~ 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...
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
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...
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