Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘evolution’

this is for the confused girl who sits at the table farthest from the window,
the one who orders her coffee without looking at the barista with his spiked hair and his milky skin, the one who sits without looking around, her full attention to the world just outside the window, never to the world that surrounds her.

this is for the hapless mother who forgot how to smile, the one who wakes every morning but can’t remember why, the one who sits up late when everyone else is asleep because it’s the only time she feels she can escape, she’ll lose herself in the pages of a book and dream of the places conjured by someone else’s imagination and she’ll forget how green her grass is.

this is for the friends who lost touch because someone said something a long time ago, their thoughts return to a time when they laughed but their hands never dial the phone, their fingers never push send on the apologetic email, they stay locked in the need for righteous indignation and they try to push back the memories of a forgotten time and they each are left with fading bits of yesterday.

this is for the daughter who wants so bad to be seen, a glance of recognition that never comes, the repeating scenes to prove herself that never work, the ongoing attempts to gain a love that is hidden from view, she becomes lost in the effort to be loved and misses the love being thrown at her from all directions by the people who see her in all her beautiful mess.

this is for the ones who open their eyes
this is for the ones who remember to breathe
this is for the ones who break themselves open
this is for the ones who hear the music
this is for the ones who feel
this is for the ones who love

this is for all of us who stare logic in the face and dare to defy it, we grab hold of our imperfections and hoist them over our heads for all to see, we willingly give our hearts to be broken again and again because broken hearts can heal, we tell ourselves we are awake and unafraid because soon we will believe it, we choose to revive the parts of us we thought were dead and we love with our whole heart and we watch as logic collides with the world spinning around us and we dance… to keep from falling.

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

i am recklessly guiding words on to this page, forcing them to infiltrate the battle lines in my mind, there are bombs bursting and gunfire and screams and taunts and snarls and the worst kind of laughter, i see it coming from you but you’re not even aware of my visions and neither am i, really, the scenes are choppy and scattered and out of sequence, there is no logic and yet i sit here and write them down and assemble this puzzle and look so hard at the words racing through my tired brain for that logic but it’s a blur, all of it, i wish i could will myself to believe the words, to grab them and shove them deep into my pockets so i can pull them out when i need them but they’re so slippery, those logical words are so slippery, so when i reach my hand in to grab hold of the logic the only words that i can pull out are all those words i wish would disappear, all those words cling to my sweating skin and i can’t shake them off, i try so hard, i violently twist like a dog emerging from a muddy lake but they are so sticky, these words,
i tremble
i cry
i toss
i pace
i write
i seek
…clarity, but all that bubbles up is the muck and mire of yesterday’s troubles,
release me
and let me go, walk away and give me room to grow,
stay
oh god please stay and be my friend, please let me be a second chance, please let it be about me, i am wilting
watch
i am fighting to fill my lungs
i am continuing
i am becoming
I am beautifully fucked up, i am breathing in deep and exhaling slow and steady, i am organizing my mind and calming my soul and i am here, sitting, watching, but not waiting, i am releasing these words on to this page and the battles are fading into the back of my thoughts and i can breathe, in and out, i can breathe and calm my thoughts to get these words on this page and walk away triumphantly leaving these pieces of me behind
i can go
i can go
i can go
see me
see me
see me

Read Full Post »

the moon is bloated with the thoughts being cast its direction tonight,
so many people staring up at the same sky,
we’re alone,
until that moment we realize we’re not,
that moment we see the moon hovering above with all the thoughts of complicated beings just like us.

we think a touch can’t heal a broken heart,
a glance can’t fill an empty soul,
a laugh can’t scare away the lingering darkness of nightmares.
we think we are useless.
we listen to our lies.

the moon hangs in the sky daring us to stare and be cradled in its glow,
it creates a path out of darkness,
we follow,
it leads us deeper into the night,
shining on the brokenness of the others gathered there.

we can’t mend the torn stories in our mind,
playing doctor with each thought before we let it loose,
we crave wholeness,
clinging to the pieces we should have thrown away,
we listen to our lies.

the moon slips behind a lingering cloud,
we hold the fading light in our open hand,
we are still,
hoping the glow will brush back the night,
all of us staring at the same sky.

we pause.
we listen.
we offer silence and hope and understanding.
we gather the broken pieces and the scattered truths and the hushed epiphanies.
we stare at the bloated moon.
we listen to each others lies.
we brush them away.
we leave them behind.
we grab our complicated stories.
we ignore the lies we tell ourselves.

