This old blog…

27 May

scares me. Makes me fear what was lost and what was gained.


wild card inside

9 Mar

it’s not been all sunshine and overflowing cups and smiles and energy here. i’ve had quite a few lows, usually proceeding the highs. but i am trying to catch my crests while they’re here and record them to remind me and keep me firm.

i asked a man out to help me with a photo project today. not as kinky as it sounds. and he hasn’t responded but it felt good to ask. even if it was through facebook haha.

this song makes me happy and dancing flash mobs at a mall i know especially so.

also these lyrics by feist do me good somehow. i didn’t know that it talked about lies right at the end, it was just the “i feel it all” opening that gets me every time.

I feel it all I feel it all
I feel it all I feel it all
The wings are wide the wings are wide
Wild card inside wild card inside

Oh I’ll be the one who’ll break my heart
I’ll be the one to hold the gun

I know more than I knew before
I know more than I knew before
I didn’t rest I didn’t stop
Did we fight or did we talk

Oh I’ll be the one who’ll break my heart
I’ll be the one to hold the gun

I love you more
I love you more
I don’t know what I knew before
But now I know I wanna win the war

No one likes to take a test
Sometimes you know more is less
Put your weight against the door
Kick drum on the basement floor
Stranded in a fog of words
Loved him like a winter bird
On my head the water pours
Gulf stream through the open door
Fly away
Fly away to what you want to make

I feel it all, I feel it all
I feel it all I feel it all
The wings are wide, the wings are wide
Wild card inside, wild card inside

Oh I’ll be the one to break my heart
I’ll be the one who’ll break my heart
I’ll be the one who’ll break my heart
I’ll end it though you started it

The truth lies
The truth lied
And lies divide
Lies divide


4 Mar

I painted today, just for the hell of it. (For the yell of it.)
I’m no painter, and it’s actually a bit embarrassing to show this here. It looks like a ten year old did it. But I guess that’s the idea. I had such a grand ole’ sloppy time sketching and mixing colors and broadly slapping the paint on. The sea and sky turned out alright, but everything else is crooked, perhaps fittingly so. It was a lot of fun and was a relaxing way to spend an hour or two. (Instead of always being in front of the computer. Though I guess here I am, back again.) I might try at some later point to make a much better draft of this, if I can.
This is a painting of a Tarot card. I’ve had a kind of guilty relationship with Tarot for a while. I don’t use it for predictive purposes, more just for psychoanalytical purposes, to see where my thoughts gravitate to. There are many inspiring archetypes and yes I’ll say it, plenty of tropes to find within all the Tarot cards. I like the patterns and the categories of abstract symbols though. I like seeing, like I said, what my thoughts grab onto.
I’ve painted another Tarot card before: The Fool. This one is of the ‘Ace of Cups’. It came up this morning while I fooled around on my usual Tarot website. I felt like painting it. I took the image roughly (and I mean very roughly) off of another website. Obviously the Christian and Buddhist symbols of dove and lotus and light are rampant here, and that’s fine with me. 🙂
The Ace of Cups is the card where ‘the cup runneth over’ with an abundance of love and hope. It’s a card of optimism and intimacy and peace. It represent a state of being blessed and assured, and being able to offer accepting compassion for those around you. The Ace in Tarot is made up of the best of all that suit has to offer and the suit of Cups generally represent Love in its purest form.
The meaning of this for me now is obvious, but it is not because some new person has entered my heart. I simply feel open to what I have now and what may come. I am ready to keep moving and I am ready to no longer scrape for drops, to simply, very simply, look around me and see what Love I have and can have, from all around.
I am alone now, more than I have ever been, now that he is distancing from my life. And yet for a moment, I stop and see: I am running over, free.

