the most basic Me
Thursday, July 27, 2006
I think it's past time to do a catch-up post--who am I now, what am I doing with my life??
(whenever I ponder this, the start of a poem chants in my head...I am mother, daughter, sister, lover. /I am biologist, trivia gura, friend, and poet. /I am here and now, there and then /and finding my way back again. /tell me where are you if you want my truth?....)
we traveled for almost a year. I grew. I went through a long wake-up out of mania from too many years of hard work, brain-drain, depression and not dealing with grief and anger. I did the Artists Way and found more drawer in me than writer at that time. I opened up again. My husband and I began to love again after sleepwalking in our relationship for years. I watched my daughter grow.
We moved to Tucson. I opened a business. I alternate between workaholic and learning to love my family, balance my work, and learning so very much about myself. I healed a lot. I am no longer in constant pain (my back had developed a constant ache). I am writing again. I am finding a community. I am finding wonderful friends and at the same time just lost a friendship--can I even remember ever loosing a friendship I couldn't (or didn't want to?) fix?
I am sad that she hates me so much and don't know what I did other than be. But I've learned that I have a overdeveloped need to be loved--I freak if I think someone doesn't like....but I've started to outgrow that...I can handle it. I deal with too many people now to not have some people decide they don't like me!
I'm learning how differnet being an employee is from being a business owner. ¶ 5:41 PM 0 comments
(whenever I ponder this, the start of a poem chants in my head...I am mother, daughter, sister, lover. /I am biologist, trivia gura, friend, and poet. /I am here and now, there and then /and finding my way back again. /tell me where are you if you want my truth?....)
we traveled for almost a year. I grew. I went through a long wake-up out of mania from too many years of hard work, brain-drain, depression and not dealing with grief and anger. I did the Artists Way and found more drawer in me than writer at that time. I opened up again. My husband and I began to love again after sleepwalking in our relationship for years. I watched my daughter grow.
We moved to Tucson. I opened a business. I alternate between workaholic and learning to love my family, balance my work, and learning so very much about myself. I healed a lot. I am no longer in constant pain (my back had developed a constant ache). I am writing again. I am finding a community. I am finding wonderful friends and at the same time just lost a friendship--can I even remember ever loosing a friendship I couldn't (or didn't want to?) fix?
I am sad that she hates me so much and don't know what I did other than be. But I've learned that I have a overdeveloped need to be loved--I freak if I think someone doesn't like....but I've started to outgrow that...I can handle it. I deal with too many people now to not have some people decide they don't like me!
I'm learning how differnet being an employee is from being a business owner. ¶ 5:41 PM 0 comments
I realized I had posted the genesis of a recent poem a few weeks ago--my May 13th entry. The finished poem:
The Veil
We ride between the slip-stream
the soul between
folding pressure of time,
a dance in electric emotion.
your heart calls to mine,
but there is no distance
between us.
We are the same
One
conversation under skin
a power dance,
romance across lines of flowing white
tendrils catch me in a silky web of
comforting seduction before the feast.
veil pierced
time slips
past and present one
how do we know where to go?
when to go?
how to go?
we only know the taste
of need to know
how to close the distance,
but there is no distance
between us we
are the same
One
Feast that satisfies no physical hunger.
Soul need
Swallow this sticky soul bun,
this chakra salsa, cinnamon dance.
Heart beat music
swallows the sound
of memory connecting cells.
Now
there is no distance
between us. We are the same
One. ¶ 5:38 PM 0 comments
The Veil
We ride between the slip-stream
the soul between
folding pressure of time,
a dance in electric emotion.
your heart calls to mine,
but there is no distance
between us.
We are the same
One
conversation under skin
a power dance,
romance across lines of flowing white
tendrils catch me in a silky web of
comforting seduction before the feast.
veil pierced
time slips
past and present one
how do we know where to go?
when to go?
how to go?
we only know the taste
of need to know
how to close the distance,
but there is no distance
between us we
are the same
One
Feast that satisfies no physical hunger.
Soul need
Swallow this sticky soul bun,
this chakra salsa, cinnamon dance.
Heart beat music
swallows the sound
of memory connecting cells.
Now
there is no distance
between us. We are the same
One. ¶ 5:38 PM 0 comments
Seems like I'm missing a post somewhere, but oh well.
I wonder at my attitude today--am I getting older and wiser or just more lax? I am currently working two jobs--I own a company and work part time as a consultant. Today I was feeling really ill--partially from my period, but much more than normal pain and nausea. Consequently, even though there was a deadline today, I found myself unable to bring my focus to working on a document that was due for the consulting firm.
A very small part of me worries that I've 'let them down' and the owner will 'be mad at me', but to be honest, I can't bring myself to too big a sense of worry or my old sense of impending doom. I think, well, what if I am fired or they cut hours--more time for my business. I am financially fine for the next two weeks--I can always sell more ads. What a stage I've come to!! Being fine if only I have money to cover two weeks of expenses!!!
To be truthful, if I look at my pattern over the last few years, it is obvious that consulting is just not for me any more. I thought this job would work because it is so much more just research and flex hours and so forth. And actually, it has been fun. Until there is a deadline!!
Part of this work and recent reading of Michael Crichton's State of Fear has led to a place where I wonder if I may start trying to write some science articles...exposes...perhaps commenting on endangered species listing packages or environmental group letters on my own.
