losing control

losing control controlling loss lost and found finding yourself you yourself self control control yourself be yourself to your own self be true true to yourself true blue blue in the face facing the truth facing yourself self effacing face it saving face face the facts just the facts the facts are the facts factoring in in the face of the facts factually in control of the facts losing control of the facts losing the facts facing the loss of control

Lest We Regret

You have ashes in your eyes, she said,
wiping ashes and tears from my face.
You're not crying, are you?

No...it's merely time and the beauty
of the night.  The sky was indigo and purple
against the sea and starlight fell across continents,
across the past.

The train sped through the night
and turned time to ashes.

The Carousel

I found this in a notebook and don't recollect writing it, exactly.  It's a draft, and I'm not sure why I wrote it, but here we go:


The Carousel

We all tried
to tell her, of course,
to see that her path
was beset with stones
and pain
for all who loved her.

We never imagined, really,
the extent of Fate's cruelty,
the Karmic circle
she'd draw around herself,
and all who loved her.

She rode a carousel of grief;
as if knowing better might be
her brass ring,
we all tried, of course,
to tell her.
All of us who loved her.

Saddle Up!

I am practicing my Inner Warrior Goddess contemplation. The inner warrior is well-recognized, but the goddess thing, not so much.  The spirit is willing, and all that - I have admired, and I hope, have established a matriarchal model.  My Mom and her sisters inspired all of us girls in the family to be strong, opinionated and sure of ourselves, and inspired the boys to seek strong women.  I am a strong woman, thanks to their example.   But lately, I have felt that I am need of polishing my goddess crown, so I am reading "Training Your Inner Warrior Goddess."  As with many books of its ilk, I find the whole of it a bit annoying, if not cloying.  But hey, I have also recognized that much of my life is spent in an other-directed fashion, and the book may be a valid tool.

The first exercise, "Commit To Yourself," is predictable:  honor yourself and who you are, set boundaries, etc.  And it has been those things that need work.  I have moved back to my childhood home county and my "self" is suffering a personality disorder.  I'm from the Midwest.  We are self-effacing to a fault, and although we were encouraged not to hide our light under a basket, we were also schooled in not putting ourselves forward. Huge inner conflict.   I'm Catholic - we're a guilty bunch, and have the example of the Blessed Virgin Mary to contemplate.  Living for others, self-sacrifice, being "nice" all chip away at the inner goddess. ( I'm going to have to give her a name, I expect.)  In addition to being in a negative environment (schadenfreude rules), I have a new dependent:  my sister.  She's in poor health, she's needy, she's crazy-making.  Boundaries are set, boundaries are crossed, tempers flare.  My better self is not always on display.

Add to this a new relationship - I hate that word.  But I digress.  Who am I in this relationship?  I avoid conflict, and in so doing, exhibit the hated passive/aggressive pattern I disdain.  I have discovered that over a lifetime of relationships with both men and women, I will choose the path of least resistance until I'm totally pissed off.  It's easier for me to accommodate, adjust, realign.  So I bury my preferences, my priorities.  I still achieve them, just manage to go at it indirectly.

So I'm trying to be more assertive, speaking my mind without rancor, saying "I want this." I'm going to overdress because that's how I dress, maybe even wear my signature hats.  I am going to read my poetry out loud.  In public.

Exercise One:  Who are your female role models?  Mom and the Aunts, Maya Angelou, Nikki Giovanni, Odetta, the Benedictine nuns I have known; Marianne Moore, Cher (seriously), Katherine Hepburn, Audrey Hepburn and the early cowgirls of the American West.  Especially the cowgirls.

Saddle up!

If you lack joy,

If you lack joy, find art...

yet another untitled poem in process

We were mad with desire,
wild with love.
Memory caresses me
on the cattail breeze
reminding me of who we were
back then.

We parked on the banks of the river,
hot summer nights, skin slick and hot
burning
consumed by youth, by need,
by the ceaseless rhythm
of the river.

We live now in the 'precious ordinary'
of our days,
our blood thinner,
the nights shorter,
the river a memory.

But the blood remembers:
a spark ignites in the dry rustle
of the cornfield.
Love burns in the hot night,
mad desire returns
like the days of summer.

If Not Now, When

Last year was replete with events, issues and conversations about my home town, Thomson.  I started a Facebook page (!), I wrote articles, I attended meetings and had a great time was had by all.

New year, new focus.  All About Me.  My priorities, my writing, my art, travel and my "stuff."  I am 68.  Sixty-eight.  At my age, I can see a limited future - not maudlin, not fatalistic, just recognizing the horizon.  Sixty-eight and running strong.  Gotta sharpen my focus, have more fun.  If not now, when?

I spent most of my life being someone's daughter, someone's wife, someone's mother.  Good times, nothing wasted.  But my priorities have been mainly other-directed.

I'm always going to be a mom and a daughter, but those roles don't define me, never did.  I've always been myself, known who I am.  I haven't been stifled, but...I rarely put myself first. 

We'll see how it goes.