She is Not a Quitter

 

My little heart keeps asking me “why?”

I hear her tiny voice in the quiet early morning hours,

but I have no answer for her.

She has stayed up all night again.

Thinking about the past, feeling the pain and sorrow of the now.

She has fallen into a deep dark pit,

Her little voice echos off the steep, cold sides.

I keep reaching out to her but her tiny hands

Have not the strength to hold on.

So she sinks back to the bottom and

Remains in sorrow and darkness.

It is so painful to witness this.

She used to be such a happy little thing,

Always positive, always trusting.

Albeit, sometimes a bit too naive for her own good,

But it was a naiveté not based on stupidity or ignorance but

One based on a choice to trust and believe in spite of the red flags not to.

I am afraid for her, she is tired and there are

Beasts down there with her in the darkness.

They are evil, heartless beasts who lie to her,

Who tell her she is not good enough, that she is unlovable and a fool.

They sneak in while she sleeps and

Whisper doubts in her ear.

I keep trying to tell her to be strong and not listen to their lies,

But I don’t think she can hear me yet.

So, I wait on the edge of the pit

With an open mind and open hand to catch her the next time she climbs to within my reach.

I don’t mind waiting.

I know she will try again soon in spite of her pain and sorrow.

I have faith in her – she is not a quitter.

A Lesson in Love

I wrote this particularly dark piece in November of 2015 after having just found out that the man I thought would be the love I had always wanted and had been waiting for was… well, not who he presented himself to be.  It hurts my heart to read this but it remains valuable as a reminder of the power I allowed someone else to have over me… a lesson I won’t soon forget. 

 

 You Are the Lucky One

 

“If I laugh just a little bit

Maybe I can recall the way that I used to be, before you

And sleep at night – and dream”

Cat Stevens

 

Will that time ever come to be or am I

Destined to spend forever wanting,

 

Dreaming and remembering

Your presence in my life.

 

Sometimes it seems like it was all just a dream, but it can’t be because

I still feel your hands on my body in the night,

 

I smell the scent of your skin in my bed and

See your light in my soul.

 

In my dreams I hold you, I feel your arms surround me and

Taste your mouth on mine.

 

You hold me close as I listen to your words,

Words you whisper in my ear

 

As you make love to me as only you can do.

Your passion is overwhelming, your hunger for me insatiable.

 

How does that end, how can passion like that just stop?

Where did it go?

 

Does she make you feel like I did?

Does she make you forget me?

 

If so, than I guess you are the lucky one.

Lucky to go from one love to the next without taking a breath.

 

No nights lost in the pain of what was

Or of what could have been and the why of it all.

 

No time spent in a wanting so intense that it drags you to the bottom of a dark pit,

A pit with steep, slippery sides, with no end, no way out,

 

No footholds, no dreams, just darkness, only darkness.

It is not the soft, comforting darkness of our times in each other’s arms,

 

Those times in the dark of night when we were the only two awake in the world,

Two alone sharing nights of love and trust, sweetness and heat, but

 

It is a cold and lifeless darkness, the kind that smothers you in ink, sucks the breath from

Your lungs and crushes your skull with its heaviness.

 

A paralyzing, frightening darkness that turns your thoughts back in on themselves to

Deceive and choke you,

A darkness that disguises all the goodness in the world and soaks it in pain and anger.

 

This is such a terrible place to be … I can’t find my way out…

But I am glad that you have not been sucked into the pit as well,

 

Because the only thing worse than being here alone would be

Knowing you were here too but hiding from me in the darkness.

 

 

 

 

Waves of Grief (December, 2014)

 

 

 

Grief comes over me like waves on the ocean.

Its waves roll me under and then shove me back to the surface for air,

 

but only just enough air to keep me alive

Before the next wave breaks and drags me back down again.

 

It is a rhythmic dance of hope and despair,

Of light and dark, of breath and suffocation.

 

The rolling waves of grief grow weary with time and come more infrequently and so seem to rest for a while.

 

But the pain lingers, subdued at the back of my soul until

A sound or scent revives it and it comes thundering back.

 

Back with an attitude of indignation to have been

Left where it was, not looked for, not missed.

 

It seems to think it has a right to occupy my mind and heart and

Sometimes it does, but only because I let it.

 

The song that grief sings to me makes my soul hurt and my heart ache

Until my body once again feels his against mine,

 

My head resting on his chest hears his heartbeat and my senses take in the scent and Taste of his skin.

 

My soul feels his touch once more and the potential of his being mingles with mine

In the beauty and magic of oneness.

 

I feel the oneness deep in my heart until the inevitable happens and our song runs out of rhyme once more.

 

With the rhymes gone the waves of grief for what could have been return to remind me of the empty shell I loved and held in my arms and heart.

 

The liquid suffocation that I thought was losing instead gains strength without my permission and

 

Sucks me back down,

 

Again.