Read Full Post »

dare to see past the range of your eyes
a moment waiting to be learned
just beyond our vision
pieces and bits and fragments

something inside me died
but I don’t feel the loss
the space left room for more
pieces and bits and fragments

that chain was so heavy
so unmovable
holding your courage captive
you forget how to stand
you forget to shift your balance with the changing sand below
you forget all the
pieces and bits and fragments
the unfinished you
an unfinished conversation
there was more to be said
more to be heard
more words
more silences

a churning of thoughts
as unsettled as the ocean floor
trying to see how it all fits together
stop
stand back
wait
let it rest
a tether isn’t needed
cut yourself loose
you won’t float away or be lost
feel how steady you are on the uneven sand

dive into the wave
swim through the mire
dart to the surface
break it open with a scream
silence crashes in all around you
and holds you
and binds you
and forbids you
so cut the tether
let it go
be strong
be brave
be unafraid

the fragments
the pieces
the unfinished bits of me

Read Full Post »

something made you cry and you screamed so loud,
when your tears streamed down and you fell on your knees,
when those last few words came hurling out,
when I stood my ground instead of turning to leave,
… that wasn’t me.

if you see someone facing the oncoming storm,
… that’ll be me.
if you see some toes wiggling deep in the sand,
… that’ll be me.
when the wings of self love fly high through the air,
… that’ll be me.

you got so mad with 10,000 rhymes,
did the words on the page embarrass you,
did someone ask too often for a minute of time,
did she steal your wish because she had so few,
… that wasn’t me.

on a star someone sits with all the wishes come true,
… that’ll be me.
when your page fills with words so easily,
… that’ll be me.
on the day the fog lifts and a hand is reaching for you,
… that’ll be me.

if I said “see me” more often than I should,
if I broke you down beyond repair,
if I tried too hard because I thought I could,
if that poem I wrote was as transparent as air,
… that wasn’t me.

that person still standing when the storm dies down,
… that will be me.
… that will be me.

20120413-122116.jpg

Read Full Post »

This isn’t everything you are.

I joined the Peace Corps when I was 21. I never went.
The boy I thought I loved asked me to marry him and he wasn’t sure where we’d be in two years if I was away in the Peace Corps… so, I never went.

This story isn’t everything I am.

I got pregnant with my oldest at the beginning of my last year in grad school. She was born a month early and quickly whisked away to the NICU at another hospital while I recovered from the emergency c-section. It was 4 days later that I finally got to touch her, to hold her next to my chest. There were tubes and alarms and organized chaos surrounding her at all times those first two weeks. When she came home… I sat next to her bassinet and watched her chest inflate and deflate, inflate and deflate — for several weeks that was my only concern.

This story isn’t everything I am.

One October, I rented a cabin in the mountains for my mothers birthday. We were all excited to spend a few days going to amusement parks and looking at the smoke on the top of the mountains and breathing the air. The morning we were to leave, my mother called me early and said to go without her and my father, he was sick and she needed to get him to the doctor. When I got home from the serendipity of the mountain cabin, feeling refreshed and calm and at peace… I learned my father had lung cancer.
Nothing was the same after that.

This story isn’t everything I am.

Two days after Christmas, my mother was sick enough to need a trip to the ER. I came to talk to her and the doctor. When I walked through the hospital door, my mother said she had cancer. I said she was over-reacting. The doctor came in and he said she had cancer. I told him that was impossible — it had only been about 4 weeks since we buried my father after he died from lung cancer. That’s actually what I told the doctor, it had only been 4 weeks, as if to say my dad had already died from cancer… our odds are over, the rest of us should be okay. It was impossible for my mother to now also have cancer, that’s not how cancer works is it?

This story isn’t everything I am.

For 18 years, I was a wife and a mother and a taxi and a nurse and a chef and a maid and… I had a career.
I lost myself.
Maybe that’s what we’re all destined to do for a certain number of years — the finding yourself part certainly makes for some amazing memoirs and blog posts and stories late at night on a warm summer evening surrounded by your friends and many empty bottles of wine.

This story isn’t everything I am.

I think, possibly, someone who looks around at the memories of their life and says, “I have no regrets”, must not have risked too much. I think, possibly, those who look around at the pieces of their life and can say, “I wouldn’t change a single mistake”, “I wouldn’t pass up a single regret”, have lived a life full of love and meaning.
Life isn’t lived in the memories of “do-overs”, life is lived in the fringes of decision.

This isn’t everything you are.

.

