Tag Archives: love

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

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I have been working on my second book. Still no title for it. I am 260 pages in. It feels good to be writing agin. After my break with Guy, I found myself unable to concentrate. What does it mean to find oneself, able or not able? Is it like finding oneself in the dark, trying to count change? My height at six feet allows me to see over a crowd. I find it freeing to have my head raised and visibility good. I am finding myself with sight and my ass in the chair, ready to write.

Loosing Guy was devastating. 14 years is a long time to be with someone, at least a long time for me. A quote from Marianne Williamson speaks to how I involve myself with Guy today; “Dear God, I place my past in Your hands. Please purify my thoughts about it. May I only remember the love I gave and the love that I received. May all else burn away in the alchemy of forgiveness.”

I have forgiven Guy because it was necessary for my spiritual development and relationship to God. I have also forgiven Guy because, much to the chagrin of many of my friends, I continue to want Guy in my life. We are friends. I believe our connection is something other worldly. Truly.

Having Guy in my life brings me peace. It’s like having an extra towel when stepping out of the bath. The smell of fresh soap clings to my skin in a good way. An unobtrusive way. I will see Mark later today. I know my love for Mark is possible because I learned to love Guy with absolutely all of me. Cliche to say. But cliches are good for some things, aren’t they? I remain blessed by love. I am like my kitten on the windowsill looking out at the world, knowing there is a place for everything. And as Grams does, I feel alive in my own skin, ready to walk a new path I imagine. The imaginings are good, are strong, are freeing.

Today is October 2, 2014. I am alive and well.

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There is a box of crayons dumped across my redwood table. Fifty choices of color. I choose magenta because I can make the word magnet out of its name. I need a magnet this morning to keep me in my desk chair and keep me honest. Honest looks like the two quarters it takes to wash my clothes, and then the two quarters it takes to dry my clothes. Honest is me loving my kittens by scratching their bellies, and me thanking Grams for bringing me a dead cockroach. Yes, I have a cockroach in my house that is now deceased. Disgusting.

I didn’t wake up and do cardio this morning at the gym. I wanted to wake up and write…two hours ago. I hit the snooze way too many times. Morning is always thick. Like wading through mud, forgetting the fact that the mud can be rejuvenating. I have never had a mud bath. I think of it as being too messy rather than life giving. Love can be messy, but I do invite it into my life.

Love is not messy today. It is a jingle in my head that repeats over and over again. It is the magenta crayon. I can color in a circle, deep color. A square is more formal, as is a rectangle. A triangle, though nicely pointed, does not suit me today. It is the circle in all its endlessness that catches my eye. Today, I remember that love is not a minimum of two glasses of water but rather a faucet turned on indefinitely. I have no water bill. There is no cost. I will not iron my pants today, but will revel in the design of wrinkles. A friend tells me I use too many metaphors. I can’t help myself today. Just like a glass of chocolate milk is sweeter than a regular glass of milk, I seek that perfect moment in writing where all is love.

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

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I surf behind shut eyes. The surf is good, doesn’t swallow me. I grab a ray of sun and breathe slowly. I awaken. Today is my anniversary of being sober for 21 years. TIme has moved like a circle of marbles; lean down, use the boulder to push the bumblebee out of the circle and wa-la, 21 years have passed. It has been a hard but good ride. The carousel has never quit on me and I’ve been able to ride every single one of the horses multiple times. Today, my horse is outrageously purple. I settle down into consciousness and thank God. The miracle is me and I’m aware of it. God and friends have seen to it that I don’t fall off the ride; today, I lean into my destiny and know which step to take next.

I have invited love into my life again after realizing love isn’t a package wrapped tightly in twine and thrown into the glove box of Guy’s, my ex. Love is free floating. Love doesn’t need to be wet. I am responsible for my love. My heart strings are taught and flexible and far reaching. I hold hands with a new man in my life and my eyelids flutter. I’m aware of his pulse. It surfaces as we kiss. We come up for air and share a meal. He with spaghetti and meatballs, me with salmon.

We say goodbye in early evening. I have a cut off; I need to take my medications and be in bed by nine. He respects this. I am so glad.

I surf my dreams hoping to dream about him. This doesn’t happen. I don’t need it to to know that he is deep in my life. We hold hands as the hummingbird feeds on red syrup. There will be a moon tonight and I will silently pray. Life is large and I am so blessed.

