without hope

i don’t know
what i could possibly
be hoping 
for
what would even cure
this
thick
bleak
sludge
i call my soul
what could ever change
my hopeless situation
i mean
it’s
hope
less
that is
without hope
that one thing
pandora supposedly kept
from escaping
her box
hope
hope is gone
because really
i’m pretty sure
it was never there
to begin with.

this is from the other day when i was in a deep dark place, deciding that i should just do away with hope because what had hope done for me lately?
in case you’re wondering
or conference calling me with the suicide hotline
i am feeling less bleak today. 
i mean, if i think too hard, i could probably recall my reasons for eighty-sixing hope. however, i am going to try to float a bit above that abyss for now…until i trip & fall into it again.
until then….

ps. it doesn’t make sense. if pandora opened the box & let loose all the horrible things onto humankind…but slammed it shut before hope could escape, wouldn’t that mean hope was locked away from us? or that the awful things flew away from us? one or the other? why was hope in there with all the horrors anyway? wouldn’t it be kept in a box with love & kindness? or why keep hope in a box at all. let the little fucker run free.
i mean
i get it–but it doesn’t make sense.

credit to arthur rackham whose depiction of pandora i borrowed  heavily from.

Advertisements

a letter for me

today is a sunshine
feeling
on my soul
as i am
sideswiped by
some
free floating feeling
of hope
a little glow
of
happiness like a letter in the mail
but not a love
letter
not a secret admirer
hoping for a
woo
but the letter i see in my heart
a letter telling me
how wonderful
&
talented
how amazing i am
a letter for me
& me
alone
i do not crave an “us” when
this happy happy hits
my heart
this anticipation
of good things
to come
no
i crave a me
all i want
is me.

i realize yesterday i was talking about wanting to be taken care of. and, yes, i do long for someone in my life to love & care for me in the way i need that. however! when i was feeling hopeful on the day i wrote this, i was not hoping for romance. i was hoping for…how do i say it? fulfillment? reaching that place in my life when i am…i dunno. it’s so hard to explain. i felt it in me when i wrote this. it got expressed as a letter in the mail. that special feeling of a letter in the mail.
but a letter that completes me…as a person? does anyone know what i mean? also, this picture was all pen on paper–no forethought. i just put pen to paper & drew. so…brick mermaid? i’m not sure. maybe i will interpret it at some point.

meanwhile, a couple days ago i was driving in my car when i remembered intentional communities. and then thought about how maybe there was a community that would welcome livestock as well.

sometimes i feel like my brain is a very poorly routed labyrinth.
how did i forget about intentional communities? i lived in a cooperative house for four years where my passion for cooperative living was ignited despite the horrible drama of said house.

so i started researching over on the intentional communities site i have always used. and i have found there might be a place for the minions & me & all of our pets.

but the point of my bringing all of this up is that there is a place called teaching drum in wisconsin where a community of people live on property and teach outdoor skills. i went to check out what they are hiring…beekeepers? goat milkers? duck wranglers?…office administration. oh.
then i thought…do i qualify? i have no experience with anything. no one will hire me….

but i started writing my resume and you know what? i have a lot of fucking experience. and some of it even happens to be in an office & doing computer-y stuff. holy fuck, y’all. i have done a lot of things–learned a lot of things–in my 48 years breathing air on this planet. writing a resume incorporating life experience & informal jobs/education can be empowering.
huh.

i have a lot to offer to an intentional community.
maybe this is what that letter in the mail feeling is about. valuing myself.

INKtober twenty-first

leftover love
stuck
in the corners
of my
heart
like those spiders
living in my window panes
i just try to pretend
it is normal
accepted
and not really happening
leftover love
do i warm it up?
or let it stay cold
pushed to the back
of the fridge
growing
crusty.

a poem about my housekeeping skills…or lack thereof?