Something opens our wings.
Something makes boredom and hurt disappear.
Somebody fills the cup in front of us.
We taste only sacredness.
–Jelaluddin Rumi


18 Feb

I will get over this addiction tear by tear if need be. I will not see these seven or so years as lost but as something I had that was worth having at the time. Just something that is no longer for me. I will remember this is better for me and him. I will let myself feel the pain and emptiness. I will remember he doesn’t love me. I will not hate myself because of this. I will keep in mind that he can’t help me with this. I will let myself miss him and wish him well.
I will believe this is actually happening. I will not give in.
Right now the goal is to not call him for 2 days. That’s until Sunday night.
Can do this.

the possibility of life between us

1 Jan

I love a man and he is a man who has not always been truthful. He has hurt me because of this. A lot. More than I could at first explain. It is turmoil, it is like being hanged upside down, it is like being on a ship at storm. I feel the nausea, physically and really feel it, in the pit of my stomach.

I have compassion for inability to tell the full truth. The things we revile after all are those that lay deep seated in our own hearts. Too often we make our sins taboo, pretend they don’t exist within us. We shun
sinners and think if we can only stay away from them we will never have to be the same.

But it does hurt, to be around, and years have passed and I still find myself unable to fully trust. I am not as receptive to his words as I once was. It is draining, for both of us. I find I have to hide my mistrust and it is like an endless infinite rebound, a downward slippery spiral I have yet to figure out how to climb out of. Sometimes I resent him for this distrust that I grapple with, for the fact that he doesn’t know what I have to hide from him now too, to avoid hurting him, the way he did with me. I resent him for not appreciating that. And then I despair that I will just end up hurting him more and more.

These stupid loops. And sometimes it feels like it has all gone, completely, and then it just comes right back.

But no matter what I say or how hard I cry and how bad sometimes I just want to run away, I find deep down I want to be here and I want to work this out with him. I love him, or I am trying to?

I think it is maybe too that I believe it is ourselves we cannot escape, and we will find ourselves in everything and anything, and everything and anything is in ourselves, if we had the courage to stick around and just be. This is dangerously mystical but yes I think that is what it is, just the Love inside me.

I think too that maybe he is trying to be more open and transparent. Sometimes I really and truly feel this and see this. I feel he might be trying to be honest, but it is my very instincts about his truthfulness that I have had to question before, so I am not sure what could change that fully now. How to break out?

It is a leap of faith I need to take yes, but I don’t know how to scale it. Maybe that is the whole point. To jump in blindly yadayadaya.

Nothing terrifies me more, after what I had to go through.

Adrienne Rich has an essay: ‘Women and Honour: Notes on Lying” . They are just a bunch of notes, but they are absolutely devastating, in the best of ways. I’m not a literary critic so I can only talk of what it did for me.

I was astounded by how the notes are filled with compassion towards a liar, and yet how they are still cuttingly precise about just what it is that a liar loses, and what it is that (s)he takes away from those around. Adrienne’s reasons and context for writing about lies are completely different than my struggle with this man, and yet, they apply just as completely.

When I stumbled upon Adrienne’s notes months after I had found out this man had girlfriend I had no clue about, I started to tremble. I was so touched by what I read I could not even cry, could barely swallow. I just sat there and savored the words over and over again. I wanted to clutch the book from which I was reading, clutch it right to my chest, to my very soul. It is like someone had come in and said it, just that, just what I felt, just what I wanted to say. I wanted to read them to him.

Here are some extracts, which I respectfully place here and hope she will not mind:

We take so much of the universe on trust. You tell me: “In 1950 I lived on the north side of Beacon Street in Somerville.” You tell me: “She and I were lovers, but for months now we have only been good friends.” You tell me: “It is seventy degrees outside and the sun is shining.” Because I love you, because there is not even a question of lying between us, I take these accounts of the universe on trust: your address twenty-five years ago, your relationship with someone I know only by sight, this morning’s weather. I fling unconscious tendrils of belief, like slender green threads, across statements such as these, statements made so unequivocally, which have no tone or shadow of tentativeness. I build them into the mosaic of my world. I allow my universe to change in minute, significant ways, on the basis of things you have said to me, of my trust in you.

