Some new poetry

The bare bones of this poem filtered through my head this evening but I wasn't able to write them down immediately. I find this happening lately, and by the time I have a chance to spin the words out of my head they've disappeared into the fog. I was determined to hold on to these, this time, and found myself repeating them over and over. I made it a priority to work with them, and I'm fairly pleased with the result.


Traveling

It’s not quite late; twilight, an exhalation in my day.
I’m driving comfortably - I know these roads and this car today, and the rhythm of the pavement under the wheels feels like an echo to my heartbeat
It keeps me going.
The quiet is full of sound as the wind rushes through the open windows and cars speed by on their own missions.
The night is almost here and the day bears down with one last effort;
I can feel the dry film of sweat on my face, smell the end of the day, feel the worries and trials dragging on my shoulders and then
I see it.
Twilight, the perfect time, as swarms of fireflies come up from their soft earthen rest.
As the pavement pulses around us the side running grass comes alive with bursts of yellow pinpricks,
Like a monumental birthday cake
Like a fireworks display
With a blink and a switch the grass is alive in a new way.
I yearn for it, to be in it.
In my mind I stop and sit in the middle of this choreographed rising, ignoring the grass burns and insect bites, and with each rising blink I let go of a piece.
Each soaring firefly bears away a part of me, my worry, my trial, the weight pulling at my shoulders and heart
Until I can lay peacefully down on the Earth, breathe in the scent of evening, and find rest..
The road brings me back to myself;
I carefully tuck this existential experience into a pale blue envelope and file it away for the future,
Against a time when the fireflies fall to the Earth under the weight of my burdens
Or when I am incapable of giving away such things.

In other news, I do not excel at this motherhood thing.

I just put together Oliver's mobile tonight. The joy with which he contemplated it was worth the 5 minutes and $15. He quite happily stared while doing his superman imitation (one arm extended, one bent in front) and kicking his feet. I'm glad I took the opportunity to get it together.

But, he's nearly 4 months old already and I'm just now getting around to it. Add it to the list of today's failures:
1. Was not prepared properly for leaving with all three children for Ari's dress rehearsal. Leaving took more time.
2. Bread was moldy and in moment of total lapse couldn't think up a substitute, so we ate fast food in the car.
3. Combine 1 and 2 with a wrong turn, and that explains why we were 25 min late for dress rehearsal.
4. That moment in the grocery store when I completely lost my patience with a tired crabby 2 yr old.
5. I didn't have a grocery list, and so now I have to go back soon because I didn't get everything we needed.

I could go on, but I won't, because that makes the point. My days are usually full of these moments. Hopefully, I can take the end of the day and find enough moments when I did the right thing, the good thing, and find some kind of balance. The problem I have is that the big failures, the ones that just don't feel like they balance, tend to sneak up on me and worry at my sense of peace. They vary widely, but it all boils down to this: Have I done more harm than good? And how do I really know?

Stumbling through the undergrowth.

I wandered away from the central hub (a.k.a. the living room) and into my home away from home, the office. It's not really an office, but it houses my computer, bill paying materials, school supplies, and piano. I'm in here a lot.

I was contemplating where I am, emotionally/mentally. It's a bit of a train wreck, honestly. I was wondering what the darkness inside of me would say if given a voice. [Thank you, latest Dr. Who episode.] And then it struck me, the darkness has a voice. I hear it when I close my eyes, late at night, and the weight of my failures sit on top of my chest so that I can't breathe.

Into the midst of this, music came forth from the hub. I'm not sure what's playing, or why it was chosen, but it draws me out of my head and into someplace a bit more tangible. Like the safety rope that just snapped taut - and I am grateful.



Safely

There's a beat in my soul, a voice in my head, and they spin
Out of control, driving towards the cliff.
I don't jump; I merely fall, and bloody my hands attempting to arrest the descent.
The plants are shallowly rooted, the rocks loosely packed, the fear mind-numbing.
In the moment I embrace humbleness and resignation I find myself lying on solid ground and wonder
Which part was the dream
So that I can hold on forever.


There's an Over the Rhine song "When I Go" that comes to me often in these times. It says more than I can, which is why OtR is living and breathing their poetry instead of trying to forget it ever existed. The song is hauntingly beautiful and I could cry every time I hear it. And today, like so many days, I think of the line "I'm not letting go of God, I'm just losing my grip" I'll let you take your own thing from that, not mine.

Words are the essence of the thoughts floating through my head (and right now they feel like destruction).

Sometimes, I sit down and reread things I've written. Rambling blog posts, bits of poetry, things I've jotted down here and there. I've been rereading the last few days. In this foggy crazed life I feel like I'm losing touch. Reviewing the words from before helps remind me who I am. A word-album of memories.

