Pain and Conflict

"Pain and conflict are, to a large extent, the result of a discrepancy
between the way we think others should treat us, react to us, and
appreciate us, and the way they actually do. Many of our miseries are
thus rooted in self-pity, the most worthless of all human emotions."

--Ann Davies, Qabalist teacher

Cinco de Mary

The most important celebration is only 8 days away. Yes, it's almost Cinco de Mary day! A few months ago, I bought tickets to a show at Ramshead Tavern for this coming Saturday. For the past few years, I plan an event of some sort on or around my birthday so that I can't lament that someone else did not. It turned out particularly well last year as the entire critique group joined me on the Cinco de Mayo cruise out of Annapolis.

I'd forgotten who I was going to see this Saturday, but I was delighted to discover that it is Will Hoge. Now I just have one dilemma - two tickets; one for me and another one as yet unclaimed. So if you are a big fan of Will Hoge, let me know.

The Vagabond Heart

Loves,
I have been untrue. You are betrayed, abandoned:
not for want of some other's heart but
for my failure to ever fully embrace that does not
permit abandonment by lack of possessing.

Possession is not needed. Jealousy is a shadow
by the dumpster that I do not visit.

Dark horse; mad one; butterfly; cinnamon girl;
gypsy; cold-hearted witch, sad case.
Leaving is easier if you attach a label.

Do not mistake this announcement. Your heart
cracks my chest, every day. Because I have never
really held you, never unveiled my eyes, never
took it all in to the tipping point.

I have loved you in the palm of my hand,
in the crook of my neck, in the bend of my knee.
You deserve more than that. Your love is assured,
a debutante of affection, a monument of conviction,
a canyon of generosity, a hummingbird's beat of hope.

Lucky is your heart in my departure. Lucky found and
lucky lost. Like a bead of sweat down your side in the
heat of summer, embrace the chill and delight of the
uncontrollable release. It is natures way of balancing
the heat of the body.

Walk on By

Yes, it is another one of those days when my horoscope is so accurate that I suspect the writer has been folowing my blog, reading my tweets, stalking me on facebook!

Horoscope for today: Saturday, Apr 18th, 2009 -- You want to take care of those you love, yet you might not want them to know how involved you are in their lives. Part of your current dilemma is that you are connected with your friends and family, even though you're motivated now to increase their independence. It's easy to act as if you are emotionally detached. However, it takes a lot more work to truly give others the freedom they need.

Both of my children (28 and 18) have become more independent this year. Dylan at University of Maryland does not ask for money or food or advice. He moves smoothly through his classes this semester, doing the hard work, managing to eat and sleep enough, exercises and spends time with his friends, returns home to share holiday with friends. I resist phoning him, checking up on him, hugging him too much when I do see him.

Sara has a strong ring of friends that have been onher side since she was a child and now she has a man in her life who is her daily witness, so I am not. Lately we find ourselves unavailable to talk when the other is available so that days slip by without speaking. Neither of us minds so much as we recognize that it is different than it was a year ago. She has heard me spin my dreams of moving away, of shedding my life, for enough years to know that although I want to go, I don't want to be distant from her or Dylan.

But those are not the only people that come to mind when I read this horoscope. When you have been close with someone but realize that you are not ultimately going to enrich their lives; then even if you have a selfish desire to hear from them, to know that they are well, you cannot. To contact them at all distracts and delays them from the very place they must go.

So if you see me walking down the street, just walk on by..."

Detours and noise

Late Thursday afternoon, a red car sped off College Parkway, dumping itself into a ditch backwards and somehow losing its roof. I was commuting to my house to gather materials to teach Business Writing in Waldorf that night. Emergency crews and police had blocked the street at both ends denying me access to my community. After an obsequious plea to the local "authority", he deigned to move an orange cone and permit me to my home (which was no where near the actual accident).

The two lane parkway, usually a constant stream of vehicles so that I imagine that I live near the ocean and late at night transform the flow of traffic into a surf landing on the beach that is just feet from my doorstep. This works until a Harley trespasses my illusions, although I transform it into a late night teen escape on a dune buggy digging through the packed sand.

I drove solo down College Parkway to my community. Silent silent. I creep the Prius, running on electric, so that no sound intruded. The stealth was intoxicating. And the silence.

Sally and I took our walk to the sound of birds nesting. I had not noticed them at that time of day despite the visual presence. Now a symphony of nesting of the birds camouflaged on high branches drew up my chin, perked Sally's ears.

By the time I left for class the flood of vehicles had returned. If you don't hear the birds or see the birds, are the birds still there? Does it matter if it doesn't heal your soul?

Then tonight, Friday eve, I start up College Parkway, windows open, sunlight and warmth for the first time this week. Headed west the traffic grew heavy, tight, nose to bumper close that could only mean an accident on Route 50 had detoured everyone onto College Parkway. Had they been headed east, I'd still be on the road. With every inch I traveled closer to home, however,I knew there could be no retreat; no west bound retreat. I could travel further east toward the sea, but no easy return to the society to the west.

At home, Sally and I go out and the rumble of the 16 wheelers and rusted pick-ups. Sally grows nervous, pulls to return home, to the back deck to warn the squirrels away, where she does not hear the squeal of breaks or smell the exhaust. I follow her. I know I am not trapped here. Though there is too much air in this narrow house for one person, there is too much to remind one. So if I stand at the very back of the deck and peer into the woods, imagine there is no end to them, imagine I migh walk until exhaustion sets the clock; I feel my soles on the spring floor and walk until dark and dig a shallow hollow and sleep in the arms of the earth. We bury ourselves, don't we? Isn't everyone mired somehow?

It's just what you need.

For want of a nail. . .

There is no easy way back. My
name is disappearing as I type,
each previous letter fading into
white.

Everyday more rocks in my
pockets, warming in my hand.
Does the water burn inside out?

Knowing Which Way you Want to Go