“Learn to watch your drama unfold while at the same time knowing you are more than your drama.” ~~ Ram Dass

Read Full Post »

“Because this business of becoming conscious, of being a writer, is ultimately about asking yourself, how alive am I willing to be?”

~~~

Anne Lamott (Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life)

 

I’ve come here many times this month. I’ve come here upset. I’ve come here happy. I’ve come here frustrated. I’ve come here sad. I’ve come here full of the angst that has driven me to the brink of implosion.

I came here too often this month to delete this whole blog — it’s quite easy, just a click of a button and it all disappears. I thought, maybe, I would start over. I thought, maybe, I would pretend it never was. But… being deleted seems a little sad. So, on my trips here to contemplate the deletion of my words, I would read an old post but more importantly I would read your comments and I would laugh and smile and think, “… not today, I’m not going to delete this today.”

Soon, my visits here were less about deleting and more about writing and processing and evolving — I started to write. Deep within the bowels of the rough draft section there are many very rough drafts… but I was writing. I wrote out my thoughts on post-it notes and laid them out at the end of the day to see if I could piece it all together. I wrote out my thoughts on the backs of some bills and on some half used napkins and on a spiral notebook I dug out of the bottom of a drawer. I wrote out my thoughts and let them go, many of them any way. Lit them on fire in a ceremonial pit and watched them disappear… burn down to nothing more than weightless ashes that had no hold over me — my inner musings… not quite blog worthy.

My visits here were no longer about deleting this place but more about taking it back. I felt myself perpetually revolving less and less and doing more of the evolving that I mistakenly thought I was doing but in reality, I was trapped in a revolving door like Buddy the Elf… fun for a while but dizzying.

The lessons I have to learn on my own are usually the ones I don’t want to look at, usually the ones that piss me off the most, usually the ones that have the greatest impact on me — maybe that’s the way it is for all of us. We search for people to teach us — that’s the easy way out I guess. When we learn things on our own we remember them better. I love to learn, don’t get me wrong — I’m an ageless student. It’s possible I’ll drive you mad with my wonderings — I want to know, I want to learn, I want to evolve. I’m not a fast learner, I’m not through by any means. Some days I feel like I’m on an accelerated program though — I want to shout my epiphanies from the rooftops and basements and every silent closed off space that I think needs to be filled.

I’ve been thinking about this concept of writing from the heart — I thought I knew what that meant. I thought that writing from the heart meant opening yourself up, letting yourself be seen, spilling everything out on the pages. It is … actually. But, I discovered something recently. Writing from your heart and writing from your fragmented heart are far different. One yields evolution and conversation and light while the other generates apocalyptic amounts of atomic energy.

It’s similar to living from your heart, I suppose. We live and learn and love and we do those things guided by our hearts. Our heads step in periodically to keep us in check, that’s good I think… a balance. Our hearts sometimes get fragmented. Sometimes a piece gets misplaced so when we try to listen to our hearts, its beating is a little off kilter — so our lives get a little out of rhythm. That’s when we need to rest, regroup, gather ourselves — live from our hearts, our whole hearts.

I’m here, on my accelerated learning program, writing from my heart… it feels good. My heart has taken a beating, but… I’ll tell you, it feels very whole and alive and filled with the anticipation of a new day. My heart is finally evolving. I stopped the revolving door that was making me ever so dizzy and took a deep breath. Sometimes I’ve felt as though I was on a never-ending roller coaster ride that maintains a tight gravitational pull on you as you round the corners and then pushes you into the loopty loops and finally you hit that last turn and you can breath — that’s what my evolving heart feels like. There might be a revolving door trying to get me to jump back on and do some more spinning, but I think I’ll know when to jump off this time. I think I’ll try writing from my heart and not writing to spite my heart.

I’ve learned many lessons lately, lessons I really didn’t want to learn… I learned how to say I was wrong, I learned how to say I was right, I learned how to pause, I learned how to seek out assistance, I learned how to stay strong, I learned how to cave, I learned how to beg, I learned I have a spine, I learned how to forgive, I learned how to be forgiven, I learned how to open my heart and listen and hope and love. I learned that the readers and commenters here at First Pages have taught me how to be human and whole and alive — even when it hurts. I learned that the places my heart takes me are exactly where I’m supposed to be… and I learned that I am willing to be very alive.

The day I stopped writing last month was a long day, and then I read this

Also, todays reverb10 writing prompt was “let go”. I wrote a post recently on letting go and it actually led me to walk away from this blog. So, when I read the prompt, I realized that I already started really letting go… that’s why I was able to push publish again.

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »