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Sunday, May 31, 2009

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not: college romance

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not…
I’m tired. So I should back off. I don’t feel it’s going well. But everyone else seems to. So now what?
Plucking petals from flowers. He loves me, he loves me not. It always ends in not. Should I keep trying? The book. The card. Thursday maybe. Should I ask him out again? To read my play perhaps?
He loves me, he loves me not. How much rejection can I handle? Does he like my smile? My eyes? Does he think I’m beautiful? Smart? Interesting? Does he think about me when I’m not there? When I am there? What did that dance mean? The hands. The look. The touch. Was this the end of something at the breathe of birth, or the beginning?
He loves me, he loves me not. How long should I wait to ask? When will I know? I feel like crying from impatience, desire, and need. The need to know. To clarify. To make the intangible definitive.
He loves me, he loves me not. How many flowers must I kill before he loves me?
“I’ll always be here when you need me,” he says. Really? Will you really? I need you now. Where are you? I need you. Hello, out there.
Are you shy? Uninterested? Unsure? Uncertain? Unavailable? Annoyed? Give me a sign. He loves me, he loves me not.

Saturday, May 30, 2009

Breathing in the Stillness of the Night


Breathing in the stillness of the night

March 24 2000

Sometimes I feel like I’m on fire inside. Things are raging uncontrollably. It’s chaotic and overwhelming. And I think that maybe if I can find a way to internalize the peace and tranquility I sometimes see around me that it will be ok. So I go outside in the middle of the night and I revel in the stillness and blackness and I inhale deeply hoping that maybe by sheer will power I can breathe in the stillness of the night and all the insanities buzzing around in my head will sleep and I will be at peace. But, as soon as I leave the cloak of darkness, the buzzing starts up again and my head pounds with the burden of trying to catch the dancing letters in the air and keep them captive on the page in a way that inspires thought and reveals insight. And there are days when I wonder, can I really do this? Then I think, I have no choice. Do I must. And I do.

March 25

The deities of sleep are conspiring against me for reasons I know not. Furthermore, this possibility has come to my attention, that those momentary splashes of true insight and brilliance I occasionally come across in my meanderings are washing away in a mind too cluttered to sort them out and file them for the good of human kind. And so that is what is to be said about potential. Such a silly word, really. Either be or don’t be, but who cares about potential. Reminds me of a joke my brother told me. The punch line serving as a sharp comparison between potential and reality. Reality, now there’s an unfathomable concept. What, indeed, is real? It’s all just symbols. Are symbols real? Only in as much as we understand them. So, how well do we understand them? Forget we. How well do I understand them? Life is a game, a competition to see who can unravel the meaning. Someone once said (or maybe wrote) something like “Life is a comedy for those who think, and a tragedy for those who feel.” Does that make it a tragi-comedy for those of us who do both? My brother once said … damn, how did it go (pardon me a moment while I search my mind for the right memory) “Life is a tragedy in writing and a comedy when spoken.” Though I do believe it sounded better when he said it. We were buying strawberry pie at the time. Sadly, they weren’t quite ripe.

