After my melancholy post this morning I went to big Beastie's bday throw down. Me and a good friend threw a double party for our boys at a local rec center with a water parkish thing. The woman in charge was this mousy little lady with big blue bug eyes and a sweetass bowl cut. A little female Barney Fife. If I was more computer savy I would post his picture here because really, spitting image.
After reciting the rules in a very clipped and efficient manner the woman came to ask me if I was planning on swimming because I needed a super special arm band for that. When I replied no, I would not be swimming she muttered, "Ah, not ready to show that muffin top off?" and walked away. Before I even realized how bad she had cut me down she had skittled half-way across the room to more important matters. And then I laughed and laughed and laughed. I told a friend about it and was laughing so hard tears sprang out of my eyes and I had to repeat myself three times to be understood.
Buddha I am so glad you came to visit me today in the form of one crazy ass lady.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
I Don't Want to Get Up Today
I don't want to get up today, but I have. That's the way a Queenpin has to roll. I have gotten up and made pancakes with the beasties. I think I ooed and ahhed and laughed in all the right places. I have done dishes, and since we're house/dog sitting I have given 4 dogs medicine and food and let them all out. Shouldn't I be able to call it a day? But it's only 8:45 a.m. so a Queenpin has to rally. There's big beasts' birthday party to pull off. Fucking, fuck, fuck. Fuck a fucking duck and smash all it's eggs.
The beasties' dad has decided to choose this time to tantrum which means he's pissed at me so he won't see the kids. Plus I'm in the process of taking him to court. My man and I are having a little "time apart" so there's no good lovin' for Queenpin. I have to go to work and look for a new job. Plus, I friggin' forgot to go to the evaluation meeting for my daughter to get into her new preschool next year. I'm applying for more schooling for me which is three nights a week, plus the 6 days a month I'm gone from my kids for acupuncture school, all of which I have spotty childcare for and money? Shit, that better start growing on trees. Then there's the whole having to get my sweet big beast tested by the public schools because he's dyslexic. Have I mentioned that I am also trying not to ruin two kids while doing this?
I feel like I'm doing something wrong. Why can't I find my peace in this? It's been months since I meditated consistently. It has been awhile since I felt real inner freedom. It is not that I don't have moments of laughter and joy, but everything is weighted by a feeling of unease, of burden, of more to do. I know that to free myself from this all I need to do is be in the moment, but damn it, that is hard. When I drop into this very moment it is painful and scary so I jump on my wheel of things to do like a hamster in her cage and I run with no destination in sight.
For a woman who is getting used to being in control there is also this sense that I must be in control of this. Am I causing this? Am I somehow bringing on the drama because I think I need it to survive, to thrive?
I want to curl up in the fetal position and wait until it's over, but life isn't over until it's over and I certainly don't want that. I used to have the belief that if you felt enough gratitude you wouldn't feel self-pity and fear, but I am finding that is not the case. I am so grateful for my big juicy life, full of love, love, love, but I am overwhelmed by what there is to get done. Prayers and mantras ease my soul, moments with the beasties, moments with my amazing friends they are such gifts, but that doesn't take away all that I have to do. No one can do this but the Queenpin, and that is making me look a little crazy in the eyes and feel like a little nutso in my soul.
What I know to do is to duck and roll with it. That's what I feel like I've done since the wusband left. I put my shoulder to the wind and just take the next step. When I have moments of joy I try to savor them like chocolate melting on my tongue. I'm getting up today. I'm going to figure out a creative answer to the question my daughter just posed, "Mama, what is this?" Instead of explaining the actual use for the tampon she is holding, I think I'll try to force a little joy into my day by telling her it is bath toy.
The beasties' dad has decided to choose this time to tantrum which means he's pissed at me so he won't see the kids. Plus I'm in the process of taking him to court. My man and I are having a little "time apart" so there's no good lovin' for Queenpin. I have to go to work and look for a new job. Plus, I friggin' forgot to go to the evaluation meeting for my daughter to get into her new preschool next year. I'm applying for more schooling for me which is three nights a week, plus the 6 days a month I'm gone from my kids for acupuncture school, all of which I have spotty childcare for and money? Shit, that better start growing on trees. Then there's the whole having to get my sweet big beast tested by the public schools because he's dyslexic. Have I mentioned that I am also trying not to ruin two kids while doing this?
