Tag Archives: love

Today is April 18, 2015. I am alive and well.

The poems that follow I wrote with Guy in mind when he was still in my life. Now that I have no lover, I wonder if I will  make one up and continue to write love poems. An imaginary lover would certainly cause me no  grief, unless of course I imagined he did. Ha. My intention is to have no lover in my life for a long time. I need time to just chill, as my niece would say. I toast to “chill in.” I can do this.

Love

She doesn’t know how the drapes came to be zippered shut. But they did. And locked. His light got tied behind his ears. The ball cap helped keep it in place. So when she met him that day for lunch, she was blind to the beauty he offered. No light pushed the sounds of love forward onto her plate of food. The meat was tough and the barbarian within signaled to her to take it into her own hands. Bite hard and pull ferociously at what remains outside the mouth. Just yesterday she accused him with small words of cheating. He assured her with bigger words that was not the truth. At lunch it became all too much and he cried tears onto wilted lettuce. They left for home without eating, her hand in his. She doesn’t know how the drapes came to be open.In tender light she lifted her skirt and invited him to come home.

Pre-Dawn

The sun has not dreamt itself awake, yet. Nor do I hear through the open window the excited nature of birds announcing dawn.

The microwave has quit its pulse. I hear you pull your bowl of oatmeal from its stomach the other side of the bedroom door. As with most mornings, I stretch my body the length of the horizon across the bed. Somewhere in the dark are the little dogs. I imagine their eyes open to the soft dark as mine are, wonder which God they embrace instinctively upon awakening. Breeze flutters through the window, stories my shin.

You crack the door, whisper “I love you” knowing I hear, knowing I pretend sleep, knowing you won’t resist that first impulse to tickle the arch of my foot…..you don’t . I laugh. Time pauses. And then there are birds, always birds.

Today is March 14, 2015. I am alive and well.

Mom, why did you go? Was it Johnny tugging you into the grave. Yes, I know your liver quit…just like that, just like the pop of a champagne bottle, a very expensive champagne in the hands of a small child wed to the bottle because you can’t get off the couch for more booze. The child makes certain the ice trays are filled. I would fill a freezer full of ice for a conversation with you. Do they have nail polish where you are? Hopefully, Johnny showed up in briefs, welcoming you to the unknown–drop your skirt, unbutton your shirt, follow Johnny into the nearly naked.

I was there when they shut down the machines, keeping you lonely in a bed unable to squeeze a hand. Why did you go? Was it Johnny tugging you into the grave?

I’m glad you are free from the shackles of bourbon. I loved being your side kick…I had no idea I was poisoning you. Your reply, You couldn’t have known I was drowning. All you saw was a bed and no river.

She would say, I love you sweet. I have stopped looking in the mirror, stopped looking for the hand on my shoulder, nails painted a deep blue red.

Today is March 11, 2015. I am alive and in emotional pain.

My world turned to fog yesterday. Have you ever been asked to do something that you don’t want to do by a person you really respect? It feels like I’m being disemboweled, my heart torn out, my body left to lay on the concrete, an unattractive rug. Why did I agree to do this thing? It’s really complicated. I am to do it for a month. I guess, simply, I want to know the lesson in what I’ve been asked to do.

Unfortunately, it involves hurting someone I love. I absorb the pain. It is a heat that spreads to my lungs, causing me to be short of breath. I want to tell my  loved one that the month will move quickly, the days a cough from someone without a cold.

My heart is heavy today, but at lease I feel it in my chest. I reach out to the one I love. I wonder if he can feel me, a brush of finger along his jaw line. This blog is my only way to communicate my love for my love. Unless of course, he opens his heart to the possibility that energy travels in thought like a blind pigeon knowing his way home.

Feel my hand at rest on your chest. The fog hovers, I know this. But I also know the bond two people share can move through tunnels, exploding into light at the end.

Today is March 7, 2015. I am alive and well.

He’s under my skin. Not like nails being hammered into my right nostril, nor like stones rubbing into my heels because I didn’t pause to empty my shoes. He is under my sin like apricots and honey softening my elbows, whipped cream resting on my tongue.

I hear hime in my mind telling me things:  you are kind, you are compassionate, you amaze me. I have friends who tell me these same things. But my friends are not trying to make up for the wrong they have caused. They are fresh, their actions, honest.

He wants to see me. A friend told me she thought of domestic violence victims because they, like me, will not let go. Don’t read into this…he has never hit me or said unkind things to me. In fact, other than being financially in the skids, we had the best relationship…other than his lies and another woman.

I will see him again. It’s in the stars. Just like there’s a moon and the night winds whisper tuned light, a soft chord on a guitar. It will be months, maybe years before I see him. But the day will come and there will be fire in the trees, burned to the root leaving nothing to smolder.

