barely

Steff: Andie, you’re a bitch. (From “Pretty in Pink”)Bitchin’

Now
and only now,

after all this time

I
understand
how the other half of the world

lives.

Do I remember what it was like at the peak of my depression? Or my inability to leave the house ravished by anxiety? Barely. How fitting to turn half a century (March) and be over the suicide ideation battle. I think i won. I think.

Nobody ever promises a rose garden. But i do remember to smell the blossoms while bloomed. Grateful for my loving children…

Dogwood have no fragrance and adequately make up for the loss with an exuberant blanket of petals, stitched together to create a covering for hearts, souls and minds. Enjoy your bitchin’ Mother’s Day, the best way you can!!

Love, j 💗

Second time around

Chewing on Glass has done it again. What? Drug a deeply buried nugget inside me, up to the surface, in order for me to see the light! I am opening up the curtains!!! The difficulty will be to keep them open. I will try to remember nothing (good?) grows in the dark, unwatered and starved. (Thanks to Emotions of Life for giving me/you food for thought regarding good versus bad growth.)

All unbeknownst to Layne, I am grateful he stepped forward and shared this blog post. Today, i will scurry to sit and think and get some where with my brother’s suicide. This memory stuck in neutral needs to be eventually parked in order for me to move forward. What stands in my way? The screeching tires, the rubber worn, the honking ignored, the empty tank, the dirty windshield…

Finally, i may get a few answers. I will need to rake through powerful memories. I cannot be afraid of the truth. And perhaps i will find closure. Perhaps not. I cannot fear to face the sorrow. The truth as raw and ugly as it appears.

The questions remain… What happened? Is it possible to heal? Maybe i will figure this out. Maybe not. But i do hope my faith is restored.

suttee

Afraid
to let you go
i twine the words
of complicated grief
there was no goodbye
never another hello

and then i made it worse
opened myself
wide
displayed before savage eyes
killed myself slowly
with little pride to show

flames shooting higher
than ever thought possible
i sold my soul to the devil
who paid a hefty price
to lick bitter tears shed for us
and consume his last meal.

I became trapped in my own selfish misery. I once held onto hope. Positioned as a shiny metal object, glistening in the sun, it promised better days. I prayed to it. Ran my fingers over the smooth surface. Worshiped the image broadcast back to my heart.

I learned that day about rust as tears flowed. Death approaches angrily, despite appearances. I wish i hadn’t fallen so hard. Knives are all too predictable. Perhaps there is the lesson. Learn all you can before you are trapped.

My Monhegan

I am currently working on a painting My Monhegan, an island off the coast of Maine. Monhegan is a place that encompasses 95% of my spiritual thought while a mere 3 days and 2 nights were physically spent there. It amazes how much an impact the place had on me. A healing calm took me over and i only have to slip on those hiking shoes to feel the embrace around my soul.

At least the ones i have conquered.

In the meantime, while rushing from one idea to the next, for the past three days, i realized something important. I don’t hear the rattling noises in my mind. At least not as often as i use to and only when invited in. The loudness has abated with a new found courage. I have tamed the angry heart that broke and mended the fabric tears. The tears in my eyes have dried.

The scared child that cowered in the corner has found light. She has grown since last spoken to. The sex fiend has retreated and allowed a wholeness to take place. I convinced her sex is nothing compared to spiritual ecstasy. A spiritual relationship, with someone who can read my mind and play off my every mood, move and energy, is enticing. I have a few girlfriends like this. I have yet to make a pact with such a guy friend. I have a few in mind, but they don’t seem to understand the concept as i had envisioned they would. Such a collaboration is still open to anyone. Even long distance. I am open and my heart twirls in excitement to find such a guy. If such a person exists. 🤨

As if a light switch was flicked on and off, on and off, the hurt, which once overcame me, has now been overcome. The chaos inside has relented and been subdued.

I win! I won!
I run! I swim!
I fly away…

gone

depression
leaves behind
wasteland -where

no one wants to be around

the burning house
water scarce,
the world parched.

reach inside
those remaining bones
burnt answers -hidden

visions gone awry
buried by hands
of a savior.

Oh! how i need him now.

Who pleases me
as i answer
to the wrong world

you wrapped around my soul

gripped too tight
squeezing what was left of me
swirling down…

in scented letters -sent.

Crow Caw

Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well lived.

Your silhouette -mine

snow flutters
upon the earth

We stand

our umbilical cord
severed

as God turns His head

I ran away
to never look back
and you got lost

along the way
our whiter than snow -bled.

Raped

Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well-lived.

word orgies
leave us naked
empty days and nights

your feasting strips humility
scraps of audacity linger-longer

recognize Christ?

Standing outside, admiring Joan Miro’s outdoor sculpture…


Miro’s Chicago

we were invited into The Chicago Temple by a passerby. It was absolutely beautiful inside. Ornate wood and stained glass warmed the interior and our noses.