I feel like I'm doing something wrong. Why can't I find my peace in this? It's been months since I meditated consistently. It has been awhile since I felt real inner freedom. It is not that I don't have moments of laughter and joy, but everything is weighted by a feeling of unease, of burden, of more to do. I know that to free myself from this all I need to do is be in the moment, but damn it, that is hard. When I drop into this very moment it is painful and scary so I jump on my wheel of things to do like a hamster in her cage and I run with no destination in sight.
For a woman who is getting used to being in control there is also this sense that I must be in control of this. Am I causing this? Am I somehow bringing on the drama because I think I need it to survive, to thrive?
I want to curl up in the fetal position and wait until it's over, but life isn't over until it's over and I certainly don't want that. I used to have the belief that if you felt enough gratitude you wouldn't feel self-pity and fear, but I am finding that is not the case. I am so grateful for my big juicy life, full of love, love, love, but I am overwhelmed by what there is to get done. Prayers and mantras ease my soul, moments with the beasties, moments with my amazing friends they are such gifts, but that doesn't take away all that I have to do. No one can do this but the Queenpin, and that is making me look a little crazy in the eyes and feel like a little nutso in my soul.
What I know to do is to duck and roll with it. That's what I feel like I've done since the wusband left. I put my shoulder to the wind and just take the next step. When I have moments of joy I try to savor them like chocolate melting on my tongue. I'm getting up today. I'm going to figure out a creative answer to the question my daughter just posed, "Mama, what is this?" Instead of explaining the actual use for the tampon she is holding, I think I'll try to force a little joy into my day by telling her it is bath toy.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Madame Zoe Will See You Now
The last time I went to a psychic was a few months after the wusband left. I drove an hour away and the lady and I sat and smoked cigarettes and talked about what had been and what was to come. It was good for me and drove me a little crazy at the same time.
She told me things that grounded me. She told me my kids were going to be fine. She told me what they would be when they grew up. She told me a biker that I had known before was going to come into my life (that would be my man). She told me I was going to be surrounded by women, new women friends, who would support me. She told me I was going to be successful. Her words gave me something to hold onto when my life my spinning out of control.
What has driven me crazy about going to a psychic is the, "Is this it?" factor. The question that pops up every time something jiggles a memory of what she said. Is this what she was talking about? Still, almost 4 years later her predictions haunt me. She told me some things I didn't want to hear too and I wonder when they are going to happen. Or are they?
That's the thing about a psychic. You think it's probably bullshit, but you grasp onto the answers anyway because certainty seems such a gift. If she got somethings right, did she get everything right? Is everything already set in stone in my life, or do I have choices? I tell myself I have free will and nothing is set in stone, yet there are things she said that I can't forget or erase and they haunt me a little. I had said to myself I wouldn't go to another psychic, but then there was this tent at a music festival.....
It was a raining cats and dogs music festival. It was great. Me and the beasties and some friends all holed up in the kids' tent hanging out eating fair food and some of us were running wild (do I need to mention who?). It was yummy. I wasn't asking for trouble, but then me and the friends started talking about a business idea. I have to tell you the air was humming from our creative energy. One of the women got up and said, "I've been waiting all day to get my cards read," and off she went. When she returned she said, "You all have to go." Her eyes were wild with the fever of possibility. I let the other women go first, hoping that by the time they returned my time would be up and I would slip out having never seen they card reader. Nope. Each woman returned telling me, "You have to go, you have to go."
The tent stood in the middle of the festival. It was properly decorated with scarves, comfy chairs, a table and a couch. I had known the card reader since I was a child, but had never been around her in this capacity. I also hadn't seen her in years. She was tired, I was wet. We decide to do a quicky.
She started the quicky reading with, "You have been through a lot of struggle. A lot of really hard stuff." She paused, "A lot of struggles, but that's over now." She went on to say all these great things about me being pregnant with creativity about to burst forth. She told me a little about my man. We talked about my children. But mostly that statement, "That's over now" is what sticks in my head and I have been repeating it ever since. That's over now, the struggle is over.
I breath a sigh of relief when I say it. I say it as I am gearing up to take my wusband back to court (nope, not divorced yet). I say it as I talk to the principal of my sons' new school who treats me like an idiot. I say it as I try to decide how to handle being fired. I say it as I set boundaries with my man. I say it to ease my soul, because I am tired of the struggle. I don't want to fight anymore.
This morning I got up and made a collage called "Warrior". Is there a way to be a warrior, take care of yourself and your beasts, but not feel the struggle? Not create a bloodbath? What would the Don say? How did that man have the energy for all of this fighting, all of this standing up for yourself and your brood?