 

 

 

Into Blackness

I made too much of it,

More than it was.

But not at all what I 

Wanted it to be.

Yet I continued, wanting,

Wishing, and hoping and for what?

For another night?  It was just a one night

At a time love.

It feels unreal now,

 a waste of me, of my soul and heart.

And now begins the slow fade into blackness and silence, just like all the others, as

My soul bleeds and my heart beat stops and

My eyes, still in their blindness, wish it were not so.

The Moon Cried For Me

The daylight faded into night

The dark swallowed me whole – and

 

                                                        The moon knew I could not say no.

 

You came to me and held me close,

I was putty in your hands – and

 

                                                         The moon knew you could not stay away.

 

You kissed my face and lips,

I kissed your mouth and eyes- and

 

                                                      The moon felt our building heat.

 

Your hands slid over my body and

Woke all of my senses – and

 

                                                  The moon felt your passion.

 

Our lovemaking was hot and real and

Warmed the ground beneath our bodies – and

 

                                            The moon, not wanting to intrude, turned its face and looked the other way.

 

While I slept you covered my naked body with flowers from my gardens

And then just walked away, unmoved – and

 

                                         The moon cried for me.

 

Rain

 

The sound of rain takes me to a place of inner peace as the

Rain falls in sheets and slides down the roof over its edge in a curtain of water.

Tree leaves dance with the weight of the rain and

Flowers wash their faces in its freshness.

The sky is lower on rainy days and

Holds us close and grounded.

Sounds are muted and muffled and

Light is  defused in grayness.

But it is not a sad and depressing grayness,

But a soothing and peaceful shade

Full of the necessity of sorrow.

A rainy day is soft and dark.  It begs us to stop, rest and be mindful of our surrounds and loves.

It reminds us to take the time to be lulled by the patter of rain on the windows

Into a place of inner stillness,

And there remain, content to just be and accept what is.

I Don’t Know

The street lights blink out at dawn, and

On at dusk, as do my thoughts of him.

 

The night gives them permission to rise and be, but at dawn

The sun diminishes their power and they hide and sleep.

 

If they would just stay asleep, and

Leave me alone it would be so much easier, but they don’t listen to what I want.

 

They are crafty and sneak around the edge and into my heart

When I’m not looking.

 

They creep into the conversations in my head

Unnoticed until it is too late.

 

They lie in wait for me just inside

The front door when I get home from work,

 

Ready to snuggle in

For the night as soon as I walk through the door.

 

I don’t understand their persistence.

Do they think anything will change? Do they know something I don’t?

 

Are they worried there will come a time when

I will forget about them, or him? If that is the case, then they don’t understand that

 

for me forgetting is not an option.

I don’t choose who I love or who I want.

 

Therefore, I also cannot choose who I will

Forget.

 

My love is based on honesty, the truth of my feelings,

And passion, lots and lots of passion, and I cannot pretend it is any other way.

 

So in spite of my objections, these thoughts have stayed 

Sad but comfortable, friends in their familiarity, taking up space in my being.

 

And if they ever leave, what will replace them?

What will fill the hole they leave behind in my heart, my soul, my mind?

 

I don’t know.

 

If that time comes and they leave, how long it will take me to notice,

That they have gone?

 

I don’t know.

 

And will the me that remains behind be the same me as before?

Before the dawn turned out the lights and he consumed my soul?

 

I may never know.

Other Things Die Harder

I like to think that it is settling down now, fading away, but maybe not.

It is done and yet…

Some things die hard, and

Other things die harder.

The light has gone out so

There is nothing more to see,

Nothing to look forward to, nothing and no one to hold and

Although the disconnect is intentional,

The physical reality has not changed, it has

Not gone away because, after all, I still remain.

My perception of the circumstances has shifted, slightly.

It is based more on the truth now but the intentional disconnect remains the reality.

Is it the same for the other? I think not. 

He has no reason and no meaning to his thinking as it is all based on deception.

He deceived me

And himself and

A life based on lies can hold

No meaning.

Some things die hard, and

Other things die harder.

Monday Morning Thoughts on “Being”

 

             There is a thickness to life, a depth and a knowing, an observer and an observed.  I feel the depth deepening.  I see the” I”  as ego and separate from the observer, when this separation is complete, bliss will remain and be all pervasive.  I feel it coming; a flood of knowing is approaching.  Glimpses of  becoming, I see the 3D effect, the truth in believing without the believing, or the truth.  To dis-identify with the body is to watch it change and grow, watch it become and not, watch it be and not and know there is no death to the being that is observing.  The bliss’s will follow, don’t grab at it, just let it be.

                It really no longer matters if he loved me or not, it really doesn’t – that is just ego. I say to him in my head,  “you have no power over me” and the glass breaks, the mirror shatters and that which is identified with is gone, leaving only the essence of being, of eternal being, not dependent on anything or anyone external.  A freeing of non-self but all self, without ego, a smiling face beyond thought, above resistance to what is, in spite of “myself” recognizing and seeing it in everything and everyone, even the many who don’t see, who don’t  know there is anything to see or know.

