not get out. Only a rough combing will help. It hurts. Mother loved brushing my hair. I loved that time with her, alone, doing something ultimately feminine. Her hands were smooth then with polished nails, a deep blue red, and the whiff of berry coming from lotion.

How best is it to remember my mother? Her life was tragic. King Alcohol stole her socks. Her beauty, although still hanging on like a spider to its web in rain, was being washed away. Her inner light was being shut down and I didn’t know it. Her liver was failing. 

That’s what happened, her liver failed her. She fell into a coma and didn’t wake up. All this time later, years, I still feel the brush in my hair, her hand in my hair. Is it too late to light a candle for her? An unscented candle? One that she could have lit her cigarette by?

Mother’s Day is heavy feet on a stairwell. Mother’s Day is a sheet knotted on the bed. Mother’s Day is a day of remembrance–mother on her horse, her hair loose in the wind, nothing any louder than hooves on packed dirt. I loved her. I loved her.

Today is May 12, 2014. I am alive and well.

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A few of us go on Oprah, say God is Love, and make millions. Than there are those of us who are fiercely convinced God is Love without a dime. I work in a library. I can’t tell you how many books there are spouting spiritual beliefs. And usually, it all comes down to the same thing, God is Love.

It baffles me that one person’s beliefs make the New York Times Best Seller List, whereas another person’s beliefs remain at the side of the bed where she just got up from praying. Some of us write. Some of us don’t. I guess it’s just in the way you type God that makes all the difference. Is God more powerful in Times New Roman than in the font Arial Black?

I do believe that things are as they’re supposed to be. Those who make millions on writing about God, are suppose to be making those millions. Those who say “I love you God” from the side of their bed are suppose to be given ease and comfort and a fiercely peaceful heart.

It is good to know that loving God for a dime is equally as powerful as loving God for a million. And I do believe that those who make a million loving God, would give up their millions if they could only find ease and comfort and a fiercely peaceful heart in loving God for a dime.

A little girl loses control of her red wagon in which she’s seated and says “help.” God hears this regardless of her age, race, class, gender, and makes certain she lands in the grass rather than slamming into the brick wall. The little girl may not know God yet, but she will remember that saying “help” helped.

There is a power out there. I hope you find yours even if you believe the power is internal. Atheists have might, also. Atheists can be in awe of the world just as the priest bending to light a candle.

My house is not distraught. It is comfortable with dust that settles on its floor. Dust holds my condo to the ground. I don’t want to be Dorothy caught in a tornado, the wheels of my bicycle with no traction other than air. Air has no traction. In such an instance, the bicyclist is at the mercy of God.

I believe God keeps us gently tethered to the earth. It is still possible to soar as I have said. Even desirable. But the landing will always be welcomed after a night spent drunk on flight.

How drunk can one get in the midst of birds and clouds and the twinkling of stars? Quite would be the answer. My little dogs are not to be found in flight. I need to return to them to make certain they have enough water and food and love.

Shake off the flight. Land gently on the ground. Pet my little loves. Their tails wagging like a metal rooster caught in the wind. Guy is here, too. He locks on to me when I am dizzy. My medication and flight leave me dizzy at times. I have never fallen with the love he has for me. All should be loved as  much as the need for macaroni and cheese. All should be loved with the guarantee that the moon will never fall. The sun will always wake. And the ocean holds handfuls of water.

Today is April, 29, 2014. I am alive and well.

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I am the only living, breathing presence in my home. Guy and the two little dogs are in Venice Beach, California. It feels quite strange; a frame that has lost its picture of a moon settling low in the sky. There is a pocket of lift to see by, but the pocket is diminished. Only a still mind seeking the present will carry a person through to the next morning of brilliant light.

All things considered, I am faring well. It has been a long time since I’ve lived alone. I am living alone for a month. I am five days into the month and it won’t surprise me if Guy stays longer. He will be there as long as work keeps him there.

So today, as a woman alone in her home, I will seek comfort from the blue walls that surround me and the ever present feeling of Spirit. The truth is that I am only alone as I want to be. I can either set aside time to meet a friend or more importantly, marvel in the sense that all is right with my life. A bird just hit the window outside my study and bounced off. I too, can be that resilient. There are many ways to be in the world–four quarters make a dollar as does one hundred pennies, ten dimes, or twenty nickels. Currently, I am the paper dollar–a little frayed around the edges but still capable of buying two chocolate eggs.

Today is April 17, 2014. I am alive and well.

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They are shutting off the water to my building for three hours. I hate when this happens. I try to drink less fluids. I hate drinking less fluids. Then I think, what if it were my condo that was having plumbing issues and needed to have the water shut off in order to resolve them. Then I would say thank God, they’re turning off the water.

Plumbing amazes me. It’s mysterious because I have no idea how it works. The same with electricity. Modern amazes me. I don’t wear modern well. You will not find me dressed in revealing clothes, the kind that show a great deal of skin, unless it’s the back of the dress that is cut out. I have a good back. Maybe that is the point of being modern—highlight the good. Magnify the good. Watch as the ant leaves one little castle for the next.