Today, the word-album makes me sad.

How long will this go on? How many times will I walk this road? Where and when will it end?

And the quiet, whispered voice in the deep part of my soul wonders: Will it ever end?

I'm on the downward swing of mental health, again. My days seem to disappear in a rush of things that must be done and I feel guilty for the time I take for myself, again. I look in the mirror and wonder where I went, again. In the middle of the night my weaknesses grow into paralyzing attacks, again. I'm pretty sure the pieces have scattered everywhere with no reason or rhythm, again.

Right now, I'm sure that I am so broken it will never be fixed. Not by me, anyone, or God. Not because He can't, but because I won't let Him. Or that this brokenness is part of my time here.

All the jagged edges of me are showing, and I feel like they're attacking my life, my friends, my relationships, my peace.

Lately, I've been thinking again about some fairly significant things that happened - so long ago - that changed my course so subtly, amazingly, frighteningly, horribly. Choices I made, choices others made. And I find myself wanting to say it all out loud. The need to say it all is so very loud in my head I can hardly hear myself think anything else. But I can't say it. If I let all these words out, I'm sure that they will destroy this life I've built around me.

For the record, I know this isn't reality. I know that the words begging for release are only words. And those words wouldn't hurt the people I love or destroy my relationships with them. But the sheer explosiveness behind them might shatter me. And so I refuse to say them, because I refuse to be shattered.

I'm thinking therapy might be in order again. It's a safe place where the words can just disperse. And if they do destroy me, I can hide the destruction inside the structure of my therapy appointment and still walk around in my everyday life.

I'm so sorry. To do this again, again, again....

Things change and then smack you in the head violently.

We finally got around to yanking the disgusting cream colored carpet in our living room and dining room. It's been on the project list for years. We replaced it with this beautiful carbonized stranded bamboo flooring. While we were at it, we painted the rooms a nice bright white. We hauled out the large area rug we had in storage and unrolled it. There still a few bits that need finishing, but finally (!) the carpet is gone and the floors are beautiful to behold.

The missing carpet has created a slight echo in the dining room. It feels cold, lonely, and sad. That could just be a reflection of my mood.

For some reason, this mother's day left me more negative feeling than usual. The day coincided with a big rush to get the floors finished and Ari's seventh birthday. I've been missing my mom lately, so that's probably it.

In truth, I'm at a point in life where I can't really miss mom anymore. I miss having a mom. It's different. My life is so far from when she knew me, I wonder if she'd recognize me at all. This leaves me sad. In my mind, she'd know that it was her granddaughter's birthday. And what was going on in my life on a personal level, not just generally. Maybe I'm giving her too much credit.

For Ari's birthday, her paternal grandmother took her to Dairy Queen and let her pick an ice cream cake. Not one of those weird things with layers of cake, but a concoction made of ice cream shaped into a cake like round. The last time I'd had one of those was when my mom arranged for me to get one on my 18th birthday. It was my first birthday away from home (I was in the midst of an ill-conceived plan to attend college). It was the last birthday I celebrated while she was alive.

On my daughter's birthday, I ate ice cream cake and did my best not to cry.

I think the darkness is growing and I hate myself for it.

Windows.

From here, I can hear my computer humming. The dog grumbling. The baby swing rocking. And the quiet laying over it all. I think there's poetry in this, but it's sound thing not a word thing and I can't capture any kind of translation. My brain is working on a stream of consciousness sort of level, not interested in considering word meanings and structure, incapable of working that audible rhythm of quiet and sound into something else.

I should be sleeping. All three of my children are sleeping but I'm stuck in this rhythm, awake. My days are structured to maximize the times when my arms are free to work, I already have the kids gathered up to leave the house, the baby just ate and so I am free for a few hours. I must hurry, hurry, hurry until I must stop. It makes sleep a hard thing to find until I practically pass out, and then I feel like I've miss-scheduled the whole thing. I'm vaguely resentful of it all and am craving a chance to just sit.

I'm working on appreciating the people in my life for the positive things they grant me. I'm surrounded by some awfully cool people and they seem to make the puzzle pieces of my life fit together in a better way. Ways I don't understand, usually.

My time is up. Someone is calling me.

I'd quote that "tomato/tomato, potato/potato" song, but that's so cliche.

I wrote a blog post last week about going to Mass. Yes, you read that right: Mass.

Then a friend pointed out today that I can't really call it a blog post. Because I couldn't type it in at the time, due to Oliver's demands. So I hand wrote it instead. She feels I must now call it a journal entry. But I wrote it with the intention of typing later. Now I'm torn. To fill it in here, or just let it go? Or write something completely new?

Journaling. Blogging. Synonyms for so many.