Today is September 8, 2014. I am alive and well.

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New poem.

Love

She doesn’t know how the drapes came to be zippered shut. But they did. And locked. His light got tied back behind his ears. The ball cap helped keep the light in its 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 that was not the truth. At lunch it became all too much and he cried tears onto wilted lettuce. They left for home without finishing eating, her hand in his. She doesn’t know how the drapes came to be open before the window. In tender light she lifted her skirt and invited him to come home.

This poem is not my truth. Guy is never coming back. Nor would I invite him to. Third time cheating is quite enough. I will not become blinded by the love I still have for him. What we shared is over. It has been 6 months since I’ve seen him. I am free to shine in other places with other people. And I do shine. And I do love. My friends are fabulous.

 

Today is August 13, 2014. I am alive and well.

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I’m tired of writing about Guy. The ink in my pen gets stuck when I get to the “Y” of his name. He is a past lover who could not stay faithful like skipping from one cereal box to the next, never finding just that sought after combination of wheat and sugar.

I am actually enjoying my single hood right now. My time is my own. I get to go out with whomever I want for coffee or a meal. I’m not lonely because I have writing and reading. My two kittens, Grams and Annie, keep me in hysterics. They’re sisters and they truly love each other. They play together al the time. They sleep wrapped around each other. I’m glad that they didn’t get split up at the Humane Society, and that I brought them home, together, even though they’ve taken to batting at my face in the middle of the night.

It’s peaceful in my house. Quiet. I no longer feel like I’m moving through thick air. I feel lighter, like a purse that has been emptied of all its change. I never knew I could be this strong alone. I am the horse without the saddle. My head is high in my six-feetness. I see what’s ahead of me in the next minute, and it is good. Breathe in, breathe out, and love.

Today is June 21, 2014. I am alive and well.

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What if reality is an illusion and we are really walking around in a dream? It seems to me if this were true, we wouldn’t age. There would be no time. There are many books, though, that spend hundreds of pages making a case for reality as an illusion.

What would we gain if moving in a dream? As far as my brain can think this morning, I say nothing. Not only would we not age, but there would be no health issues. And we know that we do age and there are many health issues. Maybe if in a dream, we would be able to relax more. Feel the warmth of the shower beating on our back anytime we need to. Smell the soap. Revel in the steam.

Is God true reality or a part of the dream? I believe God to be true reality. I know this seems paradoxical. I have never physically touched God. God has never physically touched me. But I know God to be there just as I know my little dogs love me. God exists in the unconscious and conscious mind. I can sense something beyond thought.

Consider love. Isn’t love beyond thought? My niece and two nephews visited me at the library, my place of work, yesterday. Before I could think, I was enveloped in love. Adrenalin pumped through me and the feeling left me floating as if in a dream. Dream meets reality and the reality is love. I believe God to be love.

I think I have challenged my brain enough this morning. It is the weekend. I hope you all have a wonderful couple of days.

Today is June 11, 2014. I am alive and well.

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I am loved beyond the edge of language–this is a line I wrote when talking about my friends in my second book. And it is true.

My first suicide attempt was at the age of eighteen. I remember having to tell myself over and over that no one cared for me, no one loved me. In doing this, I was attempting to rid myself of any responsibilities I had in regards to my family and friends. I did not want to think that maybe, just maybe, I was letting someone down by taking my own life. Ha. Letting someone down…people would have been devastated!

Today, when I have rough days (the days are not nearly as rough as they were in my late teens and twenties) I think about the people I am responsible to. That thinking pulls me through. I don’t know how healthy a psychologist would say this is, but if I can’t do it for myself, I can do it for them. This is why living with someone is such a big deal. I am responsible to Guy.

With Guy gone these last six weeks, I have fared much better than I thought I would. There are nights when I feel like I’m losing my mind, or that I’m having a melt down. I tell myself I’m just tired, I need rest, and it wil all look different in the morning. And by God, it does. I wake up with that new lease on life. I would have said “leash” on life but I don’t feel that much in control of things, which is good because often I don’t know what the best thing for me is and I don’t need to know. Intuitively, I take that next step forward and am slowly lead to where I need to be. Things in a day miraculously unfold. Things in a day have been beautifully good.

I am loved beyond the edge of language.

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.