It Hurts.

me n mama 2017

“Watching your mother tortuously and slowly sink into the grips of death is equal to that of existing on a daily basis without being able to make anything at all better for someone who has always found a way to make things better for me.”

Hardwired.

“…love was as hardwired into the structure of the universe as gravity and matter.”
– Dan Simmons, The Rise of Endymion

 

Love is not knowing, but jumping in anyway.
Love is the feeling of stitches dissolving in your skin.
Love is the smile of an innocent child in the grips of wonder.
Love is a giant, canine bearing sea-lion being afraid of you.
Love is sunshine.
Love is an all-encompassing acceptance that changes your DNA.
Love is hoping against all logic or reason.
Love is being the first face to come into view, every time.
Love can be tangible.
Love can be fickle.
Love can bring us to our knees, in many different variances.
Love will NEVER leave us alone.
Love is darkness.
Love is light.
Love is the answer as well as the question in languages that humanity does not yet speak.
Love may be a language that humanity as we know it never learns.
Love was the mother of all Hatred.
Love is the force behind all of it, everything.
Love bore Mother Earth, the Sun, and every star.
Love is God. God is a Goddess. The Goddess falls back in Love.
Love can conquer all.
Love doesn’t necessarily want to conquer all.
And lastly,

When I didn’t love Love,

it loved Me, Anyway.

Come and Go.

A Masterpiece that will always deeply touch and move me; one that I can’t take credit for.

It’s by Rob (Just Ruminating) and it’s a powerful, powerful piece.

it’s called “Come and Go”; enjoy…

Come and Go

Her back never faces the door

“I’ll only need you on certain days”

she says
(absently)

“I’ll have to write them down
my memory doesn’t work so well
especially when I am caught up”

she’s thinking
(a lovely stare)

“Who is that in the mirror?
Where did she come from
why the fuck is she here?
I don’t need this shit right now
She shouldn’t be here!”

I ask
(matter-of-factly)

“Where did you go? Does the rain
bleed sideways always?  Or
does it come in sporadic torrents
spurting out
covering everything
like a permanent stain?”

She ignores that and says
(solemnly)

“I don’t sleep so well
insomnia from hell, really.
She gets her claws into me
so that I trance the rage.
Over and over and over and
over again
almost comical.  I can’t wait
until the coffee is so strong that
it sends her into a
tailspin for once.  Just once…”

Bemused I say

“But it’s more than just caffeine
you need on most days right?
I see you in paintings everyday
you are always so resigned in your
poses. You can either look like
something is
coming around the corner at you
or you can look like
you have beheld the Gods.”

“Easy for you to say,”

She chuckles
(endearingly)

“I think I’ll rest now. I can’t
remember all these details.
My memory can play tricks on me
sometimes I feel like I’m an actress
in my very own horror flick.
I watch the scenes go by indifferently
perhaps if I got the cobwebs out
I’d be able to see things more clearly
find the pause button, you know?
I never did dye my hair…”

she says wistfully
(her repose sexy)

I smile
I say
(sincerely)

“I love your hair just the way it is”

then I say
(coyly)

“Although, I must say, blue would
really bring out your intense eyes
I wonder, will she be home later?
If so,
will you tell her I will be
betwixt and between? Within and
without always just a touch away
until she works through her shit?
I will be around permanently.”

She smirks
(cutely)

“Sure.  She probably thinks the
world is ending as we speak.
You know,
she’s good at catastrophizing
the shadows work best,
usually
she plays those same tapes,
over and over and over….
well, you get the idea
she can be engaged like that
so, I’m not sure if she is or isn’t.”

then she says
(rather adroitly)

“She’s hyper vigilant, that one
reminds me of me once I detach,
once I fixate on my salvation,
well…anyway…
you know I simply spend a
fuckload of time just trying to
get back to square one whatever
square one is is.”

I reply
(dramatically)

“Well square-fucking-one certainly
doesn’t fit your puzzle, does it?”

I lean in
(purposefully)

“I mean, all the squares have
transformed,
they are so different they’re hard
to recognize.
Are they not? There’s so
many of them that
even tunnel vision
even hyper vigilance
can’t always help you focus on
shapes that are always shifting though,
I must say you adapt quite well.”

