4.30.09
I've decided instead of the premeditated writings that i proofread and release beforehand that i'd free flow write- and post the things that are happening in "real time." more raw, more real..
Last year at this time i graduated from the biggest test of my adult life that i didn't create myself... education...
As i reflect on all the work and time and things that came from that experience a few things stick out in my mind-
one of them is my political and social awareness. another is my confidence in myself and recognizing that i am capable of expressing through writing what i think, and reflecting and critically analyzing it as well. I was challenged in so many ways by peers and teachers who opened my eyes to so many things but really the most vivid thing i remember is sitting across from rachel dow in our alternative knowledge class... something intrigued me the moment she sauntered in and sat across the room from me. I stared minute after minute, hour and hour at her- transfixed on something i saw in her- about her... when finally i got the nerve to talk to her i found her to be warm. we walked home together that day and the weeks after- her walking her girlfriends greenish blue bianchi beside me. we exchanged numbers and i didn't see her again for about 4 years after that. Until one day when i went into chiang to see my new friend Roxanne and show her my motorcycle and there was rachel behind the bar. the rest is history between us but last year this time when i was graduating- there was an empty seat next to me.. that was rachel's seat as she was to graduate at the same time...she didn't make it in person but she was there beside me in spirit for sure...
fast forward to now and i'm graduating on another level... i'm in the middle of growing pains.. forcing myself to solitary confinement emotionally so that i can reflect and figure out what it is that i want in life. I have to be honest that there are moments that i question why i'm not with F, after all- there was so much that worked... but i come back to rest on the realization that her place in my heart is very special and that will never change..i move on to others and again realize that this time isn't about choosing- it is about decision making and healing.. i've always been a glutton for love but the love i've been giving hasn't been all that i have to offer. So in this time i'm quiet and i'm alone and i'm feeling quite all right.. i have space to stretch my thoughts out, my emotions out and just linger a while longer in them. I have no where to be, no one to talk to, no one who needs me to be anything for them. I am free though the strings of attachment certainly reveal to be sensitive just the same. i am missing people. i am feeling weak at moments. and i am fully embracing it all...certainly rachel is sitting beside me again watching as i step into the next level of my journey...
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Transformation letter..
I've noticed some stream line main topics in these things that i write- whether they be about me, for me or simply about how i interpret others. For many years i've searched for something that others may take for granted or perhaps have a better grasp on; love, identity and ego.. These days my intent and focus lies very much in answering some of the deeper questions that have molded, shaped and even misshaped my life thus far... I try to reveal and share the dark moments as well as the bright moments where i've crossed another prolific canyon in my journey. I am very aware of the importance of balance in choosing these writings. I feel a transformative energy stirring beneath my visible surfaces, something shifting- paradigms, ideals, outlooks and attitudes. A purging of self, which is a recurring element in this blog.. I am always amazed at the depth in which our spirits and lives shake out of us seeds of growth- forcing us to comprehend what we are doing, re-evaluating our intent, reinventing our mission. This is single handedly my favorite part of being who i am- knowing that despite losing myself to the questions and searching for the answers I only return recognizing that my home in myself is more secure.. My best self is when i am left to my own devices to coax out the residue of love, experience and challenges that collide with my everyday existence.. I am most open in these moments, most clear, and respectively most happy. The intent of this blog is not to entertain others with the education and miseducation of Melissa Tangye, it is simply proof that i am willing to relinquish control over things that have plagued, puzzled and taught me most about myself. I am doing this for no one but me- as egotistical as that may sound. I don't have any preconceived ideas that others will walk away more empathetic towards me- i hope that people, if anything, will recognize other forms of existence in this world. I am rambling at this point but simply wanted to share my new found happiness in manifesting and receiving enlightenment. My hope is that i can remain open so that i may continue to learn more of the lessons that i'm intent on learning..
~M
~M
One liner tangents...
~ Why am i putting myself on trains that are taking me nowhere I planned to be?
~ is her little white body representing the fragile waves i rock with my angst day in and day out?
~ when will i know that my testimony is ready to be honored?
~ why is the child in me a thief of identity?
~ why is the adult in me a con artist of self?
