Chapter Two: Prophesy Fulfilled

You know how it is when a love relationship is new and the two sit and dream of a future together. They map out what it is they aspire to share, the places they will go, things they will do, children they will raise. I had a second chance when I was 35 and met my ex. We had big dreams – he had big dreams, and his dreams became my dreams -- I dared not dream my own.

We were going to go to the Deep South and open hearts, expand minds, spread the love of racial harmonics across Mississippi. We would teach the people who, he assured me, were truly good-hearted well-meaning but brainwashed. We would show them their brown-skinned brothers were the same as they. I had long fought this battle in West Virginia; I jumped on the bandwagon wholeheartedly, happily, joyfully in fact.

One night I had a vision. Crystal clear. A middle-aged heavy set bearded white man in work clothes raised a rifle to his shoulder and aimed it at my ex (who at the time was a handsome, dark-haired thirty-year-old). The man was livid, shaking with anger. He spat hateful words as he lifted the weapon and prepared to fire. I stepped forward between my ex and the angry man just as the gun discharged. There was no tender death scene, no sobbing lover cradling me in his arms, no deathbed confession of eternal devotion. I simply took a bullet for him, and I died.

I felt this premonition on a gut level. I knew without a doubt this was prophesy. 

We never moved to Mississippi. We did our share of community service. I did take a bullet for him, just not a literal piece of metal to the heart. Still, I died that he might live. I stepped between the angry man and the good man, and let the angry man take his wrath out on me to preserve the good man’s life. Although I meant well, it didn’t accomplish what I’d hoped it would. The good man lost me; the angry man simply reloaded and fired again; and I died to both myself and the good man I sought to save.

They say three works the charm. I am resurrected. I have my own dreams now. Although I still have a massive capacity to give and receive love, I’ve taken my last bullet. Of course, there’s more to this story than what is here – there always is. 

Stay tuned for the next exciting chapter, and perhaps the backstory as well. ~~GH

Happy Easter. 
~~in loving memory of David Oso, who would be 13 now, and is, in my heart. 

Easter Sunday 2013

Remembering David Oso.

Love,

Mum

Dancing in the Dark

When we don’t openly address our fears in relationship, we isolate ourselves from each other, clinging to a no-one’s-land somewhere between our inner and outer fears, infecting our relationship with our various strategies to get away from our fears. Fear does not go away as we mature; we simply learn to work with it more and more effectively, minding its presence less and less.

                      ~~ Robert Augustus Masters

This spoke to me as I read it. I re-read it several times and let it sink in.

It is true for me, that whole devising strategies to escape my fears. And it's ridiculous, pointless, really. Like running away from my shadow. 

I think that's how I shall conceptualize my fears from now on, as part and parcel of myself, as shadows that tag along and will remain attached. Certain ways the light shines (situations that trigger my fears), the shadows/fears become more visible or noticeable. But as I accept their presence and stop trying to run away from them or escape my own shadows, I will grow to mind their presence less and less.

I like that. Thank you, Robert August Masters. ~~GH

They Don't Call, They Don't Write

** The title of this column is a tongue-in-cheek reference to something people of a certain age will likely understand, and others maybe not so much. Also, I imagine it depends on your cultural background and experiences, so I will attempt to explain it since I do have a worldwide readership likely made up of different age groups as well.

Typically, the words "They don't call; they don't write" were spoken by a Yiddish elder and referred to his/her adult children who were too busy with their own lives to stay in contact with their parent. It was generally used as a punchline, a serious-but-not-serious reproach, a loving wistful reminder that "Hey, I miss you; touch base."

The expression was/is also ironically used when referring to people not in a position to call or write. For instance, in the film "Dances With Wolves," the muleskinner uses dark humor when he points to arrow-laden skeletal remains lying on the prairie, and remarks, "I'll bet someone back East is going: Now, why don't he write?" ~~GH

Someone asked me why I got divorced, and I flippantly answered that my ex had met and fallen in love with another woman. But those of you who know me by now, know if there’s a twinge of untruth in something, it nags at me until I listen. I hate being nagged so I tend to listen. Life is too short to carry around backpacks full of hassles.

Why did I get divorced, I asked myself. I got divorced because I didn't love my ex. I didn’t divorce him nearly soon enough, and put us both through a great deal of grief because of my neglect. Instead of acting on my heart, I relinquished my agency to the “authority” of the institution of marriage. I was “supposed” to be married: I had committed to being married, and by gum, I was gonna fulfill that commitment.

But I’m not past that ridiculous submission to false authority even today. And it bothers me. I realized that despite the fact the marriage had effectively been over for years as far as I was concerned  (and functionally over for many months as far as both of us were concerned), I still waited until the “official” ending signified by the final divorce hearing. THEN not only THAT, but I had to have the physical divorce decree in my hands to feel truly free. It was only after realizing that, that I knew how silly that was. I haven’t felt married in seven months. 

I started examining what other areas of my life I wait for external authorization in order to take action. (Not going to bore you with those details. It's a work-in-progress).

Whose authority am I waiting for? It depends on the situation. For instance, I now know I can write any damned way I choose to – don’t have to submit to the rules – and people will read and enjoy my work. And yet I wait on the man I love to “tell me” what he wants to do -- or do I? 

I am living my life, going where I want, doing what I want to do, and enjoying my activities. But I feel a deep void where I’d like him to be. (And no, I don’t just mean sex because, as much as I’d enjoy him filling that void, there is one deeper still that would benefit even more from his presence). 

I don’t want him to tell me what he wants to do so much as I want to know I am in his thoughts, and his heart. I don’t require a lot of attention; I’m pretty self-sufficient. But I do require a certain amount, and I’m not receiving it. 

Actually, I think the real issue is the lack of a clear declaration. I could float for a staggering chunk of time on the wings of clarity, but this dense fog of uncertainty is uncomfortably grounding.

I’m intuitive but still hesitant to fully accept my intuits. My heart tells me all is well. My LRM (logical rational mind) tortures me endlessly with “facts.” It feels like if I could wave an email or a text in front of my LRM and say “See? Now shut the hell up!” that I could have peace and enjoy my happy feelings. It is ridiculous that I expect Emotion to satisfy Logic with facts. This is an underlying flaw of my Western mind.

My metaphysical work continues. So I keep peeling off layers, dismantling bricks, pulling back curtains that mysteriously close themselves out of habit. I consciously practice openness, receptivity.  I am still tender, but much less afraid than I used to be. And I'm closer to softness and further from tenderness all the time. 

I dialogue with my inner child. She talks a lot these days. She’s pretty cool, and I like her. I work to integrate body with soul, to become whole. But I still check my inbox. Tumbleweed City.

Thanks for reading. ~~GH

The View From Behind

The view from my place on the couch doesn't change much. Momma keeps her back to me most of the time.

Normal Sleeping Position

Here is the "Profile From Behind" pose. Note the straight spine, the extended tail, the noble Roman profile. She is preparing to explore the kitchen to see if the food bowl has been replenished.

Here, Momma feigns preparing to jump behind the couch. She won't. She never has, never will. It's just another excuse to display the View From Behind.

Here is the "Straight-On From Behind" pose. Almost perfect alignment from tail tip to ear tip, but not quite. I'll give this one a 9.7. She contemplates completion of the last leg of the 15-foot-long journey from chair to kitchen . . . to examine the food bowl.

Initiating "Cheshire Cat" sequence

Phase II "Cheshire Cat" sequence

Cheshire Cat sequence complete

And that, Dear Reader, is the view from behind.~~GH

Don't Go Breakin' My Heart

I love Elton John, but when he came out with "Don't Go Breakin' My Heart" with Kiki Dee, I almost barfed. It was written by Elton John with Bernie Taupin under the pseudonyms "Ann Orson" and "Carte Blanche" (a pun on the expression "an horse and cart, Blanche"), and intended as an affectionate pastiche of the Tamla Motown style, notably the various duets recorded by Marvin Gaye and singers such as Tammi Terrell and Kim Weston. [from Wikipedia]

Hated that song. But it's a perfect segue to today's topic: Suicidal thoughts.

I've lost far too many friends to suicide. One friend even survived his initial injury and lived thirty more days. He got to see how many people loved him, deeply and dearly loved him, and he was so thankful he lived -- until complications from the original damage arose and took him from us once more. It was bittersweet; he came to understand how precious life is and how much he was loved, and for that and the extra month he was here, I am grateful.

Some thoughts about suicide:

I read an article about gun suicides, and contained within it were these words: "Research shows that suicide is an impulsive act—one study found that 25 percent of people who attempted it did so after deliberating for less than five minutes—and most had considered it for less than a day. Usually the impulse strikes not long after an interpersonal crisis of some sort."

Take a few minutes RIGHT NOW and tell yourself why you will NEVER commit suicide, no matter what. Convince yourself there is nothing you cannot get past, no low so low you can't rise above it, no shame so great that you can't endure it -- no sorrow so deep you cannot dig out of it. 

Please, have hope. Consciously practice right this very minute why you will choose to get through it if/when you have suicidal ideation. Think of the reasons for living right now so you will remember them if time comes when you think you want to end it. 

I PROMISE you someone loves you. If you don't believe it, know that at the very least *I* love you.

Don't go breakin' my heart.~~GH

Something Silly

The government is really micromanaging now. Attempting to dictate the behavior of wild animals is just insane. Ordering large mammals to remain alert? Really?! 