I put a picture of the protector Buddha on my collage, I wrote his mantra on the side OM VAJRA WIKI WITRANA SOHA. I'm sure he can be a fighter with peace in his soul. Maybe it just takes practice. I'm not good at this being fierce thing. It makes me uncomfortable and exhausts me, but I have been forced into it again and again. Ahhhh lesssons. We all know in life the struggle is not really going to end, so now I need to learn how to change the way I deal with the struggle. "That's over now" must mean I've got to learn how to tame the struggle from within. What a fucking bitch.
She told me things that grounded me. She told me my kids were going to be fine. She told me what they would be when they grew up. She told me a biker that I had known before was going to come into my life (that would be my man). She told me I was going to be surrounded by women, new women friends, who would support me. She told me I was going to be successful. Her words gave me something to hold onto when my life my spinning out of control.
What has driven me crazy about going to a psychic is the, "Is this it?" factor. The question that pops up every time something jiggles a memory of what she said. Is this what she was talking about? Still, almost 4 years later her predictions haunt me. She told me some things I didn't want to hear too and I wonder when they are going to happen. Or are they?
That's the thing about a psychic. You think it's probably bullshit, but you grasp onto the answers anyway because certainty seems such a gift. If she got somethings right, did she get everything right? Is everything already set in stone in my life, or do I have choices? I tell myself I have free will and nothing is set in stone, yet there are things she said that I can't forget or erase and they haunt me a little. I had said to myself I wouldn't go to another psychic, but then there was this tent at a music festival.....
It was a raining cats and dogs music festival. It was great. Me and the beasties and some friends all holed up in the kids' tent hanging out eating fair food and some of us were running wild (do I need to mention who?). It was yummy. I wasn't asking for trouble, but then me and the friends started talking about a business idea. I have to tell you the air was humming from our creative energy. One of the women got up and said, "I've been waiting all day to get my cards read," and off she went. When she returned she said, "You all have to go." Her eyes were wild with the fever of possibility. I let the other women go first, hoping that by the time they returned my time would be up and I would slip out having never seen they card reader. Nope. Each woman returned telling me, "You have to go, you have to go."
The tent stood in the middle of the festival. It was properly decorated with scarves, comfy chairs, a table and a couch. I had known the card reader since I was a child, but had never been around her in this capacity. I also hadn't seen her in years. She was tired, I was wet. We decide to do a quicky.
She started the quicky reading with, "You have been through a lot of struggle. A lot of really hard stuff." She paused, "A lot of struggles, but that's over now." She went on to say all these great things about me being pregnant with creativity about to burst forth. She told me a little about my man. We talked about my children. But mostly that statement, "That's over now" is what sticks in my head and I have been repeating it ever since. That's over now, the struggle is over.
I breath a sigh of relief when I say it. I say it as I am gearing up to take my wusband back to court (nope, not divorced yet). I say it as I talk to the principal of my sons' new school who treats me like an idiot. I say it as I try to decide how to handle being fired. I say it as I set boundaries with my man. I say it to ease my soul, because I am tired of the struggle. I don't want to fight anymore.
This morning I got up and made a collage called "Warrior". Is there a way to be a warrior, take care of yourself and your beasts, but not feel the struggle? Not create a bloodbath? What would the Don say? How did that man have the energy for all of this fighting, all of this standing up for yourself and your brood?
I put a picture of the protector Buddha on my collage, I wrote his mantra on the side OM VAJRA WIKI WITRANA SOHA. I'm sure he can be a fighter with peace in his soul. Maybe it just takes practice. I'm not good at this being fierce thing. It makes me uncomfortable and exhausts me, but I have been forced into it again and again. Ahhhh lesssons. We all know in life the struggle is not really going to end, so now I need to learn how to change the way I deal with the struggle. "That's over now" must mean I've got to learn how to tame the struggle from within. What a fucking bitch.
Mama's Boy
I love the boyness of my boy
His dirty fingernails caked with mud
His bare chest streaking by
As he runs
Nerf gun poised for the kill
I love the wicked grin of my boy
Too big teeth, crooked and gapped
His mouth wide open
As he laughs
At his mischievous ways
I love the gentleness of my boy
His bird wing shoulder blades
Lifted against the world
As he maneuvers
Through our storm filled sky
I love the soul that is in my boy
Unfolding into the man he will be
Big heart beating
As he steps
Gingerly creating his path through this life
His dirty fingernails caked with mud
His bare chest streaking by
As he runs
Nerf gun poised for the kill
I love the wicked grin of my boy
Too big teeth, crooked and gapped
His mouth wide open
As he laughs
At his mischievous ways
I love the gentleness of my boy
His bird wing shoulder blades
Lifted against the world
As he maneuvers
Through our storm filled sky
I love the soul that is in my boy
Unfolding into the man he will be
Big heart beating
As he steps
Gingerly creating his path through this life
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Focusing on Who Peed in the Bathtub
Is it wrong to love being a mother because it gets you out of your shit? I mean, that's not the only reason I love being a mother, but it is a great perk.