~ and where is the old wise woman that i've got rocking back and forth inside my soul?
~distraction is the main course of this elaborate meal i've made...
~distraction is the higher power that i'm subscribing to at this moment....
~confusion is when winning or losing aren't two things...
~the one who kissed my forehead when i arrived in this world and the one who will hold my hand when i leave it...
~this place i'm living in now isn't my home
it feels sort of like a hostel
where the energy of the bed keeps me awake all night...
~ is her little white body representing the fragile waves i rock with my angst day in and day out?
~ when will i know that my testimony is ready to be honored?
~ why is the child in me a thief of identity?
~ why is the adult in me a con artist of self?
~ and where is the old wise woman that i've got rocking back and forth inside my soul?
~distraction is the main course of this elaborate meal i've made...
~distraction is the higher power that i'm subscribing to at this moment....
~confusion is when winning or losing aren't two things...
~the one who kissed my forehead when i arrived in this world and the one who will hold my hand when i leave it...
~this place i'm living in now isn't my home
it feels sort of like a hostel
where the energy of the bed keeps me awake all night...
6.4.03
I woke with the remains of an angry dream on my pillow
the residue has left me silently numb
wondering what it is about my truth that still feels unheard
there are moments when i'm at peace with what i have shared
and other times
my dreams fitfully remind me that i am not telling the whole truth
my mother
my brother,
it was they who pushed me too far
it was her drinking
and
his slow exit.
Things are happening
and it's shaking me from the inside out
my anger is not yet liquid
it is still very physical
it is still very untapped by words
frozen images,
slow moving images
words that flow without concern
Is my truth enough to stand by alone?...
the residue has left me silently numb
wondering what it is about my truth that still feels unheard
there are moments when i'm at peace with what i have shared
and other times
my dreams fitfully remind me that i am not telling the whole truth
my mother
my brother,
it was they who pushed me too far
it was her drinking
and
his slow exit.
Things are happening
and it's shaking me from the inside out
my anger is not yet liquid
it is still very physical
it is still very untapped by words
frozen images,
slow moving images
words that flow without concern
Is my truth enough to stand by alone?...
vulnerability at most...
once someone breaks down, and shares their grief with you- surely something changes. They let you cradle them, hold them, sit with the uncertainty for a moment, not asking for clarification but simply being a witness to something that will shake you but nothing you will ever comprehend and own… it is deep and it is scary- you cannot fix them nor assure them of anything.. the grief must find its way out- onto your skin, onto your clothes and though the tears are invisible the energy is anything but.. still you sit and you let them bleed and you sit with your thoughts until the moment passes and they are cried out and feeling like themselves again.. this is the beauty of sharing.. there is something amazing going on- that has no words, no clarification can complete. It just is… simple, beautiful, hard and whole…
The Unknowing...
4.16.09
it’s someone’s birthday out there
it could be mine too
there’s a certain uncertainty that I live with
it knows no certain faces, no certain voices
it has only been me in this
me with my faces and voices
something’s got a hold of me
a sadness I can’t explain so that it makes sense to you
there aren’t words for these sorts of things
they are gutteral and they are heavier than letters
I’ve made sure I had reasons for just about everything around me-
Reasons why things happen,
Reasons for the way things end up
I’ve made excuses, some would say, for the things inflicted that I could not rationalize in my heart
I have carried things with me that I thought I had let go of..
The older I get, the louder it becomes
The constant knocking at the door of my conscience
“Come Look for me” is what I make of the noises that keep a steady dis- rhythm
the questions become more adamant about finding their answer counterparts
a slight brush of the emotion from my mind becomes a shove at times like this..
