Reading, writing, and more reading...

"I think I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree." ~Joyce Kilmer

I'm not exactly sure why I sat down right now to write and this quote popped up in my brain. It's funny because until now (I just looked it up), I had never read it in its entirety. I'd never been interested in reading it. It seemed somehow vapid. Hm. Interesting.

I've been reading like crazy. I'm taking this great short story class, as well as an advanced creative writing one, and I'm inundated with readings. If it sounds as though I'm complaining, I'm not. Honestly. I just can't think straight with so many words and characters wandering around in my head. Little boys on mad rocking-horse rides, scantily dressed girls walking around the A&P barefooted, and let's not forget the forgetful swimmer making his way around the bend of the Lucinda River; they're all in there. They're swimming, they're rocking, they're teasing, they're coming of age, they're doing all sorts of stuff in there and they won't let up. Let me let you in on a secret...I love them all, even the ones I hate. That Dave who won't just grow up and be a man, he drives me crazy but he's there too. He's on a train somewhere with his unloaded gun and his dim wittedness.

I just let them be. I let them meander, I let them roam, I let them run and prance and just be. I let them be. They'll all find a place in there and rest. They'll be tired soon and they'll lie down somewhere near a stream for a nap, or maybe under the stars on a plantation somewhere balmy.

They'll be there when I call.

Writing...

The Winner Takes it ALL...

I get like this every year before my birthday; every year that is since Yvette died. It will be 5 years in a few weeks that she got into her car (Nissan 350z) one Saturday night (on her way to my house), didn't put her seatbelt on, somehow lost control of her car and flipped it, from what the police report stated, 5 or 6 times. They say she died instantly. So, every year at about this time, I become quiet and sullen and a bunch of other things I'm sure. I guess there are times that I realize that I'm still dealing with it. I really hate when people say that time heals all wounds. Bullshit. Working through your grief and sense of loss and whatever else you're dealing with heals wounds. Merely living day by day and hoping that someday the agonizing, debilitating sense of utter loss will leave you just because you made it through the day is naive and it's cowardice. You have to face the mountain of pain and begin to chip away and climb it and get on top of it. That's the only way. That's the only way that real hope is ever returned to you.

Untitled

I find myself at a loss;
at a loss for words, and yet overflowing with them.
I find myself at a loss;
for feelings, and yet oozing them from
every crevice of my metaphorical being.

I find myself at a loss;
for things past long ago,
and even willing them forgotten,
simply won't be

I find myself and lose myself
on a constant basis.
He urges me to go with it
to give myself over to it.

He's beginning to realize where it takes me.
He's starts to see that it's dark where I go
it's frightening and I sometimes go
unprepared

He nudges me towards the dark
unaware of all it holds
of all that gets absorbed there

For he knows that I must go alone
that I will never be whole without
the dark

Acceptance

I love Spanish movies. Heck, I love French, Italian and Swedish movies. But I guess it really started for me years ago with Spanish films; specifically with Pedro Almodovar. He is this amazing director/screenwriter from Spain who has a penchant for provocative filmmaking. Now, if you're familiar with his work you'll realize that this last tidbit is a vast understatement. If you're not familiar with his work you need to: A) Crawl out from under your rock, and/or B) Stop being a narrow-minded, repressed, judgmental, simpleton and expand your horizons. Having written that, he is definitely not for everybody. Lol...I know, I know I may have just contradicted myself; or did I? Ok, enough with the double talk. He assuredly has a warped mind, with a great vision and incredible knack for making the, sometimes, outlying members of society (whatever that really means) seem so likable, lovable even. He helps to portray them with such compassion and humanity that you can't help loving them. Of course, I love the outlying members of society. Give me a great drag queen. I love that. I love the 'different' telling of a story; the 'non-traditional' track, if you will. I'm one of the most open-minded people I've ever come across. That is no exaggeration. My theory is this: who am I to judge anyone? Who am I to say what someone else's definition of a family is wrong? I thought that separation of church and state was just that; a separation. But, I digress. (I do that)

I guess I was just thinking about acceptance. About embracing. Let me explain. My daughter Viktorria and I were having a very in depth conversation early one morning (4 am), on our way back from LAX after having dropped Tres off. The whole trip back home started out very silly and more than a little loopy. We were both slaphappy. Anyway, towards the end of our trip home we got a little more serious. We started talking about philosophy, religion, and gay marriage (among other things) and the word tolerance came up. She made the point of saying that she didn't like that word because basically you're saying that, "Ok, I'll tolerate you and your lifestyle, I'll put up with you. I'll tolerate the way you live and who you choose to love and spend your life with". She said that instead a more appropriate word might be accept. As in, "I accept you and your lifestyle, just as I know you accept mine. Because as heterosexual people we assume that everything we do is accepted and for some reason we hold the key to marriage, to who people should love and share their lives, decisions, everything with. Well, if that isn't egotistic I don't know what is. She just felt, as did I, that everyone should be accepted, embraced for who and what they are. Whether that's heterosexual, homosexual, transgender, man, woman, white, black, inuit, whatever. I think that the sooner we can get over ourselves (I'm speaking to all of the self-righteous, narrow-minded heteros out there) and accept that 'our' way may not be the only way, the sooner we can all just 'get along'...haha...ok, maybe that R. King quote was too much. But the sentiment is not.

If You Forget Me...

If you forget me
~Pablo Neruda


I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine

The evolution of patience...

I fear I lack the patience. The patience to see these things through. I can't even meditate without my mind wandering everywhere. Like tonight, I was sitting there, on my cushion, clearing my mind; or at least attempting to. Then the wandering began. My mind began its inevitable meandering, leading into a full fledged sprint around the world. I mean, it was headed to places I haven't even seen yet. At one point it was on the sands of Fiji, the other minute it was in a cavernous hole, in the dark, when all of a sudden an unsolicited thought, like a sneaky quiet mouse, crawled through a small opening in the corner of my mind. It then started to gnaw. It started to gnaw a hole in my quieting mind and began to drag in all sorts of other things, thoughts. There were things I needed to do around the house, there were errands I needed to run, we're out of laundry detergent, I need to take my glasses in to the optician, is there dry cleaning I need to pick up?? Then the thoughts began to get a bit more serious. What am I doing with my life? What happened to my 1,000 words a day and my daily yoga, and my morning pages, and oh, yeah, did I pay my stupid parking ticket??? Well, the point is, I got distracted. And tonight wasn't even bad. My distractions get way worse than this. I guess, in keeping with the theme of patience, I have to also be patient with myself. I have to remind myself that I'm here. I'm trying and that this will all get where it needs to be as long as I just "show up".

I have to remember to be patient with my husband, too. He's the absolute best husband I could ever ask for. If I had to write down a list of things I want in a husband, it would be him. He takes care of me like no one else could. He loves me with all of his being. But, I digress. I can be a bit impatient. Even with him, the man I adore. I'm getting better, I really am. One of my mottos has always been "I don't deal with stupid people". And as I look back now, that's such a non-compassionate stance to take on life, on people. I know it's not flattering. There is a difference between being strong and just being a bitch. I've always been on the side of strength, but there have been times (not many) when I've jumped with both feet onto the 'other' side. The point is that I'm an evolving creature, with continuous lessons to learn and grow from. I don't know anybody who's all grown. I know many who think there are, but again, I digress.

Here's to evolution.

L.A. Paranormal

Check out one of Tres' latest ventures...

Self Improvements: External

Ok, so Tres and I have hired a personal trainer to try to get into really great shape. Well, today was our 3rd session with him and I can barely move. The first day, we both worked so hard that we threw up. Yup. We threw up. Now, what's up with that? I don't know, but today's workout was a lot better. In fact, it felt great. He has us doing pushups, lunges, squats, more pushups, weights, more lunges, more squats, and did I mention the pushups?? It's good, though. It feels great to push your body to its limits then beyond. I guess you forget how strong you really are until you have to be. Normally, that's an emotional statement, today it's a physical one. Over the years the limits of my emotional, internal strength have been tested, have grown and improved. I guess being reminded just how strong I can physically be has been great.

I also got a really cool bike and that's been just wonderful. I hadn't owned a bike in a while and I'd been shopping for one for the last couple of months. Well, I finally got one and it's beautiful. It feels great to get on it and just ride. We live in such a beautiful place and to get to enjoy the weather and the scenery on the seat of a bicycle is a nostalgic and cool feeling for me. Miles also learned to ride his bike this weekend. It was such a neat thing to watch. Life's good.

Believe in love at first sight...

Be Water, My Friend.

While unpacking our bedroom belongings, I came across a CD that Tres made for me early in our relationship. We listened to it and it immediately took us to that time and exactly the way we felt. It was a sweet gift he made for me when we were going to be separated for the first time. ( I think it ended up being the very CD the very first time we...uh...did something else for the first time.) Ha ha, I know, too much info, but these days I'm filtering my writing less and less; while in my speaking I'm filtering/editing more. It works out. Anyway, we really needed to connect this week. He's been working so much and while, financially, it's great, we really miss each other every day. We went from spending every day together and working on most of our projects together, to not seeing too much of each other all week. So, when I found that CD he had made for me when we were freshly fallen it helped to remind us of how much we love each other...and boy, we do. It really is that love that is true and therefore, crazy mad; all in the best way, of course.