I say moose should be free from the constraints and arbitrary desires of mankind. Let them doze, drowse, or sleep if they choose. We must not interfere.~~GH

Running Up the Stairs

This exponential psychological growth is something else. Fits and starts. Surges. It's like zooming up stairs, straight up the riser then a pause while you duck under the lip. Then a roll onto the step, and a rest before mounting the next riser. Pretty sure I've mounted at least half a staircase the past two months. Surely is time for a breather?

Promise to share some of what I experienced. Soon.~~GH

The Power of Scars

"Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real.” 
~~Cormac McCarthy (All The Pretty Horses)

Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi

Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Balkhī, also known as Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī, and more popularly in the English-speaking world simply as Rumi, was a 13th-century Persian poet, jurist, theologian, and Sufi mystic. [Wikipedia]

Out beyond ideas of wrong and right, there is a field.
I will meet you there.

The heart is the secret inside the secret.

The moment you accept what troubles you've been given,
the door will open.

Love is the water of life,
jump into this water.

I worship the moon.
Tell me of the soft glow of a candle light
and the sweetness of my moon.

Don’t talk about sorrow,
tell me of that treasure,
hidden if it is to you,
then just remain silent.

Last night
I lost my grip on reality
and welcomed insanity.
Love saw me and said,
I showed up.
Wipe your tears
and be silent.

I said, O Love I am frightened, but it’s not you.
Love said to me, there is nothing that is not me.
be silent.

I will whisper secrets in your ear
just nod yes
and be silent.

A soul moon
appeared in the path of my heart.
How precious is this journey.

I said, O Love
what kind of moon is this?
Love said to me,
this is not for you to question.
be silent.

I said, O Love
what kind of face is this,
angelic, or human?
Love said to me,
this is beyond anything that you know.
Be silent.

I said, please reveal this to me
I am dying in anticipation.
Love said to me,
that is where I want you:
Always on the edge,
be silent.
You dwell in this hall of
images and illusions,
leave this house now
and be silent.

I said, O Love, tell me this:
Does the Lord know you are
treating me this way?
Love said to me,
yes He does,
just be totally…
totally… silent

Spam Email

Junk mail/spam subject reads: 

Can you get laid just by using the words in this video?

My guess is no. ~~GH

The Battle is Won

I am proud to say the elusive chin hair I chased for three days is no more. It put up a masterful fight against the tweezers, ducking and weaving, not to mention bobbing. 

In lieu of flowers, please send acerbic letters to Republican legislators.~~GH

The Electric Slide

Looks indestructible, doesn't it?
Not so much. They pretty much
wet their pants when I come near.

The strange electrical issues I've had with the car came to a head Tuesday evening. (Since you probably don't know this trivia about me, my entire life has been one long continuous electrical problem after another with computers, small and large appliances, watches, cars, etc., anything with an energy charge. This included expensive medical equipment I came in contact with when I worked as a nurse, to the extent that I was forbidden to come near some particularly pricey items. 

Suction machines seemed especially sensitive, as did EKG machines [Suction machines, thankfully, were relatively cheap since much of my nursing career revolved around patients who required suctioning; EKGs, not so much. Respirators and ventilators were not so finicky, thank goodness]. I discharge massive amounts of electricity and that does not bode well with electrical products/appliances. I've killed an amazing number of computers in my lifetime.) 

My car has variously chosen to turn off its own cruise control in the middle of the highway, turn on its headlights while it is parked (without a key in the ignition), and sometimes its lights randomly flash like a horror movie laboratory while I'm driving.

The headlamps came on in the parking lot at dusk this evening, and I went out and clicked the "lock" function, which did kick them off. Thought no more about it till I went out to pick up Younger Daughter from work tonight. Wouldn't turn over, and did the whole chattering noise thing, horror movie light flashing with the overhead light supercharging for several seconds. Yeah. Not good.

Older Daughter tried jumping it when she got back here from picking up Younger Daughter for me, to no avail. Repeat horror movie episode. So I reckon tomorrow the old gal (car) will get towed to the shop for a $$$ transfusion (my pocket to the mechanic's). I'm sure he's ready for a new yacht by now. #SoItGoes ~~GH

Magic Things

"The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper." ~~W.B. Yeats

Many of those things lie within other people. And sometimes -- rather than work harder to try and sharpen our senses -- if we just relax and breathe and watch and listen, they are revealed. 

Of course, they've been there all along. ~~GH

Strangers in a Strange Land

I think perhaps we are all here on Earth as students in a classroom. We're sharing the same space and here to learn various things in a living laboratory, all at the same time as the others we share space with. But eventually school will let out and we shall return home, where our real life and family exists. 

