Thought Passages

For weeks, (months?), my body has been filled with tension, and has exhibited many of the various symptoms that stress uses to get our attention. Also the emotional me has been flitting about hyper-actively. None of which is really new for me. Except, of late, I am more aware of the ambiguous nature most of my thoughts follow. My over-analysis of self, my self-involvement, or self-absorption has been placed on hold...to the extent that one such as I can do so.

I don't know if it is a result of my time away from home, the mindf**kng encounters I had with soon-to-be-ex last weekend, or just the passing of time itself, but two things have occurred that I am now attempting to hold onto, very very tightly.

I am entering the acceptance phase, the "It's going to be OK." phase, of the grief process regarding my divorce, and, I woke up on Friday morning with, "I AM NOT GOING TO BE A VICTIM ANYMORE!!!" reverberating through my head. The words truly felt as if they were echoing within. They gave me such a feeling of strength. The next thought for me was,"Some may think I've become a Bitch, but I don't care, I refuse to lie tummy-up in my usual submissive pose, if those important to me wish to think I have become a bitch, then so be it!"

I am achanging. There are some things about this process I acknowledge, (1) I know reversing years of being mindf**ked years of beliefs is extremely difficult, but my core beliefs about myself and the world at large are still inside, hiding maybe, but they're there, (2) The rational side of me knows there will be times when my old (the last 33 years) way of thinking will take over again, (3) But, I want/wish/hope/need these new thought processes to take root in my rather dense brain and stay.

The time away from home/family/friends was good for me.

I spent hours and hours walking my first two days in Houston, hours that were much needed. Although gotta say...Houston is not a city designed for walking, at least not the portion of it I was in, I have a feeling most Houstoners (Houstonites?) drive even if only going a few short blocks. But the walks served their purpose, I finally found the bottles of wine I was searching for, not easy on a Sunday morning in Houston! More importantly, the tension had left my body, my mind was less fretful, I allowed myself no internalization of thought, if one attempted a landing in my mind, I would shew it away, to fly on the breeze like dandelion puff seedlings, telling them to go tickle someone else's brain for awhile. Doing so was important...it allowed me to loosen my focus in all other areas of my life...in fact I refused to focus on the past or the future... at times there was a lot of shewing going on... but, I accomplished my goal, in large part I stayed very much in the moment I was experiencing, and if thoughts of home/family/friends entered my head (I might make a call to soothe a worry), but, then I would let them loose as well.

On the Sunday evening I was away, I met a truly gorgeous man, who in the space of only a few brief moments seemed to see directly into me. "You need to open your heart, it's time, you've been closed off too long." There was more to our conversation, but those are the words that have stayed with me. He was someone I felt I was supposed to meet that day. His words and actions left me feeling beautiful, they fed my soul. As my days in Houston passed, there were several times the thought entered my mind to go back and thank him, but I never did. He had made it very plain to me he wished to spend more time with me by offering to take me to dinner that night, but I didn't take him up on his offer. There are many reasons why, all rather ambiguous in nature.


Passage: A movement from one place to another, as by going by, through, over, or across; transit or migration. The process of passing from one condition or stage to another; transition.

I have spent that last three years plus of my life transitioning.

I was, and at times, still am, weary, so very weary (I think I have blogged that before) of it all.

Since my return home, the visualization of living a segmented life has been with me. My brain just conjured up one of those huge green tomato worms. I want to be done with all that. I am ready to morph into something else...but...but...what? Wrong species, but the image of it metamorphosing into a lunar moth when I complete my journey just flickered into being. I wish to fly to the moon and back again, (yeah I know they don't, but its the thought).

**Another image...I have been beating against the walls of a glass jar for years, no wonder I am full of ambiguities at this stage of my life.**

Midweek, of the week before I left for the conference, I gave myself a few stolen hours. Hours that were, in some ways, an enrichment of myself, stolen hours, hours that were gifted to me by another. An evening in which we attended an amazing musical event, which then segued into a story out of time. As the night wore on, and the wine glasses emptied, I was given the gift of someone's personal history. I was given treasure. I was told the story of two amazing people. Their lives were filled with angst, death, travail, grief, sorrow, and truly unimaginable horrors, but throughout each word of this history, each word was sprinkled, no, each word sparkled, with love. The love the couple in the story felt for each other, and the love my friend feels for them, a love that is embedded into the very depths of his soul. His words transported me back in time. The time of his parents youth. You dear man, (since you read my blog I will speak directly to you), have a way of telling a story that truly encompasses the thespian legacy your parents gifted you with. You brought them into being, into living color for me. Thank you.