               My body changes, it needs food, water and rest.  It doesn’t ask for it, it demands it and takes it.  It is its due as a vessel of importance.  It holds my humanness but is not who I am.  The universal consciousness powers my physical being.  It makes me breathe in my sleep, it lights my inner darkness with a promise of the eternal.  It whispers “no fear, no death, no end to being” to my soul and shows me the way to peace.  Its peace, like a warm blanket, descends to wrap my soul and quiet its longings.  It holds and comforts until the longing stops, and then it holds some more.

                To be given this gift of life for however long the body lasts, is the ultimate blessing.  It provides a benchmark of sorts; a non-being to give being its meaning.  It provides  a sense of the temporary to illustrate the permanent, the enlessness of being.  It provides the physical to complete the picture and therein comes the depth and texture of existence, eternal existence.

                This little body, this perfect creation is lovely.  I feel its aliveness; I watch in awe how in spite of me, and my abuse of it, it continues on.  I see how I think of it, when I honor it with truth and love, it glows, it reacts as a whole with a flushing of the skin, it is telling me it knows, it hears me.  But it is ageing, only doing what it is meant to do and I have been privileged to be able to watch as the un-manifested became manifested, how it learned and experienced and how now it is fading back to the formless again but richer and aware of being aware, it is all what we choose it to be, but only if we know.

                Just be still and let it come, whatever “it” is, no concept, no thought, all freedom, stop labeling, feel and not,  see and not, know and don’t, be without being.  I can’t help but think in words, but try to stop thinking and be, be as the fresh night air that is flowing through my bedroom window.  Sharing itself with my being, the fragrance of the moist early spring earth just is and buy its just being it imbibes my being with a wonder and joy.  I experience it without thought as to the why or how of it, my being knowing its being. 

                When we can truly embrace this knowing, when we can truly embrace this mess that is our human condition, when we can finally stop pointing and touching with the broken finger only then can we experience the eternal hallelujah.  As L. Cohen wrote, “It is a cold and broke hallelujah”.  But thank goodness for the pain, for the depth, for the experience, for all of it.  But to hold that being, to maintain that presence,  to accept and believe in its fleeting nature is sometimes so far out of reach because of my ego, and when that unreachable feeling comes over me,  then it is time to sit, to be silent, to let the being take hold in silence.

                In my  sitting, there are bursts of joy, bliss and understanding of being, felt not thought, a spontaneous smile but then I try to grab it, to hold on to the majic and by doing so I chase it back into the silence from where it came.  By being silent and just sitting and being, I invite it back.  It acts like a timid bird, wanting to be close but afraid of me and my ego.  It shows itself and thereby makes the lack if it, or the absense of it when I have chased it away, so empty and flat, uncomfortable and shallow, dark and cold, I don’t’ like it.  It is not reality, or more accurately it is reality without the knowing and I don’t want to stay there.  But when I try to rise above it the effort seems too great.  It is only when I don’t try that it is effortless.  I need to stop getting in my own way, stop getting in my beings way.

The sights, smells, senses of life are wonderful.  We and all the beings on this earth share our presence here together.  We enrich each other’s physical experience; and by doing so we make that cold and broken hallelujah no so cold or broken after all.

Because

I write what I feel in the moment.

Some moments I want to hurt you, get even with you for damaging my soul, for

Rearranging my view of what is right and poisoning my long held faith in people and in myself,

You had no right, or reason, to do that…

And a moment later,

I want to hold you and

Never let you go.

One moment I feel that maybe some of it was real,

The next I am relieved that you don’t care and never did.

Sometimes I can’t picture your face,

Other times it is all I can see.

My eyes still fill with tears at the sound of your songs,

And my body longs for your touch.

I have met other men,

Some are interested and interesting.

There are days when I think I can,

Maybe it will help.

But I can’t,  then I think

In the dark maybe I could pretend,

See your face instead of his.

But I’m not an actress,

He would know, I would know,

I haven’t the heart.

So the moments of loving and

Hating continue,

Rising and falling.

Heart strings pulled by fate like tides pulled by the moon.

My heart wants to break the rules and tell you

That I want to hold you,

But I am afraid of you, afraid I will be consumed by you,

With no hope of survival as

The surrender would be complete

And “I” would be lost, forever…

These moments of love and not continue to oscillate as

6 weeks turns into 6 months,

Into 6 years, into a lifetime of memories,

And loss and missed chances, of dreams and hopes unfulfilled

Yet profound in their potential tenderness.

So sadly, in the peace of early morning silence, I accept and understand that my heartfelt connection to you across the vastness of time and space

Is the only part of the “us” that never was that will forever remain.