I also have faith that you are telling me things it is important I should know; that you do not conceal facts from me in an effort to spare me, or yourself, pain.

Or, at the very least, that you will say, “There are things I am not telling you.”

When we discover that someone we trusted can be trusted no longer, it forces us to reexamine the universe, to question the whole instinct and concept of trust. For a while, we are thrust back onto some bleak, jutting ledge, in a dark pierced by sheets of fire, swept by sheets of rain, in a world before kinship, or naming, or tenderness exist; we are brought close to formlessness.

The liar may resist confrontation, denying that she lied. Or she may use other language: forgetfulness, privacy, the protection of someone else. Or, she may bravely declare herself a coward. This allows her to go on lying, since that is what cowards do. She does not say, I was afraid, since this would open the question of other ways of handling her fear. It would open the question of what is actually feared.

She may say, I didn’t want to cause pain. What she really did not want is to have to deal with the other’s pain. The lie is a short-cut through another’s personality.

Truthfulness, honor, is not something which springs ablaze of itself; it has to be created between people.

The unconscious wants truth, as the body does. The complexity and fecundity of dreams come from the complexity and fecundity of the unconscious struggling to fulfill that desire. The complexity and fecundity of poetry come from the same struggle.

An honorable human relationship–that is, one in which two people have the right to use the word “love”–is a process, delicate, violent, often terrifying to both persons involved, a process of refining the truths they can tell each other.

It is important to do this because it breaks down human self-delusion and isolation.

It is important to do this because in so doing we do justice to our own complexity.

It is important to do this because we can count on so few people to go that hard way with us.

And here is my favourite part:

The possibilities that exist between two people, or among a group of people, are a kind of alchemy. They are the most interesting thing in life. The liar is someone who keeps losing sight of these possibilities.

When relationships are determined by manipulation, by the need for control, they may possess a dreary, bickering kind of drama, but they cease to be interesting. They are repetitious; the shock of human possibilities has ceased to reverberate through them. When someone tells me a piece of the truth which has been withheld from me, and which I needed in order to see my life more clearly, it may bring acute pain, but it can also flood me with a cold, sharp wash of relief. Often such truths come by accident, or from strangers.

It isn’t that to have an honorable relationship with you, I have to understand everything, or tell you everything at once, or that I can know, beforehand, everything I need to tell you.

It means that most of the time I am eager, longing for the possibility of telling you. That these possibilities may seem frightening, but not destructive, to me. That I feel strong enough to hear your tentative and groping words. That we both know we are trying, all the time, to extend the possibilities of truth between us.

The possibility of life between us.

I still feel that lump in my throat, that trembling when I read this now. The truth, knowing the truth, uncovering the truth, understanding the truth – this is what moves me through my life. Truth is God to me and God is Truth. It is my religion you could say, as extreme as that sounds. It is my passion and my reason for being. I betray my passion all the time. But it is what I hold in the sky and what I look up toward and what I hope will guide me.

If I could bring myself to ask him the questions, it would not be: is this-or-that thing you said true?

It would be: Do you hold the truth as sacred as I do? Are you eager to share it with me, even when scared? Not just for me or others, but for yourself?

And I would say: I promise to try and open again for you, and to have the strength to hear you.

i took my love and i took it down

27 Dec

sometimes you just have to let someone else say it for you. sometimes there’s just music, just a song to listen to, just a line to hold on to.

i took my love and i took it down.

(that is all. or there is more, but that’s enough for now.)

thank you stevie nicks.

love unconditional

3 Dec

My ideas on this are still forming.  I think about it a lot. I was thinking today we cannot choose who we love in this life. It seems it is true what they say.  It seems to be unconditional.  It seems to be some part of destiny  .  I do not really know why I love the ones that I do, simply that they came on my path and stuck to my guts.

Love and hope seems tied for me.  Hope springs eternal and love seems to be sourced from this same spring.  Love is special, divine in its vast faith, but it is not rare.  It is plentiful, grows easily from day to day, spreading out from each other like a nerve network.