I pay my utility bills so magic can happen. Magic happens in homes everyday. There are no dark out houses, mostly. Mostly, there is a bathroom with a switch. And the toilet takes care of the waste—how exciting. All this has been said, so I will say it no more. Congratulations to the dog that pees like a cat in one identified place. It is good to not have the house treated as a yard. A yard swallows urine. A carpet cups it.

Today is April 14, 2014. I am alive and well.

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Sleep is a wonderful thing, but I think I indulged too much this past weekend. Spent both Saturday and Sunday in bed with a book. I did manage to get to an early morning coffee with a friend on Saturday and then a dinner on Sunday.

Today, I feel like I’m in mud up to my chin. What happened to the light feeling of rafting on clouds? Life spun a change and I am feeling heavy. It’s not a bad heavy. I still breath deeply and freely. It’s just different to not have my naked toes tingle.

I am somewhere in the middle of my second book. I need to take the time to read the first pages to the middle because I have lost my footing. I’m not certain what’s happening with the narrative line, but then maybe in a memoir a person can get by without a narrative line. I send dust to the air and sneeze. My desk looks new again. I wander if the action of dusting and creating a clean space is equivalent to showering…do I get to start new after soap? I say yes because it is so good to feel like new again and not some lame robot with blood coursing through my body.

Today is April 6, 2014. I am alive and well.

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There is an armadillo at my window. He sees the two little dogs asleep on the couch below the window sill and shivers, his scales like the notes of a harmonica. I don’t know that the dogs will welcome him. They may see him as a threat for my attention; my attention for them as large as the moon. Should the armadillo come in, I will oil him first. It is dangerous saying first to anything. With first comes commitment, comes responsibility. I am ill prepared this morning as my eyes wish to do nothing but shut. I rode the elevator with the newspaper man. The newspaper man a clock registering early. Just seeing him makes me tired. What was I thinking that I could rise with birds, particularly the black crow. Sleep my beauty, sleep–my mantra after having met the armadillo. I slept and the armadillo was gone when I woke at noon, sunlight attaching itself to my blinds making them noisy. Coffee called from the kitchen. I stripped, exchanging my sleep shirt for sleeves the color of cactus.

It is odd for me to wear color. Only inside the house. Outside the house, it is always black. Black is the new thirty. I turned fifty last week.

I think to study the day that has yet to happen. My neck isn’t long enough to see around corners. I will make a raft out of tissue and count the seconds it takes to sink. I will peek around the corner and order in pizza. Guy and I got a fifty dollar gift certificate to Oregano’s for our birthdays. Guy’s birthday falls two days after mine. Our hands hook lovingly together forming a knot that is as ancient as the rocks outside our front door. There will be music without the rain. I lapse into shorts, my exposed legs the length of the breakfast table.

 

Thank you for your readership.

Today is April 1, 2014. I am alive and well.

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I turned 50 last week on the 27th. Amazing. I didn’t expect to live past 18. I’m happy to be fifty and look forward to the coming decade. Work spoiled me, cake and card. My friends spoiled me with a potluck. I picked up the cake. It weighed at least 8 pounds. Huge. Below is an excerpt from my second book..title unknown, yet to be published, yet to be finished.

Dear Behavioral Health Patient, Be glad you missed the heart attack. It can be worse–you could be blind. I understand you stumble around the unit, shamelessly in your gown. I’m glad you are giving the medication a chance, although the side effects are real. A rat flattened itself, lost its bones, squeezed through the door jamb. It was quite the odd thing, but then you looked away and the rat went missing.

Thank you for your readership.

Today is March 24, 2014. I am alive and well.

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I have no idea what to blog today. But isn’t it true that being nowhere is a great place to start? The light is on in the corner, blinking to a rhythm not even the little dogs can hear. The light in front of me is steady; it keeps the blinking light from becoming irritating. I would change the bulb, but that  would require a trip to the grocery store and for the moment, I am ill prepared to walk out of my house. I have yet to brush my teeth and I fear the sunshine would sting. Sunshine and I have a weird relationship. I know it is beautiful and fresh, but  I don’t care for it soaking into my skin. I prefer the warmth coming from the concrete, waking my soles; my shoes the only thing preventing me from acquiring blisters. 

As a kid, I loved the sun. I spent a great amount of time outside and bare foot running in the grass just for the sake of motion. I am white, but I was so tan that I looked either hispanic or native american, my features tentative, but with a ready smile. Light then seemed always outside of myself. I didn’t mind because I unconsciously radiated. Now, as I near fifty, I am glad to sense the light within in, the light that holds fast to my soul allowing me to breath in love and exhale love. As I write this I think, how corny. But Spirit is so good to me. Spirit allows me to stand tall in the warmth of the world, recognizing that all is not violent outside of my body. The world is a violent place but not always; there is always moments of light even in a dim hall when one door opens. I will walk out of the house today, knowing that the sun won’t burn me, knowing that light is lighter than dark, but not fearing the depth that dark might play. I shine; for this I am grateful.

Thank you for your readership.