The other night I had had such a long, long day. I was depressed about my job and tired from getting up at 4:30 a.m. and doing stuff to feed my soul. I was going to give my very stinky little beastie a bath, but when I walked into the bathroom Holy Mother Mary, it smelled like pee. Now I have an 8 year old boy, so I know all the obvious places to look. My eyes scanned the toilet, the floor, the trash can (oh yeah, he pees right in it), nothing. Littlest Beast said, Mommy, did someone pee in the bathtub? No, who would do that? Yet, as I looked there was a suspicious yellow tinge DRIED in the bottom of the tub and a soaked wash cloth looking a little more ginger colored than I believed that it should.
Little Beast, did you pee in the tub?
No, mommy! She was shocked I would even ask. Or was that just good denial. Hmmmmm. I let it drop. Big Beast wasn't home so I would have time to plan my interogation. I cleaned-ish the tub. Threw the disgusting wash cloth down to the laundry and bathed littlest beast, which consisted of me cleaning the kitchen while she played in soapy and (now dirt filled) water.
I thought of how to get to the bottom of the mysterious pisser. WWDD? What would the Don do? I stood at the stink and giggled to myself at visions of sitting them down and shinning a light in their faces until someone cracked. Holding up favorite toys over the trash can and threatening that if no one admitted their guilt a toy would get it. And I then I realized I hadn't thought about my shit once since the discover of the pee in the bathtub.
No stress about finding work, no grief about losing my job, no fear, just scheming about how to torture the beasties a little. I love those beasts. I love that by raising them, I raise myself out of my shit. In the end I asked Big Beast if he had peed in the bathtub. No. Damn those kids are good. I asked and then I let it go. The important part was that it got me into the present. The pee in the bathtub got me focused on the moment and pulled me back down to earth.
The other night I had had such a long, long day. I was depressed about my job and tired from getting up at 4:30 a.m. and doing stuff to feed my soul. I was going to give my very stinky little beastie a bath, but when I walked into the bathroom Holy Mother Mary, it smelled like pee. Now I have an 8 year old boy, so I know all the obvious places to look. My eyes scanned the toilet, the floor, the trash can (oh yeah, he pees right in it), nothing. Littlest Beast said, Mommy, did someone pee in the bathtub? No, who would do that? Yet, as I looked there was a suspicious yellow tinge DRIED in the bottom of the tub and a soaked wash cloth looking a little more ginger colored than I believed that it should.
Little Beast, did you pee in the tub?
No, mommy! She was shocked I would even ask. Or was that just good denial. Hmmmmm. I let it drop. Big Beast wasn't home so I would have time to plan my interogation. I cleaned-ish the tub. Threw the disgusting wash cloth down to the laundry and bathed littlest beast, which consisted of me cleaning the kitchen while she played in soapy and (now dirt filled) water.
I thought of how to get to the bottom of the mysterious pisser. WWDD? What would the Don do? I stood at the stink and giggled to myself at visions of sitting them down and shinning a light in their faces until someone cracked. Holding up favorite toys over the trash can and threatening that if no one admitted their guilt a toy would get it. And I then I realized I hadn't thought about my shit once since the discover of the pee in the bathtub.
No stress about finding work, no grief about losing my job, no fear, just scheming about how to torture the beasties a little. I love those beasts. I love that by raising them, I raise myself out of my shit. In the end I asked Big Beast if he had peed in the bathtub. No. Damn those kids are good. I asked and then I let it go. The important part was that it got me into the present. The pee in the bathtub got me focused on the moment and pulled me back down to earth.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Fired!
Fired, laid off, let go, contract not renewed, fucked. No matter how you phrase it it feels like shit. Part of my heartache post last week was about being fired. My heart has been breaking since I found out my contract as a teacher is not going to be renewed next year. I had a friend who was recently laid off and when I saw her she was so sad and fragile. She had taken it so personally and I thought, " How could she, amazing, beautiful, smart, and dynamic woman, think it was about her?" Now I get it. Now I feel it and it is fucking brutal.