Friday, May 29, 2009

Rainy Day Bike Ride

A Rainy Day Lesson
Written Spring 2006

A rainy day in Washington. Nothing unusual there. But, when you’re born and bred in Southern California, constant moisture is a new thing. We’re adjusting. On this particular day we’ve been in Washington for a few weeks and still our house looks like the Demon of Choas has been a long time houseguest. With three girls under 3 it’s hard to get work done quickly. I remember when I could set up house in a weekend. Now, I’m lucky if I get a shower in a weekend. So, on this particular day our kids are with a babysitter while my husband and I work furiously to get as much done as possible. We haven’t even taken a break for food, unless you count the Red Vines and chocolate chip cookies we’ve been living on all day. But for one moment on this wet day we are distracted by something outside.
With the incredible view from our living room we can see Puget Sound and all the houses around us, even the local school. At the moment the rain has stopped, though the air still hangs heavy with moisture. Just up the street on the school grounds is a little girl in a pink coat and green helmet learning how to ride her bike. A man (presumably her father) is her coach. She is safe, surrounded by the fences of the school in the basketball court. She makes her way slowly in a circle and falls. Ouch. But she’s tough. She gets back up and dusts herself off. She’s a little wet, a little cold, but this is the day she’s been waiting for. Her independence. A bike. And the ability to navigate that bike safely and quickly. It’s a dream come true for this young girl. So, undaunted, she gets back on the bike. This time she makes her way around the court more quickly, and she stays on longer. Another fall. Another try. Over and over she gets back up on the bike and keeps going. At the end of the lesson she gets to ride the bike up the street to her house, where her family comes out to greet her and encourage her in her success.
There will be more falls, to be sure. But they’ll become less and less as she learns, as her body adapts to this new trick. And she’ll keep getting up and dusting herself off and getting back on the bike.
Our daughters are too young for this experience yet. But soon we’ll be that parent standing outside encouraging, teaching and demonstrating. We’ll be there for them, but we’ll also stand back and let them learn the lessons they need to learn. I wonder what we’ll say. I can hear my husband give his usual line when something unpleasant befalls our little ones. In a kind, daddy voice, “Well, that happens sometimes. It’s ok. Here let me kiss it.” I’m sure the father of that girl said something along those lines. “It’s alright. You’re doing great. Try it again. I’m right here.” And he is, but he hangs back, giving the girl space to try and fail. And try again and succeed on her own.
It’s hard as a parent to let go of that bike, but let go we must. A little at a time. Fortunately we are given time to learn this lesson. Baby steps, if you will. First they learn to crawl, in that awkward injured warrior kind of way they have of dragging themselves across the room. Then they learn to walk. Over and over they fall as we let go of their hand. But they keep getting up. And eventually they get it, and we learn to let go. Occasionally they’ll let us hold their hand again, but they’re big girls now.
And it’s incredible, really, that we all go through this. We all learned the basics surrounded by something safe. And we all got it, after time. I don’t see many adults crawling to work. Somehow the tenacity of the human spirit keeps us getting back up over and over again. As we grow older the lessons become harder, the bruises deeper. Sometimes it takes us longer to get back up. Some people give up, and don’t get back up. They lose hope. They lose courage. I can understand this. I’ve been there. I’ve had moments of such despair that I thought surely this is the end. I cannot get back up. I cannot get back on the bike of life. I just can’t. And I moan and cry and remain heartbroken for a time, but then the despair becomes anger, and the anger becomes a motivator of change, and in time hope returns. Then I get back up, dust myself off and look around. The scary world around me has changed. I see the fences of safety I have created for myself. Boundaries and lines that are not meant to be crossed. Healthy boundaries that allow me my freedom with safety. And then I look and see my family has come out to greet me, to congratulate me on my successes. My husband, my babies, my parents and siblings, my dearest friends. They offer me compassion, hope, refuge and encouragement.
The lessons we learn on those bikes when we are so young are lessons to remember for life. When you fall off, get back up. Dust off, and get back on. You will get it eventually. And you will be proud and free, and loved by those around you in the process. These are the lessons I hope to teach my little girls as they grow into these experiences. But my words won’t teach them this. Only my life; my actions. They may not listen to what I say, but I know they’re watching. I see them mimic me every day. Scary. Telling. And I know that I will get back up, every time. Because those little eyes will be waiting to see what mommy does, and they will learn their lessons. Just as I did. Just as you will. So happy riding. In rain or sunshine, be encouraged on your journey. And enjoy the view along the way. You never know what you will learn next.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Raw Desire

Raw Desire 11.17.07

The raw power of desire threatens to sweep away all thoughts of what should be
Leaving only the burning certainty that this must be, that we must be
The coupling that will occur is driven by more primitive forces than you and I can know
And is fueled by a magic more ancient than our ability to remember
Nothing can stop this inevitable union from reshaping our destinies

My body burns with the memory of your skin against mine
My lips still taste the minty flavor of your mouth
Even in silence I can hear your voice calling my name
Beckoning me to join you in your world so far away
I’m pulled along this river of passion with no desire to stop
And no desire to navigate to safer destinations
I follow the scent of you, like an animal in the wild, tracking its mate
I feel only the driving force of this need to touch you again,
To feel your heart beat against my chest
To slip into the darkness and heat of your embrace, never to emerge

What is this magic that draws us to each other?
Like magnets, once flipped, unable to resist the pull of the other
Universal forces uniting to lead us down this unpaved, wild road of destiny’s landscape
To be apart, to wait for that moment of surrender to come,
Creates a pain and longing so deep that I cannot find the source

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

The Minute

The Minute

The other day while cleaning my room, I found the most unusual thing. A minute – curled up under the bed. I thought it was dead, so I nudged it a bit, and then stood back and waited. The minute slowly came to life. I looked in awe at this minute. It wasn’t remarkable looking. It was small, no bigger than a…well, you know, but it had a certain quality about it that peaked my interest. So I spoke to it. “Minute. What are you doing here, under my bed?” And the minute replied, “I’m waiting for you. I’ve been here for years, waiting for you to find me. Other minutes have come and gone, but I have stayed –waiting. I was beginning to think you’d never come.”
I thought for a moment, and I tried to remember this minute, but it looked too much like the others, and I couldn’t place it. The minute, seaming to sense my thoughts, spoke.
“We are all alike. A minute is a minute. It’s what you do with us that makes us different from one another. The others—the millions and billions and trillions – they were wasted minutes. They’re gone forever.”
I was sad at that thought, that so many beautiful little minutes had been thrown away by me.
“So, what are you still doing here?” I asked.
“Well,” it said slowly, “I’m a saved minute. I’m different. But you forgot about me many years ago. For awhile I was the monster under your bed. You were scared of me and so when you looked at me your fear saw a monster. Then I became a shadow of nothing, forgotten, but not gone. So that when you looked at me, your apathy saw nothing. But now it’s different.
“What’s different?” I asked.
“Why, you are!” said the minute. “You see, I’ve never changed. In all these years I’ve always been just a minute. You’ve changed. And now you see me as I am.”
I took a moment and looked at the tiny minute lying there under my bed. I thought about all the minutes of the world, the universe. What a powerful tool a minute is, I thought. In a minute, tragedy and beauty can both be born. In a minute, our country can change forever because of a plane hitting a tower. In a minute, a Pope can die. In a minute, a child is born. In a minute, two lovers are wed. A minute can change the world, or it can change nothing. In a minute we can listen to a commercial. In a minute, we can pollute our bodies with junk, or we can fill them with life. It’s the choice we make in one minute that changes our lives.
The minute under the bed looked at me expectantly – waiting. I reached under the bed and gently pulled it into the light.
“You’re not a monster, and I see you now. Thank you for waiting.”
“The minute smiled. “So what are you going to do with me?” it asked.
“Well,” I said. “The only thing I can do, now that I know the truth. I’m going to change the world.”

Monday, May 25, 2009

Refrigerator poetry

Refrigerator poetry

Remember me and smile
I love the wild tomorrows
How will time look today?
Beautiful at night.

Sunday, May 24, 2009

Love, True Love

Love, true love

May 21, 2000

I want to believe that there is that one. That soul mate of mine that I am more perfectly suited for than anyone else. I want to believe that that love is eternal, and our vows to each other transcend life and death and bind us to each other for all eternity. I want to believe that this is a once in a lifetime experience, this rare love. And no relationship before or after could ever compare, and therefore I would not want to be in a relationship with anyone else if I were to lose this person. I want to believe this because what’s the point otherwise? I want to believe this because the heart is the last safe place for magic to dwell without getting stifled by reality. It is the last great quest, to find love. To love and be loved by that someone that your heart has been waiting for always.

May 24, 2009

My how I've changed.

Saturday, May 23, 2009

Trust by KA Kinrade

Trust

I don’t trust you
They told me not to
And they know best, don’t they?

They say you lie
And you’ll lie again
They say you’ll hurt me
And make me cry

I don’t trust you
They told me not to
I can’t question them, can I?

They say your pain
It isn’t real
They say it’s lies
For your own gain

I don’t trust you
They told me not to
What they say’s true, is it?

They say you’re t’blame
For all the bad
They say you caused me
All this shame

I don’t trust you
They told me not to
But I am you
How can that be?

I don’t trust them
I don’t trust you
I don’t trust anyone, do I?

Friday, May 22, 2009

To be with you by KA Kinrade copyrighted

To be with you

As each tear falls upon the sheet
I ring a bell for you

To guide your way from far beyond
To bring us the closer, too

And if the bell you cannot chart
Just follow the sound of my heart

For I will bring you closer still
So we’ll never be apart

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Angelic Visions

Angelic Visions 11.17.07

An angel told me I will see you
Through the misty veil of my dreams
Light and Sun will shine so bright
Revealing to me your souls true nature

And angel told me I will know you
Just by looking in your eyes
Hearts and dreams will recognize
Our bodies knowing will unite

An angel told me I will need you
To hold me when the shadows come
To match my strength standing side by side
When the storms of change try to ravage us

And angel told me that when you come
We may be tied to different pasts
Created by choices held long ago
But that time makes no mistakes with us

An angel told me not to run
When the fear of what is grips my heart
But to look in your face and hold your hand
And accept love however it comes

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

The Yellow Room by KA Kinrade

The Yellow Room
There is a room, and in the room a chair sitting broken in the corner. There are no doors, and the ceiling is very high, too high to reach without a chair.
On the ceiling is a window, offering a glimpse of the sky. The walls are yellow- deceptively jovial – mocking the limited confines of the space.
In the center of the room stands a woman, holding one leg of the broken chair. She wears nothing but a small silver chain around her neck, which holds a key. A key to a door that once was but is not more. The woman stands on her toes, stretching to full height, her abdomen lengthening, her legs are taught, her arms are hyper extended. In her outstretched arm she holds the small piece of wood that was once a chair.
She tries in vain to touch the end of the wood to the window, to shatter the barrier between her and the sky. Between her and freedom. The woman, mustering all her strength, jumps as high as she can and thrusts the wood into the window, shattering it.
The glass falls like rain in a cascade of shards around her naked body, butting into her pale skin. Drops of blood form on her face, arms, breasts, feet… The blood, alive and free from the trappings of the body, flows down her skin like tiny crimson rivers just released from their damns.
The woman looks at her body and then looks at the window. She hears the sound of thunder as raindrops fall into her room, mixing with the glass, blood and sweat on her body.
She sits down under the window, he body crushing the glass on the floor. She feels the pain and revels in it, as she does the cool, cleansing rain. She allows the pain, and the blood, and the rain, to wake her up, to remind her that she is in fact alive.
And so she sits, under the window, in her yellow room, with pools of watery blood forming around her body as she waits for the sun to come again.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

The Unruly Barfly, by KA Kinrade

The Unruly Barfly 11-6-07

The Unruly Barfly flaps its wings, creating a general flurry
Plops itself into the thick amber liquid of denial and lost memory
Swimming in delusion, basking in the glow of superficial joviality
The Unruly Barfly surrenders itself to the shallow existence of intoxicating slumber
Hoping to the end that this liquid anesthesia to life’s pain will last longer than reality…
And knowing it will not.

For tomorrow will come and the Unruly Barfly will open its eyes to the sober experience of living
Ill equipped to handle the bright light of morning, the Unruly Barfly, bleary-eyed, covers its head and prays for the cloak of night to hide its secrets and sins
For the Unruly Barfly never really learned to fly at all.
It crawls through life, grabbing what it can, to take it from one moment to the next
Using and discarding those around it to justify its own painful existence.

And so night comes.
And once again the Unruly Barfly flaps its useless wings, and plunges into another lost memory

Monday, May 18, 2009

Death a poem by KA Kinrade

Death be not Proud
You are not the end
But only the beginning
Time is your destroyer
You are the illusion of
The nightmare we call reality
Our dreams cannibalize us
Consume us as food
As we feed on the sex of others
We fear what we do not see
But the myth becomes reality
As we tell our story of life.

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Reaching Forever

Reaching Forever 11.4.07

When will we reach our forever?
I look to the stars as guides,
They say the stars have the answers
But they tell a different story each night

When will we reach our forever?
The moon hides her secrets from me
She lays out a course of direction
But her waxing and waning mislead

When will we reach our forever?
The sun burns my eyes when I seek
His heat is the heat of our love
But he offers no answers to me

When will we reach our forever?
When will I know you are mine?
When will our love reach the heavens?
And when will your arms reach me?

When the stars show themselves in daylight
And the moon lights our path to the other
When the sun explodes in our bodies
Then we will be free in our forever.

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Moving Mouths, a poem by KA Kinrade

Moving Mouths

Your mouth is moving and sound escapes, but the meaning is lost on me
And I can tell by the look in your face, that the feeling is mutual
If miscommunication could kill, we’d both occupy an early grave
As it is, it just maims the relationship, tearing it apart piece by piece
The heart still beats, blood still flows, but nothing is getting to the brain.
Hooked up to monitors, we survive only through external forces

I create worlds with my words, paint pictures in the minds of many strangers
Evoke emotions, argue issues and clarify theories
I understand and am understood by people whose names I’ll never know
And yet with you, the one with whom I share my world,
You I cannot touch with my many words
You, whose heart beats next to mine each night
You I cannot understand

As if from opposing planets, Mars and Venus, we speak in different languages
And no book can bridge this gap in our solar systems

As our love’s body dies, we fight to revive that which was never there
Hoping against odds that we can learn at the last moment
What years of loving hasn’t taught
To receive the meaning that is lost to me, when your mouth is moving and sound escapes.

11.12.07 copyright KA Kinrade

Do your ears ring?

Many people suffer from a condition called tinnitus, a ringing in the ears. It may not sound very debilitating but it can lead to anxiety, insomnia, inability to concentrate and more. There are various treatments avaialable, and any phyiscal causes shuold be ruled out by a physician. Hypnosis can also be helpful, as can certain dietary adjustments. Here is some information on this condition.


Tinnitus - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia: "Tinnitus (pronounced /tɪˈnaɪtəs/ or /ˈtɪnɪtəs/,[1] from the Latin word tinnītus meaning 'ringing'[2]) is the perception of sound within the human ear in the absence of corresponding external sound.
Tinnitus can be perceived in one or both ears or in the head. It is usually described as a ringing noise, but in some patients it takes the form of a high pitched whining, buzzing, hissing, screaming, humming, or whistling sound, or as ticking, clicking, roaring, 'crickets' or 'tree frogs' or 'locusts', tunes, songs, or beeping.[3] It has also been described as a 'wooshing' sound, as of wind or waves.[4]. Tinnitus can be intermittent or it can be continuous. In the latter case, this 'phantom' sound can create great distress in the sufferer.
Tinnitus is not itself a disease but a symptom resulting from a range of underlying causes. Causes include ear infections, foreign objects or wax in the ear, nose allergies that prevent (or induce) fluid drain and cause wax build-up, and injury from loud noises. Tinnitus is also a side-effect of some oral medications, such as aspirin, and may also result from an abnormally low level of serotonin activity. It is also a classical side effect of Quinidine, a Class IA anti-arrhythmic. In many cases, however, no underlying physical cause can be identified.
The sound perceived may range from a quiet background noise to one that can be heard even over loud external sounds. The term 'tinnitus' usually refers to more severe cases. Heller and Bergman (1953) conducted a study of 80 tinnitus-free university students placed in an anechoic chamber and found that 93% reported hearing a buzzing, pulsing or whistling sound. Cohort studies have demonstrated that damage to hearing (a"

Friday, May 15, 2009

In Between the In Between, a poem by KA Kinrade

In between the in between

I exist neither here nor there, but in the in between state of nowhere
Where purple is a smell, and yellow is a sound and I have no sense of us

It’s a place of peace, though not of tranquility, a place to buy some time
This place of no place has no you and me and therefore no pain to speak of

But the emptiness it holds is worse than the pain that I feel when living here
And so I come and go again, in and out of here and there, never really sure of where I am

But always and forever, whether here, there or nowhere, you are forever in my head
This place that has no you and me, still has you in me, and so I can never escape

Damn these places of imaginary peace, and the pain that you’ve caused my soul
If I could just escape my head for a moment or two, maybe I could sleep for once again

But you haunt every cell and you invade every dream and you’ve contaminated my life
So I’m stuck with the smell of purple and the sound of yellow clamoring in my brain

And this flitting about between the in between is simply nonsensical reasoning
Trying to create a world without you would require the world be without me

Am I willing to give up me to rid myself of you? Even in the state of nowhere?
Or must I live my life in an absurd reality of multiple dimensions just to find fake peace?