Life's funny. You never know what's going to happen. Just when you think you know which way it's going, it goes a different way. That's why it's important to go with the flow. Like Bruce Lee said, "Be like water, my friend. Water can flow or it can crash." Lol...I actually made myself laugh what with the quoting Bruce Lee and all. I'm a sucker for some Lee and his philosophies. It's true, though. You can have all the plans in the world and then what? Your husband/wife leaves you, you lose your job, somebody dies. The point is, stuff happens and we have to be prepared to roll with it. As extraordinary as my life is right now, I'm not taking it for granted. I appreciate it all and all the people in it. I have to remember that I'm a partner in my marriage and that it needs nurturing and taking care of, that my husband needs me to make him feel wanted and taken care of. I can't forget that my kids need me to teach them and guide them. It's all part of the process, the journey. As hokey as it all sounds, there lies the truth. This is it. This is our lives. This is who we are. If that's not ok, then do something about it. Do what you're going to do, be what you want to be. More importantly, be who you're want to be. That's it. No more excuses.

Self Improvement

This started as a journal entry and I was making a list of the things about myself that I'd like to change. It ended up being a laundry list of the positive things I can do in my life, in myself.

~I don’t know everything and I shouldn't act like I do.
~I should hold my tongue more often, my words hurt sometimes, especially those I love
~I need to be more patient with those around me, those closest to me, everyone.
~I need to be more thoughtful, with my actions and my deeds.
~I need to be more willing to accept responsibility when I do something wrong (which I like to think is never)
~I need to stop obsessing about things that don't matter.
~I should be more helpful in general.
~I should read more
~I should write more.
~I should be willing to write the things I need to without fear.
~I should, therefore, face my fear of writing vulnerability.
~I should be more kind.
~I should write letters, cards for no reason.
~I should remember more birthdays.
~I should get more exercise.
~I should listen more and talk less.
~I should listen more and talk less.
~I will listen more and talk less.

Catharsis

In the Merriam Webster dictionary catharsis is defined as: a purification or purging that brings about spiritual renewal or release . It's also defined as: a purifying or figurative cleansing of the emotions, especially pity and fear, described by Aristotle as an effect of tragic drama on its audience. A purification, a cleansing...hmm. Well, that's what it feels like; but it feels like a heavy weight being slowly dragged out inch by excruciating inch. And in this process one feels a little more weightless, but also exhausted; deeply exhausted.

I've been really delving into myself. I know it sounds selfish and 'touchy-feely' and a bunch of other descriptions rich with hyperbole, but I find it to be necessary at this point in my life. I've spent the last 18 years raising kids. I'm 38 years old and I've spent the last 18 years raising kids. Just rereading that sentence makes me feel worn out and exhausted. It also makes me feel like I've focused a lot of my attention into my kids. I love my kids, I really do. I don't regret them for a second. What I do regret is that I allowed myself to lose myself. Somewhere along the line, between diapers and potty training, and high school graduations, I lost who I was, who I am. Now, don't get me wrong, I still have a very good sense of who I am; I'm just having problems figuring out what I want for my life, what I want from my life. I mean, it's everything. It's God and religion, it's literature, it's writing, it's yoga, it's everything. I'm 38 and I don't know what I want to do when I grow up. I think that's the bottom line. I don't know what I want to be or do when I grow up. So, as I delve deeper and I read deeper, I find myself very emotional. I have the greatest support in the world in my husband. He encourages me to go wherever I need to go to make my discoveries with the constant knowledge and reassurance that he'll be there when I emerge. I think that his strong love and support of me lets me feel like I could do anything and go anywhere and be safe. We had a bad day the other day and Lord, Buddha, Allah knows that I can be a couple of handfuls at times, he looked at me and said, "It's still true that I'd rather have a bad day with you than 1,000 good ones with anyone else." And although, our great days overshadow our bad 1000 times over, it's still good to know. So, as I continue this uncomfortable cathartic journey, I hope to emerge at least a little more insightful, a little more peaceful, and a whole lot lighter.