I’m talking of all kinds of love.  Parental love.  Sibling love.  Love for life.  Love for myself.  Love for  my students .  Love for friends, that friend too, the only one who seems to read this now and then.  These loves seem to vary in intensity and expression, but seem to have a similar quality linking it back to the same divine source.

I’m thinking of this man I love  of course.  I’m thinking that this love has nothing to do with him and everything to do with him.

I love him.  This is freeing.

When he told me I love only myself through him, it was like a blow to my guts, just as devastating.  After what it felt to say that to him, it seemed too easy a dismissal.

But  I have grown to understand more of what he said and why.  I have loved his idea, his ideal, him as an idol, for a very long time, all in my own head, without expression or eyes to truly see.  I have looked in though and have watched this love mature.  He is no longer blindly on my pedestal, wavering.   I love him as a man now, the whole of him, feet on ground.  I have grown to love his hot and cold, his warm effervescence, his cool disregard.  I love  his twists and turns, his sometimes pushy ego, even his deceptions and his insecurities yes.  I love his blue eyes,  his sharp ears, his clean smell, his smooth milk skin.   I love his secrets and his difficulties and his mistakes and his lies.  I love his unique mind and his wide imagination.

(I could go on for a while, far after you will have already got the picture.) Continue reading

these months ahead

8 Nov

Even here, where the seasons only change from searing hot to less hot, I can feel the haunt of winter approaching. I can feel these are the months coming up that I will have to slug through. Where I push and push and break through into the new year and all the usual resolutions come weighing on my shoulders, pressuring me to achieve. And all these months still ahead to live, before you can even thaw. Waiting for the green to get loose again.

I’m in the middle of the desert, but I’m thinking of that polar bear on that Planet Earth documentary we watched today. How she spends her winter underneath the ground, hiding with her cubs, without a bite to eat for months. And how she wriggles out of this tiny hole come time for Spring. She then has to nurse her cubs with the last of her reserves. And even then, it’s not over yet, there are the weeks ahead yet, struggling through melting ice, where she has to trek across miles to hunt in a barren land. But when she first comes out of the hole, she lets herself slip and slide down the icy hill, like a child on a slide. In some form of animal umitigated joy.

I need to put on some polar bear reserve fat.

Maybe this year I will simply resolve to be happy. No ifs ands or buts. No roads to happiness to walk. Only happiness now.

Winter’s coming, it’s whispering fears, but it’s telling me too: courage. Square the shoulders, steady the knees. I’m telling myself, it will be fine, no, it will be great. Send love. Be love. Offer your kindness. Go out of your way.

I have a tiny heart, beating, in my hands, only for you.  Help it grow.

truth ya can’t handle

25 Oct

The truth is hard to write, and it is hard to write anything but the truth.

I was thinking today there are some you grow to love to hate, but he is someone who I have grown to hate to love.

You may think hate is vicious and it can be, as I can be with him, but mostly it is debilitating, like the hate get directed inward, and it is my own muscle and sinew being macerated at with a blunt knife. For me it is this constant gnawing nausea and dread around him. It never really fully lifts. Even when I am not acting out of that place, it lurks in the shadows ready to hit again.

Continue reading


20 Oct

i am fairly certain that i am crazy.  i am slowly losing my mind.  i feel disoriented and not sure of where i am.  or maybe i am tricking myself to believing that. i don’t want to be here writing these words.  i  think.  i thought  i wanted carefree inspiring words.  but it seems like i am in this tight tight bud that never wants to burst.  it is so dark and yet  maybe i want to be where i am.  maybe there is clarity here, if i just gave in.  i want to disconnect. i feel if i sit down and think myself into craziness. i could just let it wash over me.  i think this is why my chest is so tight and my heart is racing and my feet are tingling and maybe it is why i am passing in and out of consciousness.

or so it feels.

Continue reading