minecraft

i had a dream about them, those loves of my life who no longer walk this world with me.  i dreamt that they were in my kitchen.  the floorplan is large and openly rambling.   so may doors.  so many disjointed rooms.  the hallways - there is no real connection between the rooms of my home.  it feels like a child built it as one would a home in minecraft.  or maybe it was designed by a man.  something had happened and i was floating in that space that was neither here nor there and i could hear their voices, laughter and good cheer all around.  i found them in the kitchen, full of smiles, stories, hugs and warm greetings.  they missed me.  it was so good to see me.  but there was no mistaking that happiness that they had finally found each other again and in doing so, had found that missing part of themselves.  after visiting for a time, they got up to leave, coming around to give me long hugs, laugh into my hair.  i called after my Dad as i watched them walk through the kitchen door, going back to that place.  i followed them through the door, expecting to find them on the other side and yet, i was back in my kitchen.  i could hear their voices, their laughter, their love for one another through the thin walls of my kitchen.  i followed once again through another door and found myself back in my kitchen again.  i opened each door, trying to find them when i felt his arms around me, telling me that i could not follow them.  that this was as far as they could go - this kitchen of mine.  and that it was not my time to follow.  when he let me go, he stepped through those doors again without glancing back as i watched from my side.  soon the voices grew distant until i woke to the grayness of dawn lightening my room.

that was the morning i finally stopped wanting to follow.

That's the thing about love...

When you drop a glass or a plate to the ground it makes a loud, crashing sound. When a window shatters, a table leg breaks or when a picture falls off the wall, it makes a noise. But as for your heart - when that breaks, it's completely silent. You would think as it's so important, it would make the loudest noise in the whole world or even have some sort of ceremonious sound like the gong of a cymbal or the ringing of a bell.

But it's silent and you almost wish there was a noise to distract you from the pain. If there is a noise, it's internal. It screams and no one can hear it but you. It screams so loud your ears ring and your head aches. It thrashes around in your chest like a great white shark caught in the sea. It roars like a mother bear whose cub has been taken. That's what it looks like and that's what it sounds like - a thrashing, panicking, trapped great big beast roaring like a prisoner to its own emotions.

But that's the thing about love....no one is untouchable.

That's the thing about love...

Sum

so here i sit. a sum of the parts. about a third way down this wonderful path, so to speak. and i've been thinking lately about a friendship that fell apart with time, with distance, and with the misunderstanding of social media. I'm  trying not to confuse sadness with regret. not the easiest thing at times. i dont regret that certain things happened. i understand that perhaps i had a choice in the matter, or perhaps i believe in fate? probably not, but so far, actions as small as the quickest glance to events as monumental as death have pushed me slowly along to right here, right now. there was no other way to get here. the meandering and erratic path was actually the straightest of lines. take away a handful of angry words, things once thought of as mistakes or regrets, and i'm suddenly a different person with a different history, a different future. now, that, i would regret. so here i sit. thinking about a person i once called my friend. a woman who might be full of sadness and regret, a woman who might not give a damn, or a woman who might, just might, remember the future and realize that's where its at.

:)

grudges and whispers

lately i've been doing a lot of thinking about forgiveness. about the old saying "forgive and forget." i've always been someone who says, "i can forgive, but i can't forget." i guess i meant that sincerely. yes, i can hold a grudge, but i can -- and have -- forgiven many trespasses in my time.

i always explained my reluctance to forget as being self-preservation. in line with the old "fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me" sort of thing. i guess my theory was that, by remembering, i would somehow protect myself from being hurt again in the future by a similar situation, or by the same person.

but i'm starting to think that forgiving without forgetting isn't really forgiving at all. you never really let it go. it's always there, just below the surface, whispering in your ear, waiting....waiting.

My Momma was struck by lightening years ago.

She was weaving, sitting at her metal frame loom. It was a cool, sunny day with little clouds but you could see lightening off and away in the distance, on the horizon. When it struck, it lanced across the sky and hit the ground right behind our old house and her knee against the loom, the proximity of the strike and the ground between proved to be an excellent conductor as Momma's standing on end hairbun proved positive of that strike.

It is said that if you survive such an event, you are gifted by the gods the power to speak to the rain, to the clouds, and to the very gods themselves who cross the skies, playing with light and sound during inclement weather.

My most favorite memory of her is of a day we spent together, alone. Midday, the sunny skies turned dark and I came back into the house to watch through the north facing windows the sight of the clouds threatening rain. I remember the damp smell of the earth and the coolness of the breeze on my face. I remember listening to the sound of my Mother in the arbor outside, raking the front yard. Then the thunder started rolling loudly overhead. I had never witnessed a monsoon like the one that took place over our house that day. Thunder rolled from one end of the sky to the other and it was so deafening as it clapped and boomed all around. Still, no rain. As soon as one thunder clap had ended, another rolled right after the other, trailing in its wake and at times, it came in waves of two or three altogether. I remember feeling the sonic booms popping in the air and the feeling of our house shuddering as the windows shook and the heavy oak doors swung slowly. It was amazingly beautiful in all its wild glory especially as lightening began to light up the darkness of the house every few minutes.

But. Still. No rain.

Momma was outside and soon, she tired of the din and noise and she began shouting upwards at the clouds, 'Stop playing around! You bring the promise of rain but would rather play! We need rain! Bring the rain or leave!' As soon as she was done yelling, the first few drops of rain fell and as she closed the distance from where she stood and the porch of the open door, the light drops turned into a driving pour that drenched her skirt and matted her hair to her scalp. I remember the smile on her face and the laughter she let go of as she slammed the door behind her.

My Dad always told me that she could bring the rain, this rainy day woman of his.

bittersweet

i had a dream the other morning and it left me smiling throughout the day.  it was a dream about mom.  she is the age that she is right now but the dream took place at the old house, in the living room.  dad was there.  myself and others that i could not see were there.  it was late in the evening, after darkness had fallen, but the hands of the clock were placed at 6:15 pm.  mom was healthy looking.  she had meat back on her bones and had returned to her robust proportions.  she was no longer unsteady and she was wearing those black horn rimmed glasses of hers from the 80's.  she looked youthful and beautiful as she sat there on the south side of the wood burning stove.  a pot of water sat on the stove, bubbling and letting steam drift upwards from its lip.  she was holding a bowl of stew in both hands as she sat on the cracked linoleum floor, dipping her spoon in it rhythmically as she ate her dinner.  she had been sick for so very long.  but here, she had grown stronger, color had returned to her cheeks and that old familiar light had returned to her eyes.  she smiled and i felt such a mixture of joy and sorrow, such a pang of bittersweet emotion it was.  joy that health had returned to her and sorrow that so much time had been lost to reach this point.

it was such a beautiful dream and i carried it with me throughout the next day, smiling every so often.

she is my prayer.

'ought thirteen

New Decade.  New Year.  New Start.

Let's see where this takes us!