she asks what it is that has gotten me-
and I stumble for an explanation
Separation, isolation, death, idleness, sadness, ignoring, running, packing up, letting it down, grieving and letting go
almost like a ritual there are moments when I need to release this. When I’m not feeling so strong.. it comes to me and asks to be set free. Does this make sense? I am grieving for many- not just me… I am grieving for a lost mother, an absent father, a missing abuela and dreamt of abuelo. Though I do not know them I have been carrying a grief that belongs to them – that they carried for 9 mos. That they buried in me with every embrace. That they sent overseas to be with me where I am.. these things can not be ignored.. there is a history, an existence of something deep inside of me that I am forced to reconcile with. My pain comes from the not knowing… it reckons me for answers and I have none… not about them anyway… I am searching for my answers out there, storing them like nuts of wisdom…
someday I will make you understand.. your rugged experience of me is simply a match for the rugged experience I have had with this uncertainty… just as you struggle to make sense of me I struggle to make sense of the deeper existence that lives inside my bones…
it’s someone’s birthday out there
it could be mine too
there’s a certain uncertainty that I live with
it knows no certain faces, no certain voices
it has only been me in this
me with my faces and voices
something’s got a hold of me
a sadness I can’t explain so that it makes sense to you
there aren’t words for these sorts of things
they are gutteral and they are heavier than letters
I’ve made sure I had reasons for just about everything around me-
Reasons why things happen,
Reasons for the way things end up
I’ve made excuses, some would say, for the things inflicted that I could not rationalize in my heart
I have carried things with me that I thought I had let go of..
The older I get, the louder it becomes
The constant knocking at the door of my conscience
“Come Look for me” is what I make of the noises that keep a steady dis- rhythm
the questions become more adamant about finding their answer counterparts
a slight brush of the emotion from my mind becomes a shove at times like this..
she asks what it is that has gotten me-
and I stumble for an explanation
Separation, isolation, death, idleness, sadness, ignoring, running, packing up, letting it down, grieving and letting go
almost like a ritual there are moments when I need to release this. When I’m not feeling so strong.. it comes to me and asks to be set free. Does this make sense? I am grieving for many- not just me… I am grieving for a lost mother, an absent father, a missing abuela and dreamt of abuelo. Though I do not know them I have been carrying a grief that belongs to them – that they carried for 9 mos. That they buried in me with every embrace. That they sent overseas to be with me where I am.. these things can not be ignored.. there is a history, an existence of something deep inside of me that I am forced to reconcile with. My pain comes from the not knowing… it reckons me for answers and I have none… not about them anyway… I am searching for my answers out there, storing them like nuts of wisdom…
someday I will make you understand.. your rugged experience of me is simply a match for the rugged experience I have had with this uncertainty… just as you struggle to make sense of me I struggle to make sense of the deeper existence that lives inside my bones…
damn her...
somewhere something has been stirred…
the thing I called loosely standing has become a sitting… I am down
and the upheaval has begun..
just a few words at the end of our session- in the last 15 minutes crashed down and into me- rattling my inflexibility loose, pushing every button I though I had severed the connection to.
She said I don’t let others care for me.. I don’t let them in.. I’m good at being open but not at being vulnerable. I think of our meetings called therapy as maintenance not deep sea fishing where we have to fish for that ever illusive pain-
that hurt that I know I carry,
that we all carry.
Poking and prodding doesn’t serve a purpose.
I’ve come to accept that there is and always will be a deep seeded pain that resides in my bones.
I wonder if this is a self defeating ideal.
I have come to live with it and function with it as a part of me.
It doesn’t control me..
or does it?
Isn’t that what living is?
Isn’t it itabout managing the pain?
I think I’ve done nicely for myself..
I’ve made connections time and time again..
they may come and go but they still live inside of me.
Surely I am not one of the few who live inside this existence...
the thing I called loosely standing has become a sitting… I am down
and the upheaval has begun..
just a few words at the end of our session- in the last 15 minutes crashed down and into me- rattling my inflexibility loose, pushing every button I though I had severed the connection to.
She said I don’t let others care for me.. I don’t let them in.. I’m good at being open but not at being vulnerable. I think of our meetings called therapy as maintenance not deep sea fishing where we have to fish for that ever illusive pain-
that hurt that I know I carry,
that we all carry.
Poking and prodding doesn’t serve a purpose.
I’ve come to accept that there is and always will be a deep seeded pain that resides in my bones.
I wonder if this is a self defeating ideal.
I have come to live with it and function with it as a part of me.
It doesn’t control me..
or does it?
Isn’t that what living is?
Isn’t it itabout managing the pain?
I think I’ve done nicely for myself..
I’ve made connections time and time again..
they may come and go but they still live inside of me.