after another close call with sliding back into my dusty knickers…i wrote a letter/list of all the reasons i divorced him. quite an impressive list if one is impressed by a person’s ability to sabotage a relationship…anyhoo, the letter helped me to see more clearly & to remember why i am divorced.
i wrote it because i realized–amidst an argument over the phone after i told him that our getting back together was a bad idea–i realized he has never taken any blame in my divorcing him.
he presents it as: she divorced me; she is bad & deserving of my treating her like crap.
when, in fact, i had many many many reasons for divorcing him & gave him chance after chance after chance before divorcing him.
ack.
like he thinks i just flipped a coin & decided to turn all of our lives upside down??
seriously…it appears as if that is how he views my decision to divorce him.
so i wrote a list.
a long list.
which helped me, at least. and–hopefully–will help him accept his role in our relationship crashing & burning.

now i prepare for another long, cold winter–alone (you know, except for the four kids, four goats, two cats, a puppy, dozens of ducks, chickens, geese, a turkey named hamlet, & a ewe named elsa.) at least i know how to keep myself busy.

strangely, i do feel relieved to let go (again!) of hope for a dusty & me revival tour.

a smell of hope in the wind

today
i let the wind
blow
my anxiety away
today
i let myself
feel
the happiness that resides inside
me
today
i let myself know
hope.

a quick smattering of words. a quick sketch. i don’t even remember writing this one little page of hope amidst mine troubled pages. but i do remember the feeling.
or, rather, i know the feeling.
when i was in my early twenties, i was in therapy. i know, right–me? in therapy? anyhoo. i had this awesome therapist who wouldn’t let me cut corners. she was tough.
and one day, i had a breakthrough.
honestly, the stuff of movies & novels.
i went from being terrified of the dark, to not fearing anything. i went from never knowing happiness, to having a glowing spot of joy in my heart.
i could feel it.
i could feel it in my heart. and i was terrified of losing it. i told my therapist this. i said it would be like flowers for algernon and i would lose my joy & know i was losing it because i had gotten to feel what it felt like. after a childhood of fear & unhappiness. it would be cruel.
my therapist assured me i was crazy & that i had the happy now in my heart & forever in my heart.
she was right. i check sometimes when things seem darker than than anything a person could survive…and the little glowing spot in my heart is still there.

when i want to feel it strong & bold, all i have to do is stand in the sunshine, watch the fluff of the clouds, and feel the wind blow over me.

maybe that’s why i am still here today.

surviving ourselves

i think
we were supposed
to be
caretakers
i think
we lost our way
& now
we just reap
& sow
our sorrow
on the world
around
manifesting
our own dark hearts
to block out the light.

this post kind of goes along with the last one. i am thinking a lot about this kind of thing. actually, i spend a lot of time thinking about this kind of thing…i just never know how to approach it in my art & writings. so i am trying to venture into that…but don’t worry. my heart broke all over again so there will be more of those posts coming your way very soon.

but!
about this kind of post–which i hope to do more of in the future. i am reading scott russell sanders’s book hunting for hope and it has me thinking about hope–which i actually do have bucket loads of even though it may seem like i focus on the darker matters. i think i focus on the darker stuff because it helps me to shine light on the shadows of mine.
i want to be able to express that hope in a way that doesn’t sugarcoat but that actually heals.
so that is another goal of mine with my art.

and just for fun…here’s another picture of my face post bee sting epiphany.

bee face 011

dancing with bees

today
a bee stung me
in the face
& then
a “neighbor”
mowed down my ditches
i had left wild
with hopes of cultivating
flowers
for the bees
& then crop dusters
somehow within their
legal rights
dive bombed the fields
around me
leaving poison in their wake
& all i could do was worry
for the bee who stung me
for her sisters in the hive
for her sisters foraging
in the ditches & fields
because i know
without a doubt
& can see
despite my eyes being
almost swollen shut
that their lives
are vastly more important
vastly more meaningful
than mine.

it is not that i think my life is meaningless. well, relatively speaking it is as well–but i was saying all human life is meaningless. seriously. what are we good for? we hurry around this planet acting so important & superior…but what do we do?
we are a plague worse than any other.
we destroy land.
poison water.
kill off species after species.
why? what is our purpose?
the bee is an honest & hardworking creature. one with purpose. look to the flowers & fruit. that is the bee’s work.
have we ever done anything half as important as that?

my misery is evolving into epiphanies about the misery of all of us. this is exciting, right?

ps. check out my face!

bee face2 001

what for you bury me in the cold, cold ground?

that would be my message in a bottle
assuming a rejection
because it feels like rejection
all of it
my entire life
feels like rejection….
what for
you bury me
in the cold…cold
ground?
a quote from a saturday morning memory
back when life seemed like
something i was waiting for
surely something good
would happen
for all the bad
i had endured
but it doesn’t work
like that
does it?
people from bad childhoods
grow into adults
who only know what hurting feels like
who only recognize pain
as a feeling
who run away
honestly terrified
of anything that doesn’t fit
the fucked up pattern
their childhood
mottled onto
them.

