bare trees against sky during sunset
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

A therapist once told me that I thrive on becoming rather than being.  He was

right, but I didn’t understand at the time it is a double edged sword

The excitement of becoming is a drug that can chase one into madly searching for somewhere to land

Being. Ah, being. Just being. It sounds like stasis. Boring, Stuck.

At this age, I realize that stasis is equilibrium and that is a very good thing. Balance.

Not a teetering on the edge kind of balance, but a discrete place of action and calm.

Pity this wisdom comes so late in life, but the richness of nuance and meaning adds immeasurably to each precious day on this side of the dirt.

Experiences become a symphony of light and serenity

of satisfaction and grace notes of grief and booms of being one in this place

while memories race to claim a seat in reality, they add color and depth

to what is already at hand

I want to taste and feel and understand and stay still in the moment

It is a good thing, a very good thing, to be here.

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I dragged these boots through the mud for months

Through the beating sun

Through biting flies

Through circles of swamp and lonely cold beans in the can

Through dusty nameless plains of cactus and snakes

I fell to my knees

I stared at cool stars until the fever broke and rest came

I am, I go on, I am empty, I go crazy and try to touch the sky

I chew on solitude

It tastes like old leather

And aches of a sky so blue it snatches my breath away

There is no turning back from these atrocities. There is no “I was just joking” minimizing.

This is the pivot point. We either reclaim our humanity or we continue down hell’s path.

I spoke to a woman who was nonchalant. She said, I’m legal. I stared at her. She was engulfed in “I got mine.”

I shopped today, minding my place. White supremacy. It hangs on me like a spiderweb.

I don’t know how to shed it. But I can do something. I can be one among many.

I can be non-centered. This isn’t my world. I just live in it. I can speak out as a human.

I make it an awareness and a yoke.

It is. It is a sunset in the finite understanding of tarot card readers and icy cold beers drawn from a

tap.

What is inside curls like smoke to the air.

It bends in the darkness that has settled over this big, brawling country.

My tiny flame, other tiny flames will form the fateful lightning of a terrible, swift sword. And truth will march on…

donation

keeps the kitties in kibble and me in tacos

$1.00

There are certain foods that can cause vivid, lucid dreams and nightmares.  I have a wild time with tomatoes.

The acid rewires my brain and causes some of the strangest dreams I’ve ever had.  Tonight was no exception.

After four homemade tacos, my body wanted to lie down for just a bit.  As my body is getting older and thus deserves all the respect, I acceded to its wishes.

In that ninety minute nap, I dreamed of electrodes fastened to my body while I entertained that weightless feeling one gets when the plane descends for a landing.  I was dredging up memories for a therapist, which I obliged, recounting happy times, sad times, all flashing like a newsreel with missing frames.  I was narrating, of course.  The therapist gave me a hug, and I felt warm and safe, sharing all these secrets with her.  I have no idea what these memories actually were, but they didn’t feel nearly as devastating as waking memories do.  Small thing to be grateful for, nevertheless.

At some point, I started talking.  Out loud.  For several minutes.  I woke myself up.

I got up, rubbed my face, noticed both cats staring at me, and the little one had her patented wide-eyed “you gonna eat me?” look.

Jane called from her room.  “You OK?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You were talking away in there.”

“What was I saying?”

“I don’t know.  It was gibberish.  Lots of it.”

“I guess the cats understood.  They are right here.”

“Maybe so.”

At that, I landed with a thump, gathered my mythical baggage and trudged off to reclaim life.