Pathetic

Sometimes I'll come across the blogs and rants of 'young' people and can't help but laugh. And by laugh, I mean, let out a sarcastic, kind of eye rolling acknowledgment of their cluelessness. Their belief that they know what life is really about and that they have even the slightest clue as to what they're doing is downright pathetic and laughable. So yes, this is a rant of my own. I just wish that this young generation had a real, solid idea about life. I wish that they understood, really understood, that the decisions that they make today can and will affect their futures. That if they don't have a plan about where they want to end up or what they want to do, nobody else will have one for them; that their lack of a plan will promptly dump them somewhere in the middle of loserville, halfway to nowhere-land. I wish that I could shake some sense into them. I wish that they didn't act like they know everything when you're trying to impart some small bits of 'hey, I've been there, you should take my advice' nuggets of wisdom. When did everyone between the ages of 18-20 get such a huge chip on their lazy, never have worked, waiting-to-be-handed-my-future-on-a-silver-platter, shoulders? That's what I'd really like to know. Because one thing I know for sure, is that nobody can want something for you more than you want it for yourself. And if you're not willing to work for it then you may as well resign yourself to your minimum wage Walmart job and be done with it.


Ugh. Ok, I'm done. I just needed to write some things down and now I'm done. No explanations, no expanding. That's it.

The Author Who Made Me Write....

The first time I read Sandra Cisneros was about 15 years ago. It was a book of poetry called Loose Women and it changed me. For the first time I read a book of poems that read like I thought. It read like the way I thought. It was amazing. There was a poem in particular called 'You Bring Out The Mexican In Me'...it remains one of my all time favorite poems. Although, I understood the sentiment behind the poem, it wasn't until Tres that I felt the feelings of it. They are primordial, visceral and all encompassing...just like love. And you would do anything for it.

Tonight, sitting here listening to beautiful, heartfelt music, missing my husband, reading Cisneros, makes me remember; makes me think and feel.

So here it is:

"You Bring Out The Mexican In Me"
by Sandra Cisneros

You bring out the Mexican in me.
The hunkered thick dark spiral.
The core of a heart howl.
The bitter bile.
The tequila lágrimas on Saturday all
through next weekend Sunday.
You are the one I'd let go the other loves for,
surrender my one-woman house.
Allow you red wine in bed,
even with my vintage lace linens.
Maybe. Maybe.

For you.

You bring out the Dolores del Río in me.
The Mexican spitfire in me.
The raw navajas, glint and passion in me.
The raise Cain and dance with the rooster-footed devil in me.
The spangled sequin in me.
The eagle and serpent in me.
The mariachi trumpets of the blood in me.
The Aztec love of war in me.
The fierce obsidian of the tongue in me.
The berrinchuda, bien-cabrona in me.
The Pandora's curiosity in me.
The pre-Columbian death and destruction in me.
The rainforest disaster, nuclear threat in me.
The fear of fascists in me.
Yes, you do. Yes, you do.

You bring out the colonizer in me.
The holocaust of desire in me.
The Mexico City '85 earthquake in me.
The Popocatepetl/Ixtacchuatl in me.
The tidal wave of recession in me.
The Agustín Lara hopeless romantic in me.
The barbacoa taquitos on Sunday in me.
The cover the mirrors with cloth in me.

Sweet twin. My wicked other,
I am the memory that circles your bed nights,
that tugs you taut as moon tugs ocean.
I claim you all mine,
arrogant as Manifest Destiny.
I want to rattle and rent you in two.
I want to defile you and raise hell.
I want to pull out the kitchen knives,
dull and sharp, and whisk the air with crosses.
Me sacas lo mexicana en mi,
like it or not, honey.

You bring out the Uled-Nayl in me.
The stand-back-white-bitch-in me.
The switchblade in the boot in me.
The Acapulco cliff diver in me.
The Flecha Roja mountain disaster in me.
The dengue fever in me.
The ¡Alarma! murderess in me.
I could kill in the name of you and think
it worth it. Brandish a fork and terrorize rivals,
female and male, who loiter and look at you,
languid in you light. Oh,

I am evil. I am the filth goddess Tlazoltotl.
I am the swallower of sins.
The lust goddess without guilt.
The delicious debauchery. You bring out
the primordial exquisiteness in me.
The nasty obsession in me.
The corporal and venial sin in me.
The original transgression in me.

Red ocher. Yellow ocher. Indigo. Cochineal.
Pinon. Copal. Sweetgrass. Myrrh.
All you saints, blessed and terrible,
Virgen de Guadalupe, diosa Coatlicue,
I invoke you.

Quiero ser tuya. Only yours. Only you.
Quiero amarte. Aarte. Amarrarte.
Love the way a Mexican woman loves. Let
me show you. Love the only way I know how.