The concert we attended, left me with the feeling that I must find a way to create once again, even though I hold no talent. I must find a way to have beauty emerge through my fingertips. Questions. Do I try painting again? My painting, (if one can call it that), was usually bright, colorful and a somewhat crafty/folksy/whimsical take on the natural world. Is this what I need? Or, do I finally concentrate on a new/old path, and begin taking piano lessons again? As I have always promised myself? I began piano lessons at the ripe old age of 13, my teacher was a gifted young man of 16. He doted on me, he adored me, mostly... he lusted after me. The intensity of his feelings for me frightened me, so I quit the lessons after about six weeks, and switched to tennis lessons. Life was easier, but I was a lousy tennis player. Even then, I remember thinking, someday...someday I will take up piano lessons again. I never did. I tried self-teaching, but I couldn't achieve the level of learning I wanted. So, now, my keyboard gathers dust at my old home.

Anyway...

We then spent the next day embracing some of the true glories of the universe. The natural glories of the animal world, and the botanical world. I reveled in these glories. There is sustenance, beauty, and true joy in the viewing of these many beasts that inhabit our earth. Beauties we humans are destroying, but finally, in that very destruction, some of us are also learning. We humans have been, and are, so very destructive. In this aftermath of devastation, I hope we eventually learn to savor. I hold onto that hope. The hope we learn from the vileness we humans can wreak upon our fellow living beings. I hold onto the hope that we learn from the death cries resounding throughout our world. That burning ache we feel, are the scalding tears of mother nature. My hope is...we feel the burn, that we listen to the death knells of our fellow living creatures before it is too late. (Hmm, it seems I momentarily stepped onto a soapbox).

When I returned home from our brief sojourn, I truly did not have the time to absorb all I had seen/heard/felt, as I had work, family, a graduation, and a trip to deal with.

I used my trip to Houston to just be there, and to absorb without thinking.

Upon my return I had no true wish to dig deep into my psyche, I had too much to do to spend time on me, no time for self-analysis. Added into all of that, were/are the people, the many people who briefly touch my life because of the work I do.

My work is filled with people in dire need, often, more often than I like, I can only listen, commiserate, and offer very few options.

In the space of one week, I was visited by two young mothers, one is losing her home, another trying to find one. Within days both families may be homeless. I could not help them. I tried, I tried everything I could think of...but it all came to naught. They cried, I cried. But in the end...they... their children...will have nothing. Nothing. I did nothing.

In addition, I was a part of an event for caregivers of dementia patients. The speakers were two men who have true passion for what they do, because they live it daily. Two men who make a difference.

Then, a phone call from a 69 year old woman, living with breast cancer that has metastasized through out her entire body. As her story unfolded, I also found she has been a paraplegic for 40 years, and raised her granddaughter for 24 of those. She needs a little help at home, because she wishes her granddaughter to move on with her life, her granddaughter has been her main caregiver throughout these years of cancer treatments, and she wishes to see her granddaughter begin creating her own life. What makes her so special is her attitude, she is filled with acceptance, and joy. Yes, joy, she feels she has lived her life as best she could, and is now seeking a way to end her life in peace and contentment by giving her granddaughter the freedom to begin her journey through life. More tears.

Thus, my work also has its own lessons to impart.

Thought fragments...

Memories... where my mind flees at times when I seek to understand.

As I recall the stories I had heard, the love story I heard during the wee hours of a Tuesday/Wednesday past, the brief snippets of life stories I heard from the people I met in Houston, those I hear from my callers and clients, my own story, my own memories begin to flicker in my mind. Portions of my own childhood, and marriage. Then those of my children. Landing on one thought that is continually with me. I wonder, have I given my children the legacy of love and warmth I so wished for them to have as young babes in my arms?

As I contemplate the early years of my children's lives...

What strikes me are the songs sung with them in my arms, the books, the nursery rhymes and stories. The routines and rituals. Family life is filled with rituals, traditions, and if we are very lucky...love, so much love. More thoughts to ponder at another time.

So this week, as the dust has settled, as I absorbed it all, as I came to accept...all of those thought fragments have finally begun to coalesce into meaning...

the funny thing is...

even though I know the meanings will change over time...

even though I know bone deep that the pain of divorce is far from over...

I know...

It will all be OK.

And, I will plant flowers, many many flowers as summer begins.

* * * * * * *

Meet, Sylvia, one of my new friends from Houston.
In the Armadillo race we landed second place.