Or, who am I. He may tire of waiting for me. I embrace my singularity. I love my friends deeply, and they, me. And then there are Grams and Annie, my kittens who nestle up to me. I am smiling. The kind of smile that is goofy but genuine. I know the wrinkles around my eyes have come to kiss the smile. I am soon to be 51.

Today is February 21, 2015. I am alive and well.

Excerpt from my second book which remains untitled.

I review my day. “I continue to watch for selfishness, dishonesty, resentment, and fear.” All of these things keep me from the sunlight of the Spirit. Just as I needed to drink all the time during my drunken rampage of years, I now need to align myself with God all the time. If I am loving people, even the person who stole my laundry, I am aligned with God. It is not hard to have a full heart. It’s as simple as putting on clean clothes. Most people have plenty of shirts. Most people have plenty of socks. If they get dirty or stink, they can be changed. Just as our spiritual condition is a daily thing, so are our clothes.

My writing friend doesn’t believe me when I state that having a full heart is simple. Is it hard to turn on the tap, knowing water will come out of it? Is it hard to pause when called a freak and smile at the naysayer? Smiling is timeless; it is less than a breath away.

There are people who don’t have closets. Or homes. Or showers. I have never had a conversation with any of these people, so I don’t know if they have faith. I don’t know if they have hope. I do know God sees them, too. I do know how to have as much respect for them as I do the businessman seated on the fifth floor of the library, asking me to find a particular book.

Today is February 14, 2015. I am alive and well.

It is Valentine’s Day and I have no idea how significant this is. My friend told me it would be best to not dine at the Cheese Cake Factory tonight like I’ve been doing. she says it will be swamped with couples in love and celebrating. My friend works as a waitress there. I guess she thinks I will miss being with someone. I have been making Saturday night my date night with myself. Rather than dine tonight, I am joining Laurie for dinner at the Cheese Cake Factory tomorrow night.

I celebrate couples in love. They are petals on a new bloom. They are royalty to one another. They are not tentative in taking each other’s hand or wrapping their arm around each other’s shoulders. It is like rafting with one current, the current that has brought them together on this particular day. I salute all couples whether they be gay or straight, mixed raced or not. Love is a lovely thing. I applause Stellar and Solstice, the children of Guy’s daughter, Carrie, playing with dolls, innocent to the fact that one day they will become the doll. Andrew would call me baby doll; I didn’t find this condescending but rather special. It warmed my toes.

Guy, my ex, is still in my life. A few days ago, my dear friend, Pat, told me that she held no judgement. She said that if she ran into the two of us together, that she would be kind to Guy, welcoming to Guy. This almost brought tears to my eyes. Friends very much dislike Guy for the cheat that he was, the liar that he was. And I, I love him beyond reason. It is unexplainable I know.

Guy is no longer in Arizona but is in Florida, which is a good thing. It gives me time to love my single life (I am done with dating for awhile). It gives me time to reflect. I am a woman in need of time. I seek time. Time is a friend that allows me to think that anything is possible. Allows me to marvel at how secure I really am. I am blessed beyond belief. God loves me, and I know it. Life is here, right now, in this moment. It tastes like coconut juice and smells like sandalwood. I will go to sleep tonight as a single woman, knowing there is power in this, knowing that someday I will open my heart again and be the one to wrap my arm around his shoulder.

Today is January 30, 2015. I am alive and well.

I wrote the following blog while still with Andrew. I was told Andrew would be hurt by some of the things I said, so I didn’t post it. My decision to post it now is because it’s honest.

I was the one to break up with Andrew. I love him. The decision was not easy. I won’t elaborate any further. Just know I’m in my castle again with no knight. I’m hoping to stay single for a very long time.

Blog I delayed…..

It has been a great deal of time since I last blogged. I have been  engrossed with Andrew. He has been spending the night with me on my twin bed. I have rolled out of bed twice. I find this funny. It would be not so funny if I broke something. And then, Andrew says I snore, so he has been leaving the bed for the couch where I originally thought he was going to sleep.

I don’t think being engrossed with someone for a long period of time is very healthy. It robs me of my chance to “follow my bliss,” which is writing and reading; two things I do in solitude. Both things take large junks of time.

Andrew asked me recently if I liked being in a relationship. I said yes. But the truth is, I don’t know. I still pine for Guy even though he utterly, I mean utterly betrayed me. And I often pine for time alone. Don’t get me wrong, time with Andrew is fun and we are both very loving toward each other.

It is still winter. I am wearing coats the I bought for Guy. My hands get lost in the sleeves. There is something comforting in losing my body to cotton.

I watched two pigeons dance a jig on the sidewalk. Can pigeons really carry notes from one person to another? I would send two notes, one saying “please don’t stop loving me” and the other saying “please just give me time.” One to Guy and one to Andrew. I would let the pigeons decide which went to whom. Funny to put love in the beak of a bird. I somehow trust the randomness of this. Maybe both notes should go to the same person.

