Repose

Do you remember that Thanksgiving you got the flu? So many years ago now, you still had another semester of college yet. We listened to calls from our parents saying we miss you both and wish you could be with everyone. How sorry they felt we would be alone.

We dined on some insignificant scraps - I'm not even sure you ate. The gas log fireplace flipped on, pretending to rage in its cheap, pathetic way that we still loved the entire winter. And I remember you resting on the sofa, congested, lethargic, placing your head on a pillow in my lap, a blanket cocooning us together. I read, the TV tirelessly flashing images with its volume off so we could listen to the stereo. We always had so many things going at once back then. And you fell asleep about the time I wanted to get up for a drink of water.

So I sat & played with your soft hair. Why was it always so soft like corn silk? Things were tumultuous in our relationship those days as we struggled to figure things out. And I remember looking at you for a long time. You seemed so peaceful and relaxed, no arguments, no discussions. And I remember letting out a big sigh, letting go, and thinking there was nowhere else I'd rather be.

We have liftoff...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pKd06s1LNik&ob=nb_av3e

I say goodbye to you, my friend.

We made a good run of it, but I bid you adieu. 

It's time. I feel this. I believe this. You won't be missed in the sense of a normal *missing*. I don't want you back. And yet I am grateful you stuck with me for this ride. You were always there, from my earliest memories, and there's something to be said for steadfast loyalty. No matter how tough, no matter how low, you stuck by me. You held me back, you pulled me down, but you also forced me to feel things I'd have never felt otherwise. And because of that I know you have been the foundation from which such strength could rise. I've heard: "You are one of the strongest people I've ever met." Yes, I now can say yes, and feel it.

Gather your belongings. Why no Halloween this year? Why indeed. We've shared a lifetime of Halloweens. You take the masks and costumes. They are yours alone.

And through it all, the sadness, the despair, the struggle to claw through the shit, there was always the hope. Always the underlying gentle caress on the heartstrings, beautifully generating sounds that we both knew would eventually resonate over the rest. They've always been there. They've always sung to me, though sometimes I couldn't hear. But they were there.

So. So long, my friend. I hear you. I've always heard you. But it's time for you to give up center stage. It is not your place. You be the one to watch from the sidelines for a change.

:-|

shit.

combat the implosion.

Today is Yesterday :-)

Today's post is actually me modifying my post from yesterday. New thoughts about the experience. I thought of leaving it as it was b/c that's what came to mind last night when I wrote, then decided that it's ok to edit. So edit I've done.

Moving Day

It's an interesting thing when you think you've grown, worked through some old $hit, become stronger, only to find old fears, insecurities, and inadequacies linger just below the surface, waiting for a sign to creep back into your psyche.

What is it that makes some people willing to push themselves past what they feel is their breaking point, while others shy away from even trying? or flee? I have a long history of fleeing. I now know some of the reasons why, but that's another story.

I remember countless people saying the brick wall around me was much too high for anyone to get over. And that I had these little peep holes I'd open at times, but they were quickly closed if I ever saw someone looking back at me. When I was 19 a close friend told the guy I was dating, "Whatever you do, don't tell her you've fallen in love with her. She'll bolt." He did. And I did.

When things get tough, I flee the scene. *Tough* means vastly different things for all of us. My tough isn't in learning new things, in being physically challenged, nor in fear of failure. I don't shy away from hard times. I am a good rock. My fears are more around not failing and of being known.

Yoga tonight we played with going into a backbend, and with the help of a partner, rising up to our feet. I've seen this done. I enjoy backbends. They feel good. They're lovely. The curves of the human body are beautiful to me, and the strength and solidness I see in those who perform this with ease just blows me away. And I want it. And another heart opener that was closer to the floor, but same idea in a sense. And so I made a few half-assed efforts, putting on my mask and figuring at least it'd seem like I gave it a shot. I tried-ish, and then as soon as it felt uncomfortable, I flailed about and gave up. Not because I didn't think I could do it. There was, admittedly, some concern, but I know better than that. I'm ok feeling the edge of my physical limitations and pushing past a bit. No...it was the swell combo of actually trying and therefore potentially being praised for it (gasp!), and partially because I felt that level of discomfort & instead of exploring it, I bailed. I think to have stuck with it would have been pushing through a level of intimacy I wasn't ok with. Not anything to do w/either of the two people who helped me. But within myself. What does it mean to be known? It's many things, but it's being exposed. Allowing another to see you struggle, see you try, sometimes see you succeed, and sometimes see you fail. And that they get you. I'm all for the process. But to feel someone has faith in me and to express it, that's scary stuff. And to allow someone to watch me work through what's well beyond the physical, that's even more scary. So instead I bailed. I know this feeling well. And also the tinge of disappointment. I've lived in this place for years & have been leaving it for a while now, but keep returning to pick up just one more item here, one more item there.Whether either of my partners truly did express disappointment, I'm not certain. But I felt it all the same.

