Happy Anniversary

Thank you
for forty years
for being together
even when things weren't always perfect.

Your friend stopped in to my office today.
he started crying.
I cried too.

I know you want to go there alone.
I don't like it, but I'll allow it.
After talking to Aunt K last night,
I'm going to give up that fight.

I want you to know
You don't have to look at anything
As giving up.
I won't look at it like that either.
I mean, I don't, either.

Just so you know,
I wouldn't have even made it this far.
I love you Dad.
And Mom.

Thank you both for being you
even when things weren't always perfect.

September's Gone

I missed pretty much the entire month, what with a long stretch of vacation, someone new in my life, and the adjustment of returning back to 'normal life' after being away. I didn't write at all really, except some letters to my new long-distance boyfriend.

I wasn't regularly on email for almost two weeks, as I was busy experiencing life during my trip as new, whole, and not as broken as the last few months.

One email to my parