Gossip is of the Cruelest Sort

A few months ago I was taken back by the fierceness of those who I thought were congenial people. I learned otherwise tempered minds absolutely turn into werewolves, hunt down victims and chew flesh, spit out venom like snakes in the grass. Whoever gets killed by their egos, beast or baby, matters not.

I will not mention names as neither matters. Fame comes at a cost and humanity always loses out. I do not care how eloquent your words are when you brandish people with coal-hot iron. I do not care if you turn the heads of men. Or women.

Give me a humble quilt before a bejeweled cloak. Better yet, leave me cold on the street in sackcloth. I will atone for your sins too.

Swim Against the Waves

For my lovely daughter. Always. And Forever.

Wow! Yesterday was quite eventful. Not in a good way either.

There is a back story to this story that unfolded shortly after breakfast. I was busy writing Christmas greetings to family and friends, realizing how few cards we had received this year. The amount of personal greetings slashed by modern life.

When, to my surprise, my daughter came bounding down the stairs, so early in the morning.  It is Christmas break from studies so this was most unexpected.

I despise Snapchat. Instagram. Even Facebook has become a weapon against humanity. They had assaulted my daughter again. Naked photos of themselves. Asking her to send in like.

She had never wanted to fight back. She is a teenager and teenagers do not always think so well. Hormones and all. But she had been attacked too many times to lay down her sword. She picked it up and I stood with her. I picked my sword up too.

I made a phone call to the school. I needed to speak to someone. Was any one going to listen? Really hear me and my daughter? Do something to change how we interact.

There seems a hollow cry in our schools, churches, government, to stop bullying, assaults, sexual victimization against each other.  People talk loud and do little. They stand up strong and bend with the wind.

Sex is a beautiful gift. Meant to be protected by love and care and understanding. Not a quick fix to fill a void. Not a solution to calm the raging inner world. Who even believes that anymore? Anyone?

So the Dean of Students and the Assistant Principal sat there and listened. Their advice quite trite, get off social media. What? She wants to make friends. Be a friend. Why should she not fight back and change the landscape of abuse? Why do the good people need to retreat and lay down their swords?

As we exited school property, two police officers pulled up. Our schools are now protected by officers of the law. What little law is up held. We are flying free in the streets, rioting and not caring of the girl, weeping in the night. Now afraid to be a friend to the world.

My daughter has recently turned 18 but she was made an adult before she had a chance to be a kid. So it is with modern society. It has become an adult before it ever figured out how to be.

May approaches along with Chester

Chester keeping watch 4/27/2017

Chester is enjoying my company this morning. Toby is still in a nocturnal mood, aloof and wandering. Have I mentioned breakfast is served and waiting? It takes mighty willpower to resist tuna and salmon.

Thoughts have resonated in the back of my mind since early April when I took a Scrivenor tutorial. Time was spent contemplating a return to the idea of putting together a few poetry chapbooks and even writing that novel I dreamed of in high school.  (A thousand titles exist somewhere.) Knocking out past dreams, a few new poems swirl in a milky whipped cream concoction and I release my other planned intentions, allow them to drown in creative ecstasy.  I admit at this rate I will never publish. I have to let it be.

At one point in time I never considered visibility, shame inside left me catatonic. Ok, I still feel inferior, not so much that my poems are not worthy, I do feel my writing has improved but I retreat. I hate to be known, not so much that I like being lonely as that produces anxiety but rather I twirl in depression. It is a scary place to live: four walls and no windows, doors non-existent. Those who suffer might understand. Some may not. They retort “Get over it already, won’t you.” I admit I drag everyone down.

Believe me when I say I search for the sun, desire the limelight. Inevitably I shrink in my shell. My mind sees you and I shudder. “What are they thinking?” I mutter.

I live in a moving hell. Occasionally I suffer from annihilation. Non-existence suits me well. In this state I am calm and I am happy.  Voices remind me “They would miss you, family and the kids you tutor.” I contemplate the residual pain, not inside of me but within my friends.

No solution to this convolution. A decision involves burying my head in ideas and releasing them on my blog. I hope you would continue to read them no matter how I leave them unedited. I realize some are quite ambiguous and senseless as if I live in a different world. I suppose I leave you scratching your head, a desire to run away. “She’s crazy!” you say and today I can’t disagree. Enigmatic. Eclectic. Take your choice of words, I wear them well. I am proud to exist in the borderline of well and unkempt. This is who I am.

This is my life and I will enjoy the sun today, the stars tomorrow, the forecast of rain, inevitable icy winters and those four walls encroaching, I buried in a blanket. Regardless, if I disappear, do not fret. I will miss you. Please think “Perhaps she is putting that chapbook together.”

Today, be happy your alive to wonder! Look out the window and admire the wild. 😊💛🌻

Enjoy this beautiful music video.

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Authors Note:  I was hesitant to post this as it is spun from a very dark time.   I hope it causes no alarm for those who have been in a similar place or potential harm to those suffering as I write.  Be well.

Life, a puzzle, is her mind.

A storm brewed -ruminations,
day and night.
Knives to handle,
braced -the base of her neck.

Longing gaze
towards the kitchen window,
no coverings found
to hide -hollow eyes.

A braided rope
seductively slithered
around and through,
she thought to flee -no such place exists.

Like a gazelle, a lion in pursuit, she beat the odds. Survived.

The finality of the situation was not met with fanfare. No ticket-tape parade or confetti-induced speech. The affects were invisible to all but the discerning. Those who saw the glow in her sacred eyes met the mountains summit; those who reached, swore they touched the sky.

war

In fear and trembling, destiny’s road perishes.
With courage, horizons come to light.

within the inner heart
the dark dirt
rich in humus
capable of birthing crimson petals
roots dug deep,
layered with decaying thoughts
and ill intent.

i struggle -war against myself.
i promised loved ones to fight on, assured them
I’d take courage as my trusted companion.

who retreats from such a place?
who is man?

searching to understand humanity -i seek strength,
flourished with rest. life is a push and a pull
the agony produced welcomes the visiting ecstasy.
the masterpiece finished, resting upon my back, i look upward.

do i glance a figure rising in the east? or do i imagine such a beast?

this unending battle
placated by resistance -thoughts.
why, why should i spend days
contemplating fellow man?
shan’t i go about my way in frivolity and vain?
what course is provided anyway?

this war
this war will never be won, no matter which way i turn.
the dark halls of history no longer inspire to do well by my neighbor
they only haunt the will to see clearly.

i watch
i watch you emerge from behind the mask,
i ask
i ask “How will i win this war?”

All that’s left.

In fear and trembling, destiny’s road perishes.
With courage, horizons come to light.

Is this a question
you ask about hope?
A self-proclamation?

If you had asked me ten years ago, even sporadically scattered in between the months, my answer would have been emphatic: Hope! Rah!

This girl’s sunny disposition has gone hiding, become elusive, buried beneath wings and tears that never dry.  This hope one seeks, in the ransacked heart and poverty-stricken, is beyond the horizon. No rainbow slide can fulfill  such promises.

All that’s left -vacant field
hope disappears
your power absent -dirt mourned.
Life seems meaningless.

I am tired. Just a week ago, the daffodils woke me from a deep slumber. I had hid in a depressed body, unable to move. The garden lay dormant in my mind and its sliding into the abyss once again.

Damn shoreline! Even my speech has become reprehensible! Oh where should I lie to appease these demons. They scratch and claw at the soul’s door. I barricade them as they slip through the cracks. This is war!!!

As easy as it is to create rainbows
a ghostly cemetery presides.
What hope moans from the grave?

 

 

Family Story (yours and mine)

Everyone contains a history; hidden and unread.

My story means something to me and I write it for me, knowing most of what I have to say means nothing to you. The story is mine but it also belongs to the world (in a very small way). As yours…

A found diary
hidden for years
resurfaced, breaking through
piles of days
rising to form -a mountain called me (and you).

I stand at this crossroad, where once I crouched, sunk often to a corpse, crawling in search of water.  This moment contains burnt words, fire a destroyer, put out by flowing tears. The flames and smoke rose to God, a sacrifice, while the ash returned to lay a blanket over the earth.

I have been given another chance to be, more than once, and each aimless attempt lies dormant. A depressed state does not keep the world from moving forward, it keeps the person on the sideline, looking in, in apprehension, the thought to return stings.

Thoughts of being, being a memory to someone.

From the ash, I purposely construct a year of days. Hope holds on, to speed through the sky, come back to earth. This year is a challenge for me. If you deal with depression and anxiety you may understand my story may mimic your story.

All of life is inspiration to change the rubble into grace. Perhaps you may see yourself on this same path, looking at the same sun and wondering about leaves of the past. I acknowledge not everything is truth but it resembles it just the same.  Here and here are sample blog posts, of what I explore, while looking for answers. This place is where the roads converge, while living on a borderline, trying to cross.  2.4.2017

November 1, 2016 (morning thoughts)

I overhear people on the street, in every conversation, expressing “Where has this year gone?” and soon New Years will be upon them and they will start all over again. Another year, 2017, to find themselves  expressing regret, if it is regret.

I know each day passes by.
I know life is fleeting.
Some days I pray
day becomes wind,
blowing away and blowing in.  J.

What catches us off guard to days passing? What is it I want to do with my days that I let pass by, that I have not done? Once upon a time, afflicted with debilitating grief, depression and anxiety took over my mind. Soldiers of dark they were and yet I held on to them as dear friends, who helped relieve guilt of things unsaid and love held back.

It was stolen. As most beautiful things eventually are.”
–J.J. Abrams, S.

I believe it is the relationships never forged, to move beyond hello, that we regret. We long to find a soul who understands us completely. At least I do. How often rejection becomes the sole wall we never conquer. Fear strikes the most formidable person of courage. It is fear that makes love obsolete.

where has love gone
hiding behind faces
afraid to interact
made fun of, rejected?

how else are we ever to understand
the mind of another
if we do not extend hearts and hands
express our need to utter?

words, why worry?
Depression and Anxiety twins.
Twins playing tricks
with no treats, no win.   J.

No doubt there is much to worry about. The question becomes how to control what we can so we reap fruitful rewards.

When we are released from the mind’s demon, we see the world from a fresh perspective and wonder what next. What beautiful thing exists around the bend?

***

My thoughts this morning as I approach the day. Will I ever understand knowing there is much to comprehend? I, a pot on a potter’s wheel, broken and mended, rearranged and defended against the pain of the world.

Keep searching. This is what I pray for today. So easily rejected. So easily to reach out again. No matter how I might find myself yearning to be safe in the dark again, a place of comfort I knew and know so well, I keep fighting.

I look forward to reading J.J. Abrams book, “S.”

 

capsized

Seek knowledge of multiple aspects in life; relationships are complicated.
img_6212-2
Capsized. Off coast of Monhegan Island, ME May 2016

I feel a need
explain myself, hoping misconceptions
do not blur the mirror between our faces.
Our breath fogging up the air.

Waves are what you believe.
Rowing towards another
smooth sailing desired
frantically head towards the shore.

Prepare for the storm
learn navigation, obstacles overcome
hide in the corner, drowning all senses
to trust or mistrust.

Cheating ourselves of courage
of what could be
love atop a mountain view
or mourning under sea.

Ocean rowing is very much what you make it. Rowing technique is pretty irrelevant on the ocean. It’s the psychology that’s important.   –Roz Savage

A child capsized before they realize they have wings, a poor prognosis to rise above. Faulty  attachment leads to mistrust. See the hollow eyes looking back at you? What to do?

There are approximately 500,000 children in the United States in foster care. How else could a heart be broken? Children sinking in a great fissure of happiness and despair. There is hope. A nugget of faith to embrace. A chance to grasp what knowledge gives a person to soar above the noise and reach a point of need. A life purpose I sail towards, navigating bumps and bruises, of my own, as I witness sadness beyond the horizons. Yet I keep believing.  One child saved is worth my life. One smile worth more than gold and gems.

In a sense I travel the confines of another mind. That can freak people out. Who dare look within? I blame no one. I avoided it but now I am grateful to that person who listened. No matter how pathetic I sounded, he rode the waves out. I imagine I put fear into his mind. The multiple thoughts of suicide; knives, ropes and pills. It would cause anyone panic. Towards the end, I thanked him profusely. The mending of multiple people inside that realized only the one who could mentally handle what happened. Essentially sparing others the need to fathom the horror.
I know this all sounds crazy. I feel crazy some days. Especially when I become so open to others I barely know. In a sense hiding behind this screen. Fleeing when I have had enough. I know that as long as the words remain within and I have yet to let them go I will continue to post (warning some posts will be dark and understand if you unfollow) and read and chug along this funny thing called “life”. Ahhhh, then to understand death. Not sure I have enough time to go that far. Be well.

Thanks for reading. Happy to be a Word Press blogger. Enjoying  my time. And all that.  –Jeanne

 

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Making the voyage
may not be possible.
Spreading my wings
I fear myself.

I feel a shift. I don’t mind.
The vivid colors keep me company.

You gaze at the
bottom of the ocean.
Do you see words
that give me away?

I feel a shift. I don’t answer.
The power to talk is never enough.

How do I handle
these thoughts?
They circle with little
will they topple me.

My world has shifted. I do mind.
A glorious future will never be known.