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Sex and Celibacy

Did I get your attention? They say sex sells. I guess I won't be selling anything for awhile. After my last relationship, an almost 8 year marriage, I have decided to enjoy the state of celibacy (which includes no dating or romantics ties of any kind) for the next three years.

This is the longest I've gone without a guy since I hit puberty at a very young age. Of course, living in the country with 3 kids to look after doesn't leave me as many opportunities for engagement as say, college did. But I could get some if I wanted. But the "some" I tend to get tends to break my heart among other things. So, I need to figure this whole thing out.

In prior blogs I've questioned relationships, their purpose and so on. I've shared a little about my woes and worries, torments and tears. This blog is what I'm doing about it. The next three years are devoted to getting me healthy on every level while caring for my kids. There are many phases to this plan. The first phase, which I am in now, is basic phyiscal care. I need to get my body functioning at some basic level without chronic pain and frequent shut downs. So, that is my task.

This phase of my task includes some radical life style changes, including but not limited to drinking 2 litres of green smoothies a day. For more on this health regime, see my other blog http://kimberlykinrade.blogspot.com/. It's called Hope For Health and it looks at articles that deal with health and nutrition. Much of my health journey is touched on in that blog.

So, as I said, there are many phases that include my writing, my money, my spiritual life, and relationships and sex. At the end of the three years I will presumably understand more about my own patterning and why I've chosen such self-destructive behaviors. I will also be in a healthier place in order to choose a healthier partner for healthier reasons. Are you sensing a theme?

Apparently, I can't do this while engaging in random sexual encounters or purusing love with unhelpful and unhealthy motives. Go figure.

So, to sex and celibacy. And my overall growth as a human and spiritual being. Let's just hope my future partner is putting this much attention on his own growth and development. :)

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

A Diagnosis of Fear

I've been diagnosed with the most dreaded disease ever. It kills and maims more people than drunk driving and cancer combined. It leaves more people hopeless and miserable than poverty and abuse. It's FEAR. And it's a world-wide epidemic. No one is immune. We all suffer to some degree from this dis-ease. Fear creates all of our drama, our problems, our pain, our illness. Fear kills us.

I live in constant fear that my needs won't be met. That I won't be able to pay the rent or feed my children. That my health will crash and I won't be able to take care of myself let alone my children. That we'll end up homeless, or unwanted squaters in someone else's home. One person can crash on a couch, a woman and 3 young daughters under 6 need more than a couch.

I fear that I'm failing as a mother. That my dis-ease of fear will contaminate my children and lead them into unfulfilled and hopeless lives of "quiet desperation." I fear that I will make mistakes that will irrevocobly scar them, damanging them beyond any therapists ability to fix. I fear that I failed as a wife. That I failed to show my husband how deeply I loved him, how much I would have and tried to do for him. I fear that I didn't make him happy, that I failed to be a good wife, that I failed to give him what he needed to stay.

My fear consumes me. Overwhlems me. Draws me into deep cycles of sadness and panic as I race to figure our how to feed them, clothes them, give them shelter, raise them properly, raise myself so that they don't feel this fear and assure them that they aren't abandonded and worthless. Assure them of things I can't even feel in myself just yet.

But there is a cure for fear. Not a vaccination, not a bandaid, but an honest-to-God cure that eradicates it completely from our system, leaving us completely free to be Happy and Blissful and Ecstatic in our freedom no matter what happens around us. This cure is to plug into the Divine Source of all Love and Joy and Happiness. Not just to know in our heads that it's there, that God is there, that the Universe will meet our needs, but to feel it and know it in the depth of our souls, know it more completely than anything else we've ever known.

When we connect to the Source at this level, all fear is gone. Forever. No more worries about food and shelter and clothing. All will be provided for in time. No worries about failing others, we each are on our own path and we all do the best we can. We can never make any one else happy, that is not our job. We can only help others see the Divine in themselves. Sometimes they don't want to see that. And they leave. That's ok.