Surely I am not one of the few who live inside this existence...
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
digging in the dirt...
4.15.09
Looking back now I realize it was the kind of dream you always remember somewhere in your consciousness-
Me especially since I’ve only had two of the kind in my life-
The first was not as telling- it was more of a glimpse
The military looking man at the bar was not him-
he was merely a glimpse of who He was..
he was a grandfather but even in that I recognized a part of myself
It was in his eyes…
His demure smile and perhaps the way he held himself…with an air of importance and purpose…
The second dream- the one more recently was a voice-
“mi hija, mi hija” I could hear him yell over the phone when these mysterious women I didn’t know, were kidnapping me to take me to him..
in a fiery rush and tumble I was there standing before this short, overweight balding man whom they claimed was my father, mi padre..
he engulfed me in his bare arms and slowly repeated himself, “mi hija, mi hija”- we spoke desperately- both of us trying to make ourselves understood- “who are you, where have you been, how are you, tell me, tell me everything you can” in the broken language- with the broken heart, and broken promises than bind us. I don’t recall what I saw in him that was part of me—perhaps the eyes again.. eyes that I’ve looked into for years searching for someone else’s..
I walk the streets of my heavily populated latino city and I feel contempt.. any of them could be my family and I wouldn’t know it… that is the worst part.. I feel like a fool not knowing my seed bearing parents. I am the lost fruit in the world of seeds that will never match my empty memory.. my blood flows somewhere else I know- but after so long the not knowing starts breaking down the home of my temple.. which should inherently be familiar
but is not-
It so wickedly is not…
Looking back now I realize it was the kind of dream you always remember somewhere in your consciousness-
Me especially since I’ve only had two of the kind in my life-
The first was not as telling- it was more of a glimpse
The military looking man at the bar was not him-
he was merely a glimpse of who He was..
he was a grandfather but even in that I recognized a part of myself
It was in his eyes…
His demure smile and perhaps the way he held himself…with an air of importance and purpose…
The second dream- the one more recently was a voice-
“mi hija, mi hija” I could hear him yell over the phone when these mysterious women I didn’t know, were kidnapping me to take me to him..
in a fiery rush and tumble I was there standing before this short, overweight balding man whom they claimed was my father, mi padre..
he engulfed me in his bare arms and slowly repeated himself, “mi hija, mi hija”- we spoke desperately- both of us trying to make ourselves understood- “who are you, where have you been, how are you, tell me, tell me everything you can” in the broken language- with the broken heart, and broken promises than bind us. I don’t recall what I saw in him that was part of me—perhaps the eyes again.. eyes that I’ve looked into for years searching for someone else’s..
I walk the streets of my heavily populated latino city and I feel contempt.. any of them could be my family and I wouldn’t know it… that is the worst part.. I feel like a fool not knowing my seed bearing parents. I am the lost fruit in the world of seeds that will never match my empty memory.. my blood flows somewhere else I know- but after so long the not knowing starts breaking down the home of my temple.. which should inherently be familiar
but is not-
It so wickedly is not…
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
My fires...
my creativity has been focused on writing words on your body
instead of on paper
my energy has been a linear line
from me to you
i wonder if i will find that you,
my muse, have taken my words from me-
it's all fire here
it's all horizontal
that is where i flow best-
i'm distracted by your words
your lips
how they pull me, play me,
i want you
almost every second
of
every
waking
moment
and when i'm asleep
i am lying beside you
and i want you
from where i am
i watch you as you sleep
and when i climb on top of you
i listen to your heartbeat
and i feel at home
you are the gypsy i've been looking for
my match of sorts
i am with you
and i am love
thank you lover
thank you
for giving me this
and you...
instead of on paper
my energy has been a linear line
from me to you
i wonder if i will find that you,
my muse, have taken my words from me-
it's all fire here
it's all horizontal
that is where i flow best-
i'm distracted by your words
your lips
how they pull me, play me,
i want you
almost every second
of
every
waking
moment
and when i'm asleep
i am lying beside you
and i want you
from where i am
i watch you as you sleep
and when i climb on top of you
i listen to your heartbeat
and i feel at home
you are the gypsy i've been looking for
my match of sorts
i am with you
and i am love
thank you lover
thank you
for giving me this
and you...