I have taught at an amazing school for 10 years. I have love, love, loved it. I love the energy of kids, I love my co-workers. I feel like I have grown up there. My sweet beasties go to school there. They come give me squeezes on the playground. Now we'll all be leaving. Me and the beasties will leave our sweet shelter and be thrown out to the world of public schools and the unemployment office. I know it is life, I know there could be worse, but my heart still breaks for losing my community and the fact that my kids won't grow up going to this school that teaches a child how to love learning, love others, and love themselves.
It feels like divorce all over again. The shock of it, the ache of it, the knowledge that in the end it may be the best thing, but right now, oh man, right now it hurts. The grieving begins, and I curl up and wait for it to be over.
I have taught at an amazing school for 10 years. I have love, love, loved it. I love the energy of kids, I love my co-workers. I feel like I have grown up there. My sweet beasties go to school there. They come give me squeezes on the playground. Now we'll all be leaving. Me and the beasties will leave our sweet shelter and be thrown out to the world of public schools and the unemployment office. I know it is life, I know there could be worse, but my heart still breaks for losing my community and the fact that my kids won't grow up going to this school that teaches a child how to love learning, love others, and love themselves.
It feels like divorce all over again. The shock of it, the ache of it, the knowledge that in the end it may be the best thing, but right now, oh man, right now it hurts. The grieving begins, and I curl up and wait for it to be over.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Heartache
Last week therapy was on heartache. A Queenpin doesn’t really feel like she has the right to heartache. What Queenpin has the time to wallow in her broken heart? She has to move on and take care of her brood. She has children to raise, children to teach, a house to clean, classes to study for, plus how the hell do you actually mend a broken heart? Al Green didn’t know either, “how do you stop the rain from coming down?” You got it Al, that’s how impossible it seems for me too.
You know what this Queenpin has done to mend her heart (See 12/11/10 post Opening a Can of Worms, or My Heart……Whatever). She has shut down and built an amazing fortress around her heart. My fortress is heavy stone and beautiful sea glass, it is meanacing yet beautiful and I have such a hard time both loving it and hating it at the same time.
When the music started this week in therapy I was to descend down a staircase. Mine was a spiral, grey stone staircase with walls of grey stone on either side (I am really into this grey stone thing right now). At the bottom was my heart. It was HUGE and by huge I mean the size of a cruise ship huge. A ginormous red, purple, glistening, real heart. As soon as I got down at the bottom of the stairs I stomped on that heart. Really. I kicked it. I had a tantrum on it. Fucking heart. Fucking sensitive, make me feel pain, piece of friggin’ meat. Who needs you? and then I jumped off ready to move on, but of course my therapist was having none of that.
As a gansta mama I should have gotten up and shot that therapist right between the eyes, but since that is illegal, I think he’s a good therapist, and I am a Buddhist I let it slide and I let him guide me inward to the heart that lives in my chest. Jeez what a cold, dark piece of coal that is. Not even worms would want to live there. I can’t pinpoint the time when I began to close up shop. Maybe even before the wusband left. All I know is that it has been a slow and steady process of piling black tar over my heart until what I have left is this black stone. That’s what it looked like in my therapy session. A black stone, but I knew inside there was this beautiful diamond. With xray vision I saw the facets, the sparkle, and the shine. Queenpin could really use a diamond like that. That many karats would pay the bills for years. So the trick is how to get to it.
I miss loving without fear. I miss the way I used to love with abandon. I loved loving everyone, friends, family, people I just met. When I meet someone new these days or see someone I think could hurt me even a little my fortress comes down. I can physically feel lock down coming and it makes me sad. When I do that it shuts me off from the light of the spirit of others and it is a joy killer. It separates me from others, but I can't stop it. Its become an ingrained habit, and in my deepest place I'm not sure I'm ready to give it up. Though each time I shut down it dampens my own flame, it has been such a good protection for me and my heart. My beaten, battered, scared of its own shadow heart.
We moved on in therapy. My hands began to gently massage my cold, black heart and slowly it softened into clay. A buddha sat in meditation on it as I worked. A crack appeared in it and the diamond showed through, but then I stopped. I'm not ready I said, and of course because this is friggin' therapy, I cried. I am afraid. More than I want the old loving me back, I am afraid of throwing her to the wolves again.