She laughs
(contagiously)

“Shit, dude, I have to give you credit.
at least for your quirky imagination.
Christ is it time already?
I gotta get back to her
she could be in a state.
Hopefully not
in front of that fucking mirror
it’s not the best place on most days.
It clouds her judgment.
It needs replacing,
that, it’s cracked and warping.”

I rise
(instinctively)

“Thanks for stopping in.  I’ll
make sure
I have your brand next time you
come and go
I found a place that stocks it
regularly, the stuff of legends
will you do me a huge favor?”

I ask
(simply)

“Sure”
she says
rising
(grace imperceptible)

I put my hands on her small frame.
Looking at her intently,

I whisper
(tenderly)

“Just remember come and go
as you please she can too, especially
her
use my place whenever you need it
I know you’ll be sure to keep things
nice and tidy. You happen to be
quite masterful at that.  And
don’t worry,
I will continue to keep an eye out
you know, for both of you.”

She smiles wryly
(so lovely)

Glances a kiss
off my flushed cheek
turns and says
almost as an afterthought

“Aye, I know.  It makes all the
difference in the world
I know it does to me anyway.
I’m fairly sure for her as well.
She’s always taking stock, sorting
inventory, cleaning the messes up.
I’m pretty sure she knows though.
But you know how she is.”

As the door closes behind her

I think,
(happily)

“Not really. But I am learning,
I am learning.”

OG is SHE.

I LOVE this Lady…she is brimming with painfully raw inspiration, every day of her Life.

Check her out if you don’t know her already. She is so beautifully written. Oh, and a hardcore Survivor, too.

 

https://meptsdandallthefuckedupshitinbetween.wordpress.com/2017/02/09/responding-5-o-g-r-we/

 

Teela Hart’s Survivors.

I know people have wondered about it: the way that one of my dearest friends passed out of this world in silence almost a year ago now – without a word from me about it on my blog. I have gnawed a hole in one cheek over her death and the subsequent silence that has been attached to its deeply reverberating shock waves.

Teela was like a sister to me…she will always be like a sister to me.

The reason behind my lack of public response to Teela’s death is complex:

My late friend has children, the notable forces behind her strength and perseverance, the driving factor behind her survival for many years out of her life, the most recent years. Her children, as innocents, have undoubtedly been victimized alongside her throughout her domestic violence Hell over the years; they have also been subjected to loads of trauma and grief that no individual should have to carry, especially not alone.

I have been (im)patiently waiting to hear from any one of the three of them since Teela’s shocking death, to no avail. This has been why I have not openly mourned my friend’s passing yet – as I wanted to get in touch with her children, I wanted to allow them to have time to process and grieve. It was hard as Hell to wait without any word from them, and without any way to find them either.

I have been worried sick over the younger two (a boy and a girl – both still underage) since I learned that Tee was gone; I have been feeling things on a personal level in regard to their well-being (or lack, thereof), as Teela spent so much energy and time in carving out the taste of freedom and goodness that she was able to give them in the half-year or so leading up to her passing. I know that she would have looked out for my babies if the situation had ever called for it in our history together, and I have felt as if I needed to find her babies and look out for them now…in whatever capacity Life allows.

Teela’s daughter, (2 years younger than my own) finally reached out to me last night after all this time; and let me tell you it was one of the most surreal and touching (in ways both good and painful) experiences I have ever had. She is a beautiful young woman with a heart that mirrors her mama’s heart perfectly; she is a soldier just like her mama; she is struggling more than her mama would have ever been able to bear knowing – in so many various ways. But she reached out; and I intend to support her as strongly and undeniably as if she were Tee.

I was validated in my fears of what has become of Teela’s babies, that they have been forced through necessity to return from the Bat Cave to their father’s home in North Carolina…a fact that makes me want to wretch.

