Dawn

Day rises like breath
On Mother's breast
Full of hope
It heaves into being

crap made cool

On Jan. 16 I was doing well, I thought. My husband started a job in NY a couple of weeks before and I was home with the 3 kids getting the house together to sell.. We'll stay and finish the school year and move into our perfect dream home shortly there after. Anyway, back to Mon the 16th. I got into a rhythm of taking the 10 year old to ballet, dropping the two smaller ones in the kid room at the ballet studio and working out at the gym attached to the ballet studio. It was great. That day I ran 3 miles on the treadmill and did some ab work. I was home an hour, and was putting everyone to bed. I was sitting in the recliner cuddling with the little one when the phone rang. I hopped up in my running shoes and sweaty clothes, bounded across the playroom and the next thing I knew I was aware of my ankle being pulled in the oppisite direction as my leg and it was rolling away from me pulling me hard to the ground to meet the most excruciating pain, a pain that sucks the air out of your lungs and there is nothing that can make it better short of general anesthesia. The phone stopped ringing but by the time it did my thoughts had flown ahead the next couple of weeks and back. I saw myself not walking, in pain while in the charge of 3 kids having to put my house on the market. How would I live in in our 3 story home.? How would I make it to bed that night, in my room two floors up?

I believe that every illness and injury is a sign or message from our bodies and our sub- conscience. There was a lesson to be learned here. What wasn't I hearing to make my body react so violently and insistantly?

Well, first and foremost, I would be forced to sit, to not walk, not pack, not clean, not DO anything. No yoga, no running, no working out. It was a time of quiet meditation. Be still first. My body didn't want me to think of everything I needed to do and couldn't, it wanted to be still. Be here and now. You can't work out, work on, move but you must be still.

Louise Hay says sprains and ankles are associated with a goodly amount of guilt. Hmm. Where was the guilt? We all hold on to guilt. Where there's anger, there's guilt. Guilt pulls us from the present, to our actions of the past. Looking back, we wish we'd done something different. If I had only known better...and our next thought often is one of anger...but it was the bitches fault. Dumb ass slut, whore, bitch, spawn of an evil coupling, drunken, abusive slob of a ... can't I just let go. And then the guilt comes in. Shit, how can I think so ill of another child of God. Buddhist see good in all sentient beings. The Hindus take it further and see the inherent worth in every thought, being, breath, all that is. Guilt brings us to the cross where Jesus saves us all from sin. My tears at the brutality of man come from a place of guilt. I don't want to sin. I want to be pleasing before God. I'm sorry, is a statement of guilt. So, guilt is not bad, but guilt out of balance isn't healthy. Forgiveness of myself of those who'd hurt me was the anecdote of guilt out of balance.

Thank you universe for all and everything. I'm in awe of all that is.

Fair thee well

Our paths did meet and we traveled side by side, enjoying the others company and coming to the aid of each other as it was needed. But then the path was no longer a path we could travel together, it was dangerous to navigate with the other, our death was the gamble. We would do better in the journey to be apart. And so, I say goodbye because I value the journey to the top of the mountain and long for soaring views much more than being with you. Fair thee well.

Tuesday

The kids are back to school. I'm home with the little one, a born again sahm. It feels good to have time, moments to reflect and focus on the things that are most important to me.

I'm packing things for the move, organizing and going through trunks of memorabilia. I saw papers from jr. high, English compositions from college and notes, letters and graffiti saved from years gone by. I found myself becoming reacquainted with the person I was and incorporating the better aspects of that person into myself now and forgiving the child that did not meet my expectations in retrospect. I was so eager to know everything but limited by others perceptions of me. There were collages of current events, poetry and scrapbooks filled with a child's achievements. There were the acting accolades, music recitals, philosophy quotes, and nearly all cards or letters ever sent to me in that trunk. It was my life.

I was struck by the many papers, compositions that asked for more..."You've given a glimpse of something special. I wish you'd explore it more". There was even a first grade report card that said something similar. It's so clear that something was holding me back. Fear? Where were my parents, the solid foundation from which I could gain stability and jump. I was such a child of alcoholics. There wasn't stability in my life. I couldn't take great risk and shoot for the stars because I never knew where I might land. It was better to stay close to the surface intellectually focusing on the obvious, doing the minimum to get by. It worked. I was able to create my own foundation after years, decades and a lifetime. I only now feel that I can take all that I know and shoot for the stars. I forgive that child that would rather watch TV, hang out with friends and smoke ( I even found an old Salem cigarette from the early 80s at the bottom of the trunk).

Crazy Dad

There are parents that get crazy by the fact that their kids have distinct personalities. These are the same parents that actually believe that they birth a lump of clay and can mold them to their heart's content. Really, it's hard to believe in this day and age that anyone can deny that "children are not our children...they are the sons and the daughters of life longing for itself".

So this precocious little girl in our neighborhood has been planning to give some girls a dance class for days. It just so happens that my middle child is one of the planned participants. She's called no less than 4 times in the last 4 days talking about what, when, and where this event will take place. Clearly, the fun is in the planning. Cool. Whatever.

Today was supposed to be the day of said dance class and my middle daughter was excited to talk to the 5 year old dance instructor about the days activities. She called, dialed the number and had a conversation with minimal parent involvement. My style of parenting is benign neglect. Then finds me, thrusts the phone at me and says "Emily's dad wants to talk to you.".

Blah, blah, don't know what the plan is...my wife isn't here...but I guess the class will be whenever it's most convenient FOR YOU...said sarcastically and obnoxiously as though somehow my kid calling was inconvenient or rude or at worst MY INDULGENCE. Somehow a way for me to pawn off my charge. What the fuck. The last thing I need is to get in an adolescent rant with an adult...I've got kids for that.

Man, it pissed me off. It was HIS kid wanting to get together with my kid. There were tons of phone calls planning the event. This had nothing to do with me or my kid.