The music changed in the session and I moved onto a new place in my mind and I stood with my fortress covering me, I shrugged it off and there was nothing underneath. I was naked and exposed so I hid from the world. That is what heartache has done to me. I feel like there is no me anymore. Who is this Queenpin? Where is this Queenpin? I am not the strong woman I thought I was. I am not the light and joy and laughter I thought I was. I am just a woman, a lost soul. The foundation of me was knocked down and now I am built of sand, forever shifting.
What would the Don say to this? I can see his disgusted face now. How can you run an organization when you are saying you are sand? What is that crazy shit? Put your damn fortress back on and get out there, but there might be a glint of recognition there. A part of him that relates, because who doesn't relate to heartache?
I wish I could sit down with him and say, "Don, how'd you do it? Wear the fortress yet still love those kids?" but of course he can't answer, he let his fortress down and died of a heart attack in the garden playing with his grandson. Maybe thats what happens when you bury love behind a fortress for too many years. You let the walls down, even for a minute, and all that pent up love floods out leaving the heart behind to shrivel up and die.
You know what this Queenpin has done to mend her heart (See 12/11/10 post Opening a Can of Worms, or My Heart……Whatever). She has shut down and built an amazing fortress around her heart. My fortress is heavy stone and beautiful sea glass, it is meanacing yet beautiful and I have such a hard time both loving it and hating it at the same time.
When the music started this week in therapy I was to descend down a staircase. Mine was a spiral, grey stone staircase with walls of grey stone on either side (I am really into this grey stone thing right now). At the bottom was my heart. It was HUGE and by huge I mean the size of a cruise ship huge. A ginormous red, purple, glistening, real heart. As soon as I got down at the bottom of the stairs I stomped on that heart. Really. I kicked it. I had a tantrum on it. Fucking heart. Fucking sensitive, make me feel pain, piece of friggin’ meat. Who needs you? and then I jumped off ready to move on, but of course my therapist was having none of that.
As a gansta mama I should have gotten up and shot that therapist right between the eyes, but since that is illegal, I think he’s a good therapist, and I am a Buddhist I let it slide and I let him guide me inward to the heart that lives in my chest. Jeez what a cold, dark piece of coal that is. Not even worms would want to live there. I can’t pinpoint the time when I began to close up shop. Maybe even before the wusband left. All I know is that it has been a slow and steady process of piling black tar over my heart until what I have left is this black stone. That’s what it looked like in my therapy session. A black stone, but I knew inside there was this beautiful diamond. With xray vision I saw the facets, the sparkle, and the shine. Queenpin could really use a diamond like that. That many karats would pay the bills for years. So the trick is how to get to it.
I miss loving without fear. I miss the way I used to love with abandon. I loved loving everyone, friends, family, people I just met. When I meet someone new these days or see someone I think could hurt me even a little my fortress comes down. I can physically feel lock down coming and it makes me sad. When I do that it shuts me off from the light of the spirit of others and it is a joy killer. It separates me from others, but I can't stop it. Its become an ingrained habit, and in my deepest place I'm not sure I'm ready to give it up. Though each time I shut down it dampens my own flame, it has been such a good protection for me and my heart. My beaten, battered, scared of its own shadow heart.
We moved on in therapy. My hands began to gently massage my cold, black heart and slowly it softened into clay. A buddha sat in meditation on it as I worked. A crack appeared in it and the diamond showed through, but then I stopped. I'm not ready I said, and of course because this is friggin' therapy, I cried. I am afraid. More than I want the old loving me back, I am afraid of throwing her to the wolves again.
The music changed in the session and I moved onto a new place in my mind and I stood with my fortress covering me, I shrugged it off and there was nothing underneath. I was naked and exposed so I hid from the world. That is what heartache has done to me. I feel like there is no me anymore. Who is this Queenpin? Where is this Queenpin? I am not the strong woman I thought I was. I am not the light and joy and laughter I thought I was. I am just a woman, a lost soul. The foundation of me was knocked down and now I am built of sand, forever shifting.
What would the Don say to this? I can see his disgusted face now. How can you run an organization when you are saying you are sand? What is that crazy shit? Put your damn fortress back on and get out there, but there might be a glint of recognition there. A part of him that relates, because who doesn't relate to heartache?
I wish I could sit down with him and say, "Don, how'd you do it? Wear the fortress yet still love those kids?" but of course he can't answer, he let his fortress down and died of a heart attack in the garden playing with his grandson. Maybe thats what happens when you bury love behind a fortress for too many years. You let the walls down, even for a minute, and all that pent up love floods out leaving the heart behind to shrivel up and die.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)