So you know, I always am searching for meaning these days. Meaning what, exactly? I don't know... hence the search. Duh.
Today I went to a little island off the coast of Georgia to visit with psychic friends. But I think what I learned had less to do with the knowing words of one who hears what isn't said and more to do with trusting my own inner voice.
Kimberly says that psychics are just reading you so why not just pay attention to what's going on with yourself and cut out the middle man? I gotta say that she's told me a lot of truth over the past several years. Some of it I didn't understand until months or a year had past. I had to grow into the knowing or understanding of the knowing. Other times I recognized it right away. So, I trust her instinct and her knowing. She's a smart cookie with a wide open third eye.
And when psychic number three- new to me and fairly new to our circle- starting reading me without a word of warning I felt it wasn't... it wasn't... something. She talked about a person coming back into my life from the past, a relationship that couldn't be then but was possible in the present. This is basically what is happening now. But this relationship if frought with difficulty. And she said this was the case. So I've been trying to detach from outcome- to love without fear of whatever may come. She said that I had been hurt and was with holding an important part of myself and that I needed to trust and give it over.
But my point is- why? Why open my heart completely to someone who is fickle? Who is in and out? I've had it open to him in the past, on more than one occassion, and been hurt badly. Not that I mind... and it's not that I'm masochistic. I chose to give myself over in order to feel the most intense love. But there's a price to pay for this.
Now, I am more careful. I can't just hand over the keys to the kingdom to someone who will leave them lying around and forget where they are. That smarts.
So how does one love fully and be detached from outcome? I think it is the most evolved state of being really. The most selfless and selfish at the same time.
The psychic challenged me by saying that there's a part of me I am not giving any more. I wonder if that's true. I didn't think so. She also said if I stay in this relationship, it will be a journey of big ups and downs. I don't know if I can take such a life any more.
So, the thing is- I didn't need a psychic to tell me this stuff. I already knew it. I wear it all over myself. I'm not saying she isn't psychic. I'm just saying it would've helped more if I knew what this week's lottery numbers were going to be.
Know what I'm sayin?
Maybe the best oracle is your own heart... I think so. However, psychic number two did share this message given her recently: "The love you with hold is the pain you carry."
How true. Now, I don't know that it takes a spirit guide from the other side to relay the truth of this... I feel it in my bones and know it in my heart from my own personal experience.
But it's good to hear and be reminded of truth from an indpendent source. It validates our own feelings. Maybe that is the worth of psychic-iatry? I dunno.
But I love my four psychic friends (and any others I've yet to realize are)... and I am blessed to have such interesting and sweet friends.
Remember: The love you with hold is the pain you carry.
Love with abandon, ya'll. The pain part is no fun. Take it from me.
lyrics I can't keep out of my head
"when the toast is burning or the milk is turning and Captain Crunch is waving farewell...
when the big one finds you, may this song remind you that they don't serve breakfast in Hell."
I love breakfast.
A Run in her Stockings?
Her pantyhose were a metaphor for her life today. She was well-dressed. Prepared for a day of business in a long, heavy, black swingy skirt that reached mid-calf and a bright sapphire colored twin set. Her hair neatly styled and her low black heels clicking on the linoleum of her office building floors.
But earlier that morning, she had realized her legs hadn't been shaved in two weeks and needed stockings to cover the lack of attention to that detail. So, she went to her dresser and pulled a pair of sheer black nylon pantyhose from the organizer in which they lived, neatly rolled, within her drawer. She sat on the edge of her low mahogony-colored bed and unfulred the stockings and began to put them on, one leg half way and then on to the other. This is how women put on the complicated mess called pantyhose... their equivalent to the male necktie.
Usually she didn't wear pantyhose in the spring, summer or fall, living in a southern climate as she did. But today was different due to circumstances well within her control but that had been unattended to, nonetheless. After the first leg, she moved on to the second and, as she did, saw a run near the toe. She pondered it, and decided to just move it under her foot and exercise care in pulling on the stocking so as not to spread the run further. With both legs now halfway on, she stood up from the bed to finish the task which involved pulling the pantyhose up over her thighs and to the waist.
As she did so, she notice yet another run. These, as there were several, emanating from a large hole. These runs were larger and ran both in northerly and southerly directions on her leg. However since her skirt was so long, she was again undeterred, and gingerly pulled them on.
Finally it was time to put on her heels and get out the door. As she slipped them on, she noticed on more tiny run on the heel of the opposite foot. Well, after the others and getting the darn things on, she wasn't reconsidering now. Besides, she wasn't sure if she had any other stockings of the right color so this was it.
At last, she took off for work- looking well-dressed- but knowing in her heart what a mess everything really was underneath the neat skirt and well-fitting twin set and conservative earrings.
This was like her life. Especially now. Underneath it all, a disaster was in full swing, but to outward appearances, she was still holding it all together.
As she drove to work, she wondered to herself, "how long can it last?"