I'm not accustomed to being told "you can do this. try it. even if you fail, you tried and that's how you know where you're at." I don't know how to handle that. It makes me tear up, actually. And God forbid someone see what I'm feeling from their simple words of encouragement. Hearing words of support, of encouragement, of belief in me....I'm likely to wind up a sobbing mess on the floor and who in the hell can explain that? Oh, well gee, you were telling me good job and therefore I fell apart. That's great, loopy girl.

Yoga has been amazing for me lately and I'm learning so much about who I am, where I've been, where I want to go. I've been on this path for a while, but allowed some diversions to get in the way (not all of my own accord, but some were). Yet I feel like a scared little girl. But it's time. By and large, I like where I'm at right now. I like where I feel things are headed & what I'm becoming. I don't know exactly what it's going to take for me to sit with the times I feel emotionally vulnerable. I can do it sometimes. Well, heck, I certainly offered this up not too long ago & had my heart handed back to me with shards of glass mushed into it. I survived that & actually have dealt w/the negatives and taken the positives to be used in very constructive ways. I can't quite wrap my brain around this experience yet b/c on paper it seems so ridiculous & I thought I was past this nonsense. Who the hell cares if I'm the crazy girl in yoga who had a crying meltdown and couldn't fully explain what was going on? Well, then I'd have to flee. I don't want to flee again. I've discovered my new home inside. I want to stay. What's it going to take to unpack & move in?

No Words

Often someone says it better than I can even begin to. Thank you, Mr. Andreas....i am in love with this quote and hope to feel this again someday.

"I read once that the ancient Egyptians had fifty words for sand & the Eskimos had a hundred words for snow. I wish I had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep & there are no words for that."


*sigh*

New Fence

I have a new fence on my back property line. At first glance, it's not much; a fence like many others.

It's not the fence I wanted. I had drawn out a neat horizontal slatted deal. I was excited about that. Then life happened and things got put on hold and while my parents were helping me recover from a little incident this summer, Dad said, "About that fence. It really needs to go." I know, Dad, but I haven't had a chance to take care of it. "I'll do it for you. We're leaving in a few days, but I think I can knock it out." Ok, well, here's what I want. "I will build you a fence, but given time and resources it'll be a standard privacy fence & will be functional." This is not what a want, Dad. "I know, Kris, but it's what you need." (side note: my father is the only person I'm aware of to ever call me Kris)

And so the fence was built. In 95+ degree heat by a 75 year old man. One of the most determined (and stubborn) men I've ever known. And I was happy to have it, but it didn't resonate with anything. It was just a fence.

But today I remembered a boy once told me: things that hurt us, relationship problems, arguments and negative happenings of all sorts...each of these puts a hole in our fence. It's up to us to patch them up. And sometimes that patch will be stronger than the original spot, but other times the patch will require constant mending. Either way, it's never the same as before.

Given my last few years, my existing fence had become full of way too many patches. Some holes remained. It was brittle. It was weak. Then one particular situation smashed it to pieces, and though I tiredly pieced it back together, it was a very sad state of affairs. It was time for it to go. What I intended to rebuild would have been pretty, interesting, a structure I'd enjoy looking at.

Instead, my father knew what I needed. While my design would have been neat to look at, the gaps between boards would allow alley-walkers to peer inside my world. No, I needed a new, solid fence that would allow me to open it to those I wanted to see in.

With this new fence my world also expanded. 15' of unused property was behind my old boards. "It's area to use for whatever you want. And now you've also brought in that tree that comes with a bird nest."

And it annoyed me that he left many remnants of the old fence in my backyard. Metal posts, concrete. Yet, Dad was on to something here. He removed the easy stuff: boards, misc. wood, some dirt. But it was up to me to clear out the remainder of the old, the big, the heavy $hit.

So this new fence. Yep, it's utilitarian. But it was built with love by my father. And with this I gained strength, solidness, extra space from which to grow, and life. Things aren't always what they seem. There can be much beauty in what many disregard as insignificant & ordinary.