Monday, April 6, 2009
some sort of freedom..
something of a testimony
something like a letter
with a destination
eyes to see it
a mind to think it
a heart to feel it
my words come at once.
nothing that this contains was premeditated
i have no clue what will be revealed if any thing at all
i will purge
simply purge
like i do
like i will
like i have.
i know it is to you
for you
about you
perhaps
but not about you.
i am sitting on the porch
a boddington's at my right
with the sound of hammers hitting the side of a home that is being rebuilt.
they wanted closure-
the once open room is now closed, it's been boarded, sheet rocked, and now cemented
i don't think i've ever seen who occupies that home-
i feel know something about their mentality by way of the added walls that they are showing me.
i wonder what they fear, or more what they don't want to see
they've added a brick wall and wrought iron gate in front of the door and traded a grass lawn for a convenient big driveway that has room for a 5x5 patch of green. they are changing some things- my reminder is the hammers hitting the side of the home
what do i want to know about you...
what do i want to ask...
what do i want to tell...
what do i want you to ask...
i never got to tell you about my story of when i learned to communicated and when i swore to never hold a thing in that bent me in some way-
i just told someone new the story last night and it just reinforced my love for david and the beauty that his crippled body radiated to me during those months.
someday i'll share it with you-
i want to know your scars-
i want to see the paths that lead to your heart that have started and then stopped every time something reminds you of something you'd rather forget-
i want to witness the moments where you second guess yourself
and your parents tell you need more-
i want to see the toughness in you that always makes me smile
because i know that not even you can be that strong,
crumble.
i want you to need to be held for a moment
when you just need someone else to hold you up and tell you it's gonna be allright.
i want in..
can you hear me?
i want in..
that may sound threatening...
i'm sure it sounds threatening-
i'm not trying to scare you or take something from you-
i just want sentences that complete the thought-i want you to keep looking at me instead of turning away when something comes up that you'd rather i didn't see.
the sound of the hammering sounds like native drumming,
tires to gravel roll away the rhythm,
birds ass the off tempo
and racing engines provide the hum..
the constant hum..
something like a letter
with a destination
eyes to see it
a mind to think it
a heart to feel it
my words come at once.
nothing that this contains was premeditated
i have no clue what will be revealed if any thing at all
i will purge
simply purge
like i do
like i will
like i have.
i know it is to you
for you
about you
perhaps
but not about you.
i am sitting on the porch
a boddington's at my right
with the sound of hammers hitting the side of a home that is being rebuilt.
they wanted closure-
the once open room is now closed, it's been boarded, sheet rocked, and now cemented
i don't think i've ever seen who occupies that home-
i feel know something about their mentality by way of the added walls that they are showing me.
i wonder what they fear, or more what they don't want to see
they've added a brick wall and wrought iron gate in front of the door and traded a grass lawn for a convenient big driveway that has room for a 5x5 patch of green. they are changing some things- my reminder is the hammers hitting the side of the home
what do i want to know about you...
what do i want to ask...
what do i want to tell...
what do i want you to ask...
i never got to tell you about my story of when i learned to communicated and when i swore to never hold a thing in that bent me in some way-
i just told someone new the story last night and it just reinforced my love for david and the beauty that his crippled body radiated to me during those months.
someday i'll share it with you-
i want to know your scars-
i want to see the paths that lead to your heart that have started and then stopped every time something reminds you of something you'd rather forget-
i want to witness the moments where you second guess yourself
and your parents tell you need more-
i want to see the toughness in you that always makes me smile
because i know that not even you can be that strong,
crumble.
i want you to need to be held for a moment
when you just need someone else to hold you up and tell you it's gonna be allright.
i want in..
can you hear me?
i want in..
that may sound threatening...
i'm sure it sounds threatening-
i'm not trying to scare you or take something from you-
i just want sentences that complete the thought-i want you to keep looking at me instead of turning away when something comes up that you'd rather i didn't see.
the sound of the hammering sounds like native drumming,
tires to gravel roll away the rhythm,
birds ass the off tempo
and racing engines provide the hum..
the constant hum..
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