Until then, let's do our best to help our study group succeed. ~~GH

Spare Change

Maybe we're like clay. It has the potential to be malleable and change shapes, to be warped or formed or crushed and then re-formed. Maybe when we experience these metaphysical epiphanies, our clay shape shifts -- a little, or a lot, depending. Maybe this shape shifting isn't damaging, but it is painful letting go of the old shape that we've become accustomed to holding -- like how your muscles complain when you get up after sitting for a long period of time. Or how a baby, after being cramped in a folded position for literally months suddenly is forced from its dark warm claustrophobic world into cold light, its body suddenly unsupported, limbs flailing that are used to being tucked around its own form. No wonder babies howl when they're born.

Maybe this is why we tend to resist change. And yet, the whole purpose for our clay being malleable is so we can shift shapes. And still, we fear. It is like feeling anxious the sun will come up tomorrow -- it will surely happen whether we fear it or not, so why not relax and accept the eventuality? Because we are not rational beings. And I don't mean that in a negative sense. It isn't that simple.

You don't just make a choice not to fear. Trust me, if that were possible, I would have overcome fear by now. ~~GH

What Does Love Mean?

This is copied directly from Dr ibn-Hyman's blog and represents his response to the question posed by a student: What does love mean? 

He is a wise man and I am honored to study under him. ~~GH

What Does Love Mean?

We are so inclined to label "love" what we think it is.

A behavior that we do. A psychology that we adopt. A philosophy that we hold.

Something that merely affects us, intoxicates us, plagues us, even condemns us.

Never is it clear what love is not.

Love is not behavior. You behave in particular ways to appease, even defer to love.

Love is not psychology. You think certain ways to understand love.

Love is not a philosophy. You believe certain ways to keep faith in love.

It is that profound recognition, that self-affirming sense of comfort, that sacrificial surrender of selfhood to the certainty that you have encountered your God in the flesh - living, breathing, dwelling among men.

And,  for the sake of love,  you submit...relinquishing all.

~~ Sundjata Keita ibn-Hyman

Kipyn Martin: Undercover Muse

"Listen to the world with one ear, but never still the song in your heart."  ~~ Ginger Hamilton (c) 2005

Kipyn and I, Lewisburg Literary Festival, August 2012

I first heard Kipyn Martin sing at the West Virginia Writers' summer conference in June 2012. I was bereft that day; my husband had moved out a month before, and on Sunday, my best friend Dorothy had passed away. I drove directly from her funeral to the conference wondering how I could endure the sadness I felt. 

That evening, I sat at the end of the first row in the auditorium and prepared to be entertained. A young woman with thick, shimmery gold hair that brushed against her waist climbed the stairs to the stage and picked up an acoustic guitar and strummed it lovingly. I don't remember in what order she performed the songs; I was transfixed. 

Every so often, musical magic happens. You know it when you hear it. 

To say Kipyn's voice is angelic is an understatement, a cliche almost too tired to stand, and yet that is precisely how it must be defined. Crystal clear like a late winter stream coursing down the side of a mountain, rich and honeyed, mellifluous, dulcet tones spread out and filled the room. A hush fell over the audience and we sat, enraptured, as she shared her compositions as well as some traditional folk music and blues. 

One original song, "Undone," touched my soul. By the last 'come undone,' the front of my blouse was spattered with tears I didn't even realize I had shed. Undone was exactly how I felt at that time. My life was upside-down. When I tried to picture my future, all I could see was a funhouse mirror reflection. My entire world had come undone, and I felt my ends unraveling.  

I’ve got two ends of myself to tie together

Stretched by endless tug of war

I’ve been pushed and pulled and pulled and pushed until this tether

Doesn’t want to hold anymore

Won’t you show me how,

How weathered ends, they can wind into one

Won’t you show me how

To weave a circle from these lines

Show me to not come undone, come undone

Sample or Buy Here

Ten months later, when I listened to her new CD the day it arrived in my mailbox,  I heard the hope and strength in the last verse. The speaker transcended her struggle, had received support, and once stronger offers support to her friend. Or at least that's how I take it. I, too, have gotten past the devastation and rebuilt myself with the support of dear friends, and stand ready to help others now.

Undercover Muse is a joy from start to finish. Folksy, blues -- I'm no good at labels. Think a cross between Joni Mitchell and Bonnie Raitt. I'm no music critic so don't expect me to critique it. I give it two thumbs up and an American Bandstand rating of 98. I will say if you had the chance to buy Joni Mitchell's first recording, wouldn't you leap at the opportunity? Well, here's your chance to obtain a future collector's item. Sample and purchase it here. ~~GH

The Secret Cats Don't Want You to Know

I finally figured out the laser beam eyes thing. It's the kitty equivalent of the neuralyzer (flashy thing) from "Men in Black." The neuralyzer removes the memory of a target or witness, then puts them under a hypnotic state, making them susceptible to suggestion and implantation of false memories. A new memory is then substituted for the old one.

Here, I accidentally caught her studying (I'm not supposed to know she can read), and she neuralyzed me. Luckily, the iPhone blocked the beam or the world would never know the truth.~~GH