Insatiable

i'm hungry...
(original post Thu Jun 23, 2011, 11:39 PM)
just ask any of my friends. they will tell you. i am always hungry. what most of my friends dont realize, is that it goes far beyond my love of food. it is my personality. i have a voracious appetite for life... not just a lust. i have been known to read three or four books at a time. i spend hours wandering art museums.. feasting my eyes. the walls in my home are not white, but deep hues of red, blue, yellow, even orange! im so incredibly passionate about the human singing voice, i cannot talk about it enough, though i rarely indulge myself and refrain from bringing up the topic (as my opinion sometimes raises hackles). although my house is usually void of music or any background noise, i am in a mad love affair with melody.. often so taken am i.. i dont hear lyrics at all, even after hearing a song several times. i love freely, openly, and intensely with my entire being, not just my heart.
i dont know why i feel compelled to say these things. i just do.

swept up in my fervor for life, i often misstep and take certain things for granted. that people will understand my intentions are always well meaning.  an assumption i should never make. an expectation... of which i need to rid myself.  to put yourself in the shoes of another is never easy. tonight i walked a mile, and still have miles to go.

i should have trusted you. i should have trusted in us. i am often robbed of the right words in the wake of your storm.

i do not trust anyone. well, only one person.. myself.. even when i disappoint myself more than anyone else ever could. and yet again, it all comes back to fear. what does fear have to do with the ability to trust? everything.  what do i fear? an outcome less than favorable. being alone. rejection. the unknown.
i realize in order to trust, there has to be an absence of fear.  in order to be trusted, i must trust implicitly. it kinda works like faith. but i dont have any of that either.


i hunger. but i dont hunger for trust. i hunger for freedom from the shackles of fear.

Duet

Voices in harmony.   purity of tones entwined.  listen.. dont duke it out.  this aint a competition.  sink your teeth deep into dissonance to reveal the release of consonance.

 like two bodies in motion.. tethered in melody.. driven by rhythm.. to culmination

a conversation.. a question.. a response.. 

finishing one anothers sentence.. talking and tumbling over one another in sublime unity.

individual.. yet one.

Duet also

Over the long years, a couple learns to live their lives entwined but separate.  Like a duet, they harmonize.  They cooperate.  One soars up the scale,  the other one follows or counterpoints.  Sometimes one solos as the other falls silent and lets one take the lead so that voices do not falter.

Fishin'

you know, my brother and i were a handful. twins. best pals and worst enemies. fairly inseparable from one another. i was the baby, a whole 4 minutes younger than my high-spirited, mischievous older brother. he was only slightly more bent toward mischief than i. and he was often the mastermind behind our shenanigans. Ma would say to him, 'do not pick the strawberries'. so he would tell me to.. because the logic was that.. HE didnt do the picking. i was just gullible enough to do his dirty work. resulting in stained red fingers, stained red faces, and a couple of stained red behinds.

i was the shy twin. happy to lose myself in a book. he, the boisterous extroverted.. 'cmon.. thats boring, lets DO something!' twin. which almost always landed us in some awkward predicament.

one rainy afternoon, we were sent to our room.. instructed to clean up. so there we sat.. looking at this huge pile of laundry in the middle of the floor. Matt grinned, went to the hall closet, and pulled out our fishing poles. for the better part of the afternoon, we went fishing for clothes. at first, this seemed like a grand idea.. and it was a blast. casting.. snagging.. reeling.. and carefully removing the hook. but soon, we grew tired of being so careful and decided that a little snip with the scissors couldnt possibly hurt anything. with our chores done and the sun out, we went about our merry way. later that evening, we were watching tv with Dad and our sister, Viv.. when we heard a scream from the basement.. 'jeeeezus christ, you little sonsabitches!' ..we could hear her come flying up the steps and hollering out our full names. of course, by then, we had totally forgotten our fishing expedition. we just looked at each other as Ma held a few choice pieces of clothing up to the light for our dad to inspect.. it looked like moths had had a feast. we were grounded for a month and forced to go shopping with Ma for all new clothes.

i really could have been angry with Matt for that whole incident.. but well.. i was the one who brought the scissors into the equation.

Shame

shame.. hmm

shame is regret.. only redder.

i try to live my life without any regrets.. though there are a few.  i cross my t's and dot my i's very carefully.  but i miss a step every now and then.. and then i learn.  i realize if i dont make mistakes every now and then, im gonna run in circles.  im a champion circler.

ok so this story pops in my head dunno why..

we were at the mall.. and we were running late.  matt was on crutches.. his leg in the 'shop'..  and the entire family is racing through the mall at breakneck pace headed straight for the exit.  matt bookin it on those crutches and viv bringing up the rear.  mother hen!  we race past the arcade.. and i hear some dude shout to matt.. 'hey.. what happened to your leg, man?'  matt's rushed reply? 'I LOST IT!'

my sister fell on the ground in peals of laughter.. the dude's jaw dropped.. and we were late to the baseball game.

Shame on them.

Today my journal companion felt shame over an incident he witnessed. 
I felt deep regret and pity.  My cheeks blushed.  My  eyes watered.
I wanted to get away from the place.  I was appalled.

Perhaps they are the same feeling.  However I think that shame takes on the burden of responsibility.

No thank you.

 I'm wiser now that I used to be.  In the past I might have weighed in and gotten muddied in the process.

Now I know better.  I am careful how I spend my time. 

I've lived part of my life skirting shame, toxic shame, embarrassment,
shyness, till I froze in place. 

I cannot and will not have it in my life anymore.

Shame and fear of being shamed stops the creative process.  I will not be stopped

1968 an aha moment

dear Journal Companion,


I'm not going to tell my burn story today,  Ima telling this one instead.



I had foolishly told my burn story to my foster sister.  We were pretty good friends by then.
I thought it would be okay to trust her with it. Her reaction surprised me.

She goes over to the kitchen cabinet and pulls out a box of matches.  The long kind, with the red striped box.

She lights it and hold it out to me menacingly.   "Afraid of fire?"   I'm going to burn you."  she says.

I ran.   She runs.   A lap around the first floor.  Still after me
I stumble upstairs, she's right behind me.   With the match.  Giggling with glee and anticipation.

"Not funny, not funny, Quit it! Quit it! "  I beg.

I start up to the third floor, getting desperate then suddenly I stop.  I whirl around.


And blow that match out!


Her face crumbles and falls.

Mitzvah

As we were dismantling our house, I had to sell or get rid of a professional sewing machine.  It never really worked right and it was a beast of a machine.

All the hopes i had for it had never emerged.  It was infertile. Impotent, unloved.  and yet I mourned its leaving.


So I put it in the paper and a Russian woman and her husband come to look at it. 
We have a large community of Russian Jewish refugees that come to our city and start over again.

She tries to negotiate with me for it.   I tell her it's broken, she can have it for free.

She becomes angry at me.  Gets close to me.  Starts swearing in a language, sounded pretty severe. Pokes me a few times on the chest with her twenties.

" I work for everything in life.  No one ever gives me anything!"  poke poke she goes. "Who do you think you are, insulting me in this way?" etc she goes on red faced and quite angry.

I struggle for words. 


"It's a mitzvah"  I say scrambling for words. hoping to breach whatever social norm I had broken.

She stop instantly and her face lights up like a spring morning with daffodils out.

This she understand.

She throws her arms around my neck and peppers me with kisses.   Money is put away.  Her husband ruffles me up with hugs.

They promise to cherish the old beast.  It is carried up and out of our  house.

My burden lifts every so slightly. and I chuckle at the gulf that was jumped with one lucky word.

Mitzvah is a connection.

Miracle

today.. is a day of reflection. i stand looking in the mirror. what do i see? only half of me. i bow, humbled.. to the greatness that is humanity. in all its beauty and ugliness. and today, i try to be compassionate. it is hard. so very, very hard.. to have compassion for oneself. and today i am in tatters again. searching..

so here is a heartwarming story..

********

when we were kids.. the school system was experimenting with assimilation.. mainstreaming special needs students. by the time we were in second grade, Matt and i had been separated into two different classes. i suppose they felt we were too dependent on one another.

there was a hearing impaired boy in Matt's class. they were naturally drawn to one another. a mutual sympathetic bond. they were great friends.

one day, while playing kickball at recess.. a boy comes running after me as i rounded first base and headed for second. i look back and i see this look of pure amazement. this boy grabs my arm and starts pulling me back toward the playground. i yell and put up a fight but this boy doesnt hear me.. and he is determined to take me with him.. wherever it is he wants me to go. so i follow. and we run.. hard and fast into the school principal's office. we stand panting, i bewildered.. he speechless.. and what looks to be flailing his hands and arms in wild gesticulation.. pointing at my leg.. hugging me.. lifting my pant leg and smiling.

the secretary tried to calm the boy. and called in his teacher. the teacher brought Matt, who was spending recess inside for disciplinary reasons.

and there in the office stood two identical twins and a completely confused little deaf boy. they sat him down, and explained.. lifting Matt's pant leg.. and showing him the wooden leg.

***********
ty for reading.