I do feel it is time to start writing again. I have been writing more poetry (I actually submitted one to an online magazine and was accepted--I must say though that I'm not really that impressed with their overall quality and I smell "vanity press:). I am so impressed with my friend A--she's writing a novel. She jsut decided to and is writing every night. I "wish" I could do that. Of course, that's silly to say...If I truly wished it, I'd do it. I have learned that I am fully in control of what I do and what my priorities are!
A lesson that I've learned in the last year: I truly do have the ability to choose my attitude. I can be depressed and worried, or I can be positive and happy (and thereby manifesting good things). The other day, I started worrying and getting sad again about the recent breakup of a friendship and I told myself, "you are not going to be stressed. Think of all the wonderful things that are going to happen in the next week." And I came up with a list of things--one of which was receiving at least $1000 in income--and I got to the post office and had over $900 in income. This has become normal in my life right now--I hold the ability to manifest positive change or negative energy and fears.
A couple recent poems (the second one being the better, the first more illustrative of my mood last weekend!):
I wonder at my attitude today--am I getting older and wiser or just more lax? I am currently working two jobs--I own a company and work part time as a consultant. Today I was feeling really ill--partially from my period, but much more than normal pain and nausea. Consequently, even though there was a deadline today, I found myself unable to bring my focus to working on a document that was due for the consulting firm.
A very small part of me worries that I've 'let them down' and the owner will 'be mad at me', but to be honest, I can't bring myself to too big a sense of worry or my old sense of impending doom. I think, well, what if I am fired or they cut hours--more time for my business. I am financially fine for the next two weeks--I can always sell more ads. What a stage I've come to!! Being fine if only I have money to cover two weeks of expenses!!!
To be truthful, if I look at my pattern over the last few years, it is obvious that consulting is just not for me any more. I thought this job would work because it is so much more just research and flex hours and so forth. And actually, it has been fun. Until there is a deadline!!
Part of this work and recent reading of Michael Crichton's State of Fear has led to a place where I wonder if I may start trying to write some science articles...exposes...perhaps commenting on endangered species listing packages or environmental group letters on my own.
I do feel it is time to start writing again. I have been writing more poetry (I actually submitted one to an online magazine and was accepted--I must say though that I'm not really that impressed with their overall quality and I smell "vanity press:). I am so impressed with my friend A--she's writing a novel. She jsut decided to and is writing every night. I "wish" I could do that. Of course, that's silly to say...If I truly wished it, I'd do it. I have learned that I am fully in control of what I do and what my priorities are!
A lesson that I've learned in the last year: I truly do have the ability to choose my attitude. I can be depressed and worried, or I can be positive and happy (and thereby manifesting good things). The other day, I started worrying and getting sad again about the recent breakup of a friendship and I told myself, "you are not going to be stressed. Think of all the wonderful things that are going to happen in the next week." And I came up with a list of things--one of which was receiving at least $1000 in income--and I got to the post office and had over $900 in income. This has become normal in my life right now--I hold the ability to manifest positive change or negative energy and fears.
A couple recent poems (the second one being the better, the first more illustrative of my mood last weekend!):
Saturday Morning
He said I looked bored.
He joked, “Do you want me to wake the baby?”
I was on the couch, looking at a mesquite tree.
The tree is framed perfectly, billowing
and waving in the wind. Fine wispy, yellow-green leaves
against patches of pale blue. The flowers have all fallen
except for one, small and yellow. It looks lonely there at the top.
A few old seed pods here and there,
but this year’s crop
is not ripe.
“I’m fine here,” I said.
Having nothing to do,
nothing to say,
no where to be
is a luxury.
He said I looked bored.
He joked, “Do you want me to wake the baby?”
I was on the couch, looking at a mesquite tree.
The tree is framed perfectly, billowing
and waving in the wind. Fine wispy, yellow-green leaves
against patches of pale blue. The flowers have all fallen
except for one, small and yellow. It looks lonely there at the top.
A few old seed pods here and there,
but this year’s crop
is not ripe.
“I’m fine here,” I said.
Having nothing to do,
nothing to say,
no where to be
is a luxury.
The shape of grief
When I was a child, my mother wept quietly
behind the closed doors and yelled
through the open ones.
My father was quiet during both the yelling and weeping.
When I was older, she sometimes asked me to hold her tears.
I grew frustrated that they fell so easily through my fingers.
My father watched quietly as I searched for a bowl to contain them.
I finally found, hidden in a cupboard,
a hand-carved bowl.
I hated her for the weakness of tears,
for asking me to hold the shape of her grief.
I loved the quiet impassiveness of my father’s calm watching.
It was only later, I watched quietly, calm and impassive
as my father cried over her grave, that I remembered her words,
“Please, someone help me.”
I wondered if he wished he hadn’t carved the bowl?
I wondered if he wished he had been the one to hold her tears?
¶ 5:20 PM 0 comments When I was a child, my mother wept quietly
behind the closed doors and yelled
through the open ones.
My father was quiet during both the yelling and weeping.
When I was older, she sometimes asked me to hold her tears.
I grew frustrated that they fell so easily through my fingers.
My father watched quietly as I searched for a bowl to contain them.
I finally found, hidden in a cupboard,
a hand-carved bowl.
I hated her for the weakness of tears,
for asking me to hold the shape of her grief.
I loved the quiet impassiveness of my father’s calm watching.
It was only later, I watched quietly, calm and impassive
as my father cried over her grave, that I remembered her words,
“Please, someone help me.”
I wondered if he wished he hadn’t carved the bowl?
I wondered if he wished he had been the one to hold her tears?