 

the drawing is inspired by egon schiele
the quote is from looney tunes

keeping my tomorrows

i used to think
as our song said
“i would trade all my tomorrows
for one single yesterday”
but today
today i realized
as i proclaimed myself
free from my own
haunting
i realized
i want all of my tomorrows
all of them
i don’t want my
yesterdays
the past is gone
but tomorrow
tomorrow is a new day
a new day
with you.

before i quit facebook, i had a male friend tell me, “you can do better” in regards to my obsession with seymour.
i don’t know if this friend knew my obsession was with seymour & disapproved of seymour (i knew them both in the same years & in the same town…but i didn’t know this friend very well at the time) or if he was just poo-pooing decades old obsessions in general.
said friend than went on to say, “but of course, janis joplin spent her entire career obsessed with one guy.”
what a coincidence. because it is janis joplin that sings the song that seymour & i would always call our song…”me & bobby mcgee.”

in the shower just now, singing that song, i was thinking…we should have picked a different song. but you know how it is when you are young and nothing can possibly go wrong with your enchanted romance.
later in our relationship, i picked a different song for us. one that felt like i felt when i was with seymour… like christmas.

and after we broke up…i stuck with the cyndi lauper to describe how i felt and this was the song that i related to seymour. (yes, i know it is actually a prince song…but my favorite version is the one cyndi lauper sings)

it was only recently–in the past handful of heartbreaking years with dusty–that i started feeling haunted by “me & bobby mcgee”…finding myself thinking that i actually would trade my tomorrows to have a day already gone just to be next to seymour again.
which is not a good way to feel…that kind of remorse & regret. it’s a dark place. a sad place.

so!
i am pleased to report that i don’t want to trade my tomorrows anymore.
i don’t.
i want to keep my tomorrows.
i want to hold onto my hope & tell regret to fuck the fuck off already.

silly love song

silly love song

i’ve realized
you are the only person
i want to be
with
not someone like you
(as unlikely as that is)
not someone who treats me
like you treated me
but you
exactly you
only you
when i think of dating
of loving
anyone else
i feel repulsed
when i imagine
dancing in my kitchen
with you
waking every morning
to you
my whole body tingles
& i swear
i must glow
with sweet longing.

writing this was easy…sharing it–not so much. so i started wondering as i tend to do. why is it easier for me to share my dark & disturbing parts?
my sad & barely surviving parts?
my anxious & depressed parts?
my struggles & shortcomings?
my feelings of worthlessness & isolation?
my oh so crazy bits?
but sharing something i wrote about love…my feelings of love…for another person…i feel like i have gone too far.
i feel like i have crossed some sort of line.
this shouldn’t be allowed!
and, to boot, it is unrequited love i am celebrating.
yuck. so gross.
why do i react to love as if it is something unspeakable? unthinkable? illogical? is this cultural/generational or is it reflective of my damage? or…is my damage also reflective of my culture/generation?

there are entire movies. entire tv series. books, poetry, and songs. all of these. dedicated to love. all kinds of love.
so why do i feel so stupid admitting that i love someone?

so in art journal psychotherapy today we have learned that i am more comfortable with & even celebratory of my darkness & my damage and will happily shove it right in your face….
but when it comes time to share my thoughts of love & devotion & romantic longing…for a man of all things…to admit that i have these feelings…then i ready myself to fall on my sword.
i find being morose a more natural & acceptable state than being dreamy.
yet i call myself quixotic and think of myself as whimsical? a puzzle inside an enigma wrapped in a conundrum.
do you see the exhausting challenge of being me? of living in my head?
but!
in the interest of balance
here it is
a little of my yang for all of the yin
a silly love song.

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