I confirmed many negatives and very few (if any) positives last night regarding the status of my late “Right Hand’s” surviving children…and I feel compelled to make it known to the world: the ways that these two underage and grieving children (of a TRUE mother bear that many of us knew and loved here at WP) continue to fight for the simplest of comforts and safety and security. I will write more on this topic after work, but in the meantime here’s how we can help Teela Hart’s Survivors. I thank you in advance for any humanity you might show these young people who have lost the ONLY positive force they’ve ever had.

https://www.gofundme.com/teela-harts-survivors

Things I’ve Learned From Dead People: One.

Since starting my new job at the Cemetery/Mortuary, I have learned several noteworthy things from dead people. I work in a place that is corporately run – with departments, teams, hiring bonuses and paid vacation days. We have over 100 employees physically working the grounds in various positions seven days a week, rain or shine; our shockingly diverse staff is comprised of people from every nationality, sexual orientation, race, social class, culture that are each chasing very different professional goals from day to day.

There are the snooty, stuck-up girl cliques in the offices (including mine); there are the poindexters who don’t know how to make eye contact with someone of the opposite sex; we have the “wise folks” – “the middle school” – and “the babies” (who are young enough to be my children, which has been an eye-opening disturbance in my personal self-image lol), three quite disparate age groups of employees of either sex, ranging from baby boomers to last year’s high school graduates…it makes up a rather striking workforce when it’s all smeared around the break room. Again, I have observed the community affect amongst these people, despite the fact that not a single one of us would hang out together on our own time, outside of work. In this case, it is the job ethic attached to the place we are employed together and engaged in daily actions with the families that we serve as a collective. We each have a task to complete perfectly in order to honor and respect the dead in the most memorable ways for each one that we receive.

It’s mind-blowing to me over and over, as we wrap up another service and interment/inurnment etc.: the absolute and undeniable amount of pride, dignity and poise that I repeatedly see in each and every person’s efforts. I have felt a renewed sense of hope in humanity since I started to notice this about my co-workers; it’s my entire company, in general, as we are trained heavily in ethics, professional decorum and appropriate behavior in this specific industry. It has been a really enriching experience already, somehow, despite the nature of its operations.

 

I have also found some things to be not so positive about working at a funeral home on cemetery grounds, such as:

 

  • Dead people do not have “wishes” any longer; whatever desires a dead person may have put into writing or words during Life get buried or cremated along with them.
  • Despite the hideously dwindling economy, the money being invested into land plots by people from ALL walks of Life before they die is TRULY MINDBOGGLING.
  • When it rains for 19 days straight in a cemetery, the place gets seriously hard on the eyes.
  • Just because people have solid work ethics doesn’t mean they take it home with them when they punch out.
  • It is true what they say about the gossip at the water cooler (which just so happens to be right behind my desk).

I Know.

I know what you’re thinking…

You’re thinking dark things to yourself now…like:

how all of those people in your past, the ones you helped nurse through to recovery from breast cancer, colon cancer, even a brain tumor; they’ve all gotten well and forgotten about you, when you needed those kindly offered favors returned. Oh Mama, how well I perceive how you feel.

You’re thinking about all the years that you poured out of yourself into others who are long dead already; you’re thinking about how short your end of the stick turned out to be; you’re thinking that you’ve been conquered by the things that other people do or say…or don’t do or say; you think it’s time to resign and become this helpless refugee who can’t find the motivation in your brain to keep your body moving your bones.

I’m thinking about how strong your spirit is when I look down onto your drawn face and seek out any flicker of light within those sunken eyes; I’m thinking back onto my youngest recollections of you: a beautiful woman in a skirt and pantyhose, wrenching at a flat tire on the freeway shoulder – not giving a fuck. I’m thinking about how much you have gone through in your hard lifetime already, even before Cancer pirated your body and brain; before your partner abandoned you and you became homeless…and, when I think about these things, I can barely breathe. I’m thinking about how you have the right to decide when you’re too tired to fight this bullshit life any longer, to “throw in the towel” as you said this morning to my nodding head and tear-streaked face. I’m thinking about so many things that make me feel as if I’m being strong-armed by some invisible being, robbed and stripped of my medals and badges.

You’re thinking it’s time to go; I’m thinking how much I hate the fact that I understand how you feel, completely.

Mama, you are not helpless, you could never be that; you’re not built that way…but you can be tired; you can be forlorn; just don’t be gone too soon.