I look at your couch
sitting innocuously in my living room
just a piece of furniture
but it makes me wonder
what has it seen in the places its been?
once, it lived in your bedroom
in a big house somewhere
that your wife bought.
no doubt, she picked out this sofa
to suit her taste for her room.
to take up the extra space
that the lack of love left open
and when you finally left
following love out the door
you took that sofa with you.
then it came to live with you.
of the things it may have seen
as you cried there, or were numb there...
as you tried to put the pieces
of your shattered life back together...
but did you? who did you become?
and you reached out for me
after the years of searching
and bedding women...
seeking belonging and some kind of love
between their thighs, in their arms.
that is, afterall, what people do.
how many women sat on that couch?
this couch that you do not care for
like the women
you couldn't bring yourself to care for
quite... that... much.
and there's no fault in that
unless you weren't honest... unless you lied.
and when you came searching for me
you spun a tale about who you were then
and i excavated an old feeling
a feeling of love that lingered
beneath the surface of my wounded heart.
i touched what i thought was you, was us
but maybe it was just what i wanted to feel
what i wanted to believe-
and there's nothing wrong with that.
nothing one can't understand about that;
about believing that i once held a love
i believed would've carried me higher
had we not made other promises
had other obligations.
and the months went by and i wrote you
as you began to pull away
unable to sustain in my intensity
whatever it was you thought you searched for
yet i took my words and my heart
and continued to give them to you
continued to have faith
believing you were just hurt from the past
from your previous marriage
from the lack of love that starved you
for years and years and years.
and as i wrote you
told you about unconditional love
about the philosophy that was mine...
and read books with you that we discussed
about love and growth and the journey
you were taking my words
and using them for you own...
using my emotions, my thoughts,
my mind, my heart, my soul
to create an illusion of your own
for the benefit of others.
and i look at that couch
sitting innocuously in my living room
and i wonder...
how many women sat there
and heard lies whispered in their ears
that began in my mouth.
i wonder who you are now
which is all i really care about.
i am not angry but i wonder.
the truth is that you are a reflection of me
how many lies have i told
that make me like you?
even if my lies were at that time also my truth?
see we are so complex
we can aspire to be one thing
while living in the gutter
and my lies were not the same
my motives were not the same
and i believed them, i believed their truth
so were they lies? are they lies?
can i even be honest with myself?
will you tell me who you were?
will you tell me who you are?
i wonder like i wonder about your couch.
i lay on it and sleep sometimes
unable to make my way to the silence of bed
i stay in the living room with the tv
with your tv that you will take back
to your state of mind
should you choose to return
to the place from which you came...
to your You State of Mind.
and i love you
and part of me wants you to go-
it isn't my job to heal you;
it is yours but will you do the work?
will you go where you must?
or are you too shallow for the trip
or too scared for the trip
or unwilling to give up this make-believe peace
in favor of a real peace
that emmanates from the soul
from Knowing, from Acknowledging,
and the mirror of your heart
makes me wonder the same of me.
i do not accuse you... i only ask questions
in your absence, in the space left
by a lack of love... filled now
with only a sofa that holds its secrets
and your stories and the hopes of other girls
and the lies they heard that started in my mouth
in my heart and soul... that started as truth
meant only for you.
So, why does it hurt?
Today, I'm going over to my house and former residence to look at the boxes my spouse has packed up of my stuff. I know why he did it. He didn't want to look at it any more. I don't blame him.
I just have no idea what he's decided is my stuff... and what he's decided isn't.
But either way, I've lived without it for two years now so I can probably get on without most of it. The only things I need are my archive of past work on videotape and the photographs of my son's childhood and of my childhood.
The hard part is that I will also see my husband. It hurts to see him. It hurts to know all the damage done. It hurts to know that just last week he said we don't have to get divorced on his account. The idea that he believes that we could get back together after all that's been said and done is just either so sad or so incredibly sweet... that he would still love me like that.
Unfortunately, I feel deeply in my heart, that even if I hadn't moved on already, that he would never really be able to live with me again. He would never forget the damage done and I couldn't either.
Ironically, the worst emotional damage that we've done has been since the day I left two years ago.
Strange. 20-years of who did what to whom now seems practically insignificant compared to the who did what to whom and when and why of the past two years.
It makes me sad to think that maybe there might've been a glimmer of a chance had I left sooner and put my foot down sooner.. sometime before I was just couldn't be there any more.
I remember the man I believed in. I see him when he is sad and not attacking me. I see the man I am leaving when he is angry and goes for the metaphorical kill.
He has said I am the devil. I am evil. I stole his life... but that's just a way to avoid taking responsibility for one's role in one's own life.
We both made mistakes. Which I'm pretty sure just makes us human.
Actually, if I could get just one thing from my marriage to take with me, it would be my relationship with my son... who isn't talking to me at the moment, as you may know if you've read any of my other ramblings here or in my other writing/
I miss him and it causes me great sadness. It makes me feel so alone.
He's my bear cub. I miss him though now my bear cub is 8 inches taller than me and outweighs me by about 80 pounds- I'm guessing. I haven't seen his face in nearly 3 months now.
So, it's time for me to go drive across town to see the man who I loved and thought I'd grow old with. The man who is the father of my son- who gave me the greatest gift ever. The man I still love but in another way he can not accept at all and may never be able to.
Wish me luck... K? My chest hurts... my stomach hurts and I'm going to have a cigarette on the way over.
Who works out and smokes? Someone with anxiety disorder and an almost "ex"...
Later kids... Peace out.