The sun rose today and robbed me of sight; robbed me of intuitive sight. The glare of truth bounces off my living room window. All I know is that right now I am at the keyboard. Grams and Annie are curled up together in a chair on my left. I am not clear on who to love and how. Thank God I don’t need to make that decision today.

I don’t mean to offend anyone with this blog. Maybe honesty is sometimes overrated. I don’t know.

Today is November 26, 2014. I am alive and well.

Excerpt from my book Mind Without a Home: A Memoir of Schizophrenia…..

September 1993. I am 29 years old. At eleven years of sobriety, a heavy cloud drops on my head. Voices from other realities plague me like a gaggle of hurt geese who can’t find their way home. Men and women in black suits appear in my home and at my front door and in the grocery store aisles where cans neatly line the shelves, and boxes of cereal promise to make me an Olympian. Their presence is a plague. In three months’ time, I overdose seven times. The intensive care attendants get sick and tired of bringing me back. They refuse me cups of soda and stop washing my forehead with soft cloths in the ICU.

I move three times within these three months. People don’t want to rent me a room. Taylor comes to my rescue, as she has done many times before. She converts her living room into a bedroom.

There are three of us living in a small two bedroom apartment along with Taylor’s two large dogs. No one complains while I’m there. And no one kicks me out after I get drunk.

__________________________

not an excerpt. present day…

Life is so unlike the above today. I have 21 years of sobriety, live in my own condo, have not attempted suicide for I don’t know how many years. And I have learned to manage my symptoms well enough to have a good and full life. My past seems weird to me because I am so removed from it. I don’t live yesterdays. Today I am content with life, with who I am, wishing good cheer for all..corny, yes. But corny lights days and massages nights. I am wealthy without a dime. But I can always come up with enough to buy coffee other than Folger’s. Loving is the best thing I do in a day.

Today is November 23, 2014. I am alive and well.

If you’ve been following my blog, you know I lost a husband to a woman in Florida. You know I still love Guy despite the betrayal. Guy opened his heart to me and my heart answered back. I credit him with teaching me how to totally love someone with all I have to give. I discovered I have a lot to give.

Enter Mark. We dated for two months. Then I got the call this past Friday, “this relationship is not working for me.” I am no longer his “little Egyptian Princess.” I am a Queen in my own castle with no king to answer to. I am a vessel of love that radiates at the windows to my castle, and skips out the front door when a stranger calls. I embrace strangers with my stare and welcome them because they have no preconceived ideas of who I am. Love can be love for five minutes.

One of the best things I have done as of late is to not have had sex with Mark. I am so relieved and thrilled about this. Had we had sex, I would have felt violated. Two months is not a great deal of time, and if you know you’re going to end something, end it. End it cleanly.

I think I’ll remain a Kingless Queen for a while. It is good to be doting on Grams and Annie. Although they’re cats, the still cuddle up next to me for naps. And Grams likes to sit in my lap as I write.

I don’t feel alone in my castle. I conjure up people that I love who have died. I believe I am of them just as they are of me. I have silent conversations with them. I bask in the attention they give me. I tie my shoelaces and leave my castle as they wish for me to do. There is a large world out there. I am to miss nothing. The glitter on the pavement shines. I won’t get lost; I will arrive.

Today is October 31, 2014. I am alive and well.

Does a broken heart ever heal? Or do we simply move on, glass at our feet, ever reminded to wear shoes? How long before we can actually go barefoot? I know “how long” is different for everybody. I am still wearing shoes, although I have found new love. One man doesn’t replace the other; it is more a continuum. Things moving forward in an upward spiral is much better than things moving backward with one stone being heaped in a pile of other stones. The stones are the weight that brought death to VIrginia Woolfe, an amazing writer, who walked into the water never to arise again.

I had a pile of stones, and then borrowed a power drill from God, and turned the stones to dust. This dust, although bagged by me, sometimes shows up on my skin right before a shower. I have a continuos love for Guy, my ex, but have climbed into that upward spiral. This doesn’t mean I have left Guy behind. Quite the contrary. Guy taught me I could love. My forgiveness of him, my love for him, continues to fuel my life. I know I have love for Mark because I have love for Guy. I’m really at a loss as to how to make sense of this.

My love doesn’t compartmentalize itself. It is free flowing energy that is increased by loving many. However, Mark is the prime beneficiary of my love. I don’t wish to return to a pile of stones. Life continues to surprise me. I glow in the shadow of elms. At night, when all the shadows have been eaten away by the dark, I thank God for both Guy and Mark. Having love twice doesn’t fatten me. I feel light. My spindly arms are not frail and reach for…well, I don’t know exactly what. But it’s ablaze, I do know that.