I haven't reached this level of enlightment, but I know those who have. So I have hope that it's possible. And that I will. Until then I continue to notice when fear starts to eat away at my soul, and I try to replace it with the Love I'm learning to feel and be and experience and give. Because fear cannot co-exist with the Divine, who is pure Love. So today, as the fear swirls around my head looking for a way in to destroy me, I consciously choose Love. For this moment. And I'll still slip. Fear is still inside me. But now I have others who are helping me to see Fear for what it is and to eradicate it entirely. And I would be completely healed in Love. That is my Hope and my Intent.

Monday, May 11, 2009

A View of Love

I am in Love. But not in the ways I ever thought Love would be. I loved my husband, but it was a sick, starving kind of love. It was like eating junk food. You can eat and eat and become fat and still be malnourished. No matter how much I gave and loved and stayed, I never got healthy. He loved him, I think, in the best way he knew how, but he didn't know how. He doesn't know how to love himself, so how can he love anyone? That is sad.
I'm not so great at love, but my children have taught me a lot about love. I am in LOVE with them. I would do ANYTHING for them. There is nothing I wouldn't do to protect them, help them, keep them safe, teach them. In fact, my venture into learning to love myself is largely to help them love themselves. They will mirror my patterning. And that's not so great right now. I'm very upside down about love. But I'm working on it.
I have a friend who's helping me. I'm in Love with her. I've never loved another human being so much in this way. Not in any romantic way at all, but in a divinely inspired way that transcends all else. And she loves me in this way. It is a hard Love to recieve. Unconditional. Without expectation. She belives in me. Believes without question that should I pursue my writing career I will become very successful. But it doesn't matter to her. I am who am and completely loved by her just as I am. And she offers me all of herself and yet I feel I have so little to offer back. But she seems to think it is enough. That I am enough.
I'm learning to love myself by seeing myself through her eyes. By knowing that I am loved by God, by the Divine Light of All. I am not seperate. I am not alone. I am not shackled to fear and desperation as I have feared. I am free. And she is teaching me this.
So, I am learning to Love, but also to accept Love. Real Love. Love with no limits and no strings. I am learning to accept help. I am learning humility and gratitude. And I am learning to pass some very hard tests in life. And pass them I will. I do not wish to repeat this grade.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

What's Love Got To Do With It?

Our culture is obsessed with being "in love." Movies, television, music, literature, all promote this idea of being incomplete until we find that special someone. We are all on a perpetual search to find our soul mate. To have the "happily ever after" promised to us in childhood stories.
And yet, we don't find it. When we find love in some form, we spend it fighting, dealing with life, wondering if we've settled, or wondering what the fuss was about. Or we spend it fearing what would happen to us if we lost that special someone. How would we live without them? This is a valid concern, particularly for women who are dependent on the man for the financial support. I'm living proof of how scary it is when the fairy tale ends and the princess has given all her jewels to the prince only to find herself caring for their children and begging for food.
But maybe you're in a relationship where both are financially secure and can care for themselves should one partner die or should they part ways. Great. But why are you in the relationship in the first place? Are you in it because you're not complete without them? Because they make you happy? Because you're scared of being alone? Because it's become comfortable and you don't know what it would be like without them? Because you enjoy being with them? Come on, no one enjoys being with someone all the time, except in the movies.
So, what's the point of marriage, romantic love, partnerships, mating? Is it to arrange a secure environment with which to raise children? There are better ways of doing this. We've not been doing a bang up job of raising kids in this country.
Is it because whatever your religion is says you should? Hmmm...Even christianity says it's better to be single because a mate detracts from your ability to focus on your spiritual practice. It only encourages marriage so that you can have sex without sin. Basically, if you can't keep it in your pants, then get married.
Hm...what if marriage, romantic love and the pursuit of such, was such a distraction, when used the way we have been using it? What if we changed the form, so that we entered into a loving intimate contract with someone only to help them with their spiritual practice and allow them to help us with ours. What if we just let go of the knight in shining armor and damsal in distress all together, and created an arrangement where two independent and self-sufficient people came together with no other strings except to help each other love God more and connect more fully with the Divine?
It's something I'm contemplating, as I explore my heart break and sorrow. I'd love to hear your thoughts.