Posted on

November

November. November. November.

This is the season of pain. The season of loss. The season of absolute agony.

This time of year. The depression is here. Depression; though comforting is cruel. She is truly a mistress of madness.

November is death. November remembers all that it has claimed.

This morning I could feel one more piece of my mind slip away from me. One more piece of happiness drift away like smoke in a damp sky. In it’s place is now another little black hole. My mind is covered with little black holes. All of the memories come back in November. My month of misery. It took me years and years to drink away the memories. In the process I took out the good ones to destroy the bad ones. Now just hundreds of little black holes. Soon I will be a black hole.

Will I survive this one? Will I collapse on myself like a dying star?

I am tired of pretending I am something I am not. Only one person knows me and only two people care. It is my own fault. My evasive lies and manipulative self expression are all false.

Who would want to see this? I have wasted too much energy hiding myself, masking myself and covering my tracks. Now I have no idea who I am.

But it is November. What will she claim this year? What will she rip from my spirit? What will she spit to the floor as she washes her hands of me?

Maybe she has come for my broken heart. My mind is filled with too many holes now. She will not accept it.

Will I survive as she rips my broken heart from my soul?

November, you cruel bitch you. How I have missed you.

Posted on

Are you a good parent? Am I?

Today as I was walking through the store with my family. A woman, who was an employee approached me.

She had witnessed me, point blank , tell my son after a quick tantrum; ” You will not raise your voice to me, I am your mother.” This was all that I said and my son responded with an apology.

The female employee said with a smile;

” I was just telling another girl what a good mother you are. So many mother’s let their children run wild without respect for other people.”

This, to me, is completely foreign. I have never once thought I was a good mother. I stress over details, discipline, encouragement and as most parents do; when do I get myself back? My child is a constant struggle. A very dear friend told me as of late “The nut cracker works fine, you just have a hard nut to crack”.

This woman in the store admired my approach to child rearing, if you can still call it that. I felt very good, for once about motherhood. Everyone about seems to think I am a good mother, I however disagree. I could be faster, better, smarter, stronger.

Inside of my heart I love my boy, who questions me and tells me I am wrong. He challenges me constantly and while it drives me to madness it also blooms proud in my spirit. I am rasing him as I promised I would.

My rules:

1) I will accept my child no matter what or whom he has decided to become.

2) I will love him completely regardless of any circumstance.

3) I will discipline him for any disrespect of another being, be it animal or human.

4) I will always hold him to his word.

5) I will never tell him a lie.

These are the rules I wrote in my diary long before he was born. I have kept them all. I do not think I am a good mother. He is only four and there is much more to come for him. How he sees me now as an “authority”  that will some day change into an “understanding”. I only want to ask of him what I ask of myself. I seem like a harsh mother, but perhaps the woman at the store has given me a new understanding. I was a black sheep child… who struggled against all that was handed to me. Maybe my real purpose in life is to raise this “unexpected” child. To make him my better? Maybe this is what all of us parents are meant to do?

To love and live for, even if we are judged harshly, our children.

The hardest nut of all.

Posted on

The Rancher

This morning was a very troubled morning indeed…

To sum it up the morning from hell partially consisted of a car that wouldn’t start, a bathtub that was very difficult to scrub, a bottle/can recycling session that resulted in a typical “sudden Oregon downpour” and the inevitable fall on a freshly washed floor that is now covered with mud, blood and lingering swear words. The rest of the morning, I will leave to your imagination.

Any who… A completely irrelevant story came to mind. It has in no way any connection to my morning but it was a story I always wanted to tell the world. Yes, the story you are about to hear is true and entirely not connected to the passing of my morning stress.

The dear friend of mine whom told me this story is third person, as the person who was driving behind the main character of this story and decided to stop her car to watch it play out. If there is a truly unique mystical way to the universe the Rancher will either read this some day and feel appreciated or has won the lottery, I am sure he would prefer the latter.

My friend was driving on I-5, north of Sacramento, Ca and witnessed a large truck hit a dear and send it flying to the side of the road, my friend, in shock pulled over in front of a pick up truck that had pulled over immediately after the accident. Needless to say the actual truck that hit the deer did not stop, as far as I am concerned, they never do. People suck, I hate them..Wait, I am telling a story. I will try to keep the emotions in check. Seriously, this story is one of the only reasons I have a VERY small amount of faith in humanity.

Ok, so she pulled over and and ran towards the pick up that had pulled over to find a man and his wife emerging from the cab. This is what she told me.

The man and his wife ran up to the deer to investigate while my friend watched and apparently, others pulled off the road to “see” what was happening. The man checked the deer to see if there was anything he could do, I think this is when they found out he was a rancher. The doe was pregnant and very far along my friend said. The Rancher proceeded to get a knife and his wife, a blanket from the pick up. My friend said, right there on the side of the busy freeway with growing spectators he proceeded to cut open the doe’s belly and then womb to remove the baby fawn. The fawn showed no signs of life, and get this, the Rancher proceeded to do CPR on the fawn, mouth around her little muzzle and pressing on her chest in rhythmic motions.

Apparently after several minutes the fawn started to breathe on her own. He had actually saved it. The Ranchers wife came in with the blanket and swaddled the baby fawn. My friend said everyone there clapped for the Rancher and a dozen questions came fourth but, my friend said, the Rancher and his wife were eager to get home to see if with a bottle and time they could get help the fawn survive. And so, they were off, as was my friend with a huge smile on her face.

This story for me came at a time where I can honestly say, I hated humanity. I can also honestly say that if not for these events, I would have even less faith in humans than I have now. I hope that this can bring some contentment to someones heart. At least if you are a person who is tired of selfish, cruel people and “road kill” as they call it. As for the man who killed the deer without stopping to at least acknowledge it, well, if at all lucky the Rancher one the lottery and the deer killer got a call from the IRS.

Thanks for listening.

Wait. I remember now. Soaking wet, on the way home I saw a deer in the graveyard we live across. What da ya know?

Posted on

Fletch Lives!

I just had a very LARGE breakthrough. Dispolar Biorder still holds true. However if you know me you know I am very… sensitive.

Tonight, after seven years, my husband managed to track down a soundtrack for me. I love the movie the soundtrack comes from, it was an old family movie (Fletch). My mom and dad use to watch this movie all the time. These memories I have been “hiding” are not of rape, not of pain, not of destruction. The memories I have been hiding are of my family and this soundtrack reminded me of all the days I lived unafraid and whole. All my days as a protected dreamer. Yes, my mom stroked my head and we barbecued and so much more.

Fire works on my birthday… My dad coming home to us… So much joy.

The three of us. We really kicked ass. I have been hiding the good memories. I have been hiding the greatest times of my life. I have been hiding US. Three musketeer’s, think twice, we were better. The “black sheep” son, the neglected brilliant daughter, the child they had. Me. I have been hiding them, I have been hiding me.

I made a pact. If my father or mother ever died, I would die. I have been holding the promise. I have been slowly killing myself for seven years. I promised if my dad ever died I would die and I am, it took seven years but I am. Seems my brain remembers. I would rather be dead with him then stay with the lot of you.

If I did really die, I would have to take my mother with me (guess I should talk to her about that first).

I did not understand until listening to this album and remembering the three of us. Both of my parents were separate from their family. They made their own family. The word “special” does not really cover what we were. I was raised by two of the best people that have ever, and may ever exist.

I did not see it before. I guess it really is love. I have one foot in the grave. One foot on the plot. I won’t leave them. Either of them. I am going with them. Even if it tears me in two.

I think I understand God now.

My heart is light tonight. At least now, I know. I am not full of shit. I am just keeping the promise I made to myself years ago.

Posted on

Am I God?

God is simply and most safely a “person” we imagine that holds a mirror to ourselves. So that we may look in that mirror and see who we are, bit by bit, thought by thought, emotion by emotion, wrinkle by wrinkle. In this mirror we see ourselves, only ourselves viewed by and judged by; only ourselves.

God is the person we envision being their as we see ourselves in all honesty, in all nakedness and truth. God is very simply a inner image of someone that sees us as we see ourselves and loves us anyway. This person that god is. Well, he (or she, or it or whatever it is that you see) is the person holding the mirror that only we see that does not judge, or comment on, or scold. God is us seeing the true image of what we are and hoping that that is good enough. God is us, we are god. To only god can you pray but only you will hear these prayers as only god can hear.

God is the only person you can trust. Your instinct and your mind, your heart and your truth. Never allow another man to tell you who is god.

Only you know who god is. As god only speaks to you. Every man has a different view of god and yes, god talks to every man. Not two, three , four men. Every single human is spoken to by god alone. You see?

Only you can hear the words of god as they are meant to you.

To tell others that they can only accept the words that god has said to only you is false and against god.

God speaks to everyone. In their own language.

God is the only one in the room of my mind, god is there with me as I hold the mirror to myself, only god and I know who I am.

See? God does not rule us, god does. Ourselves trying to comprehend something so simple we started wars for it, raped children for it, beat women for it, and killed innocents for it. And “it” is bad. Not god but bad men. Bad, bad men.

god is ourselves, crying to be seen by all, but unheard still.

“And in likeness, we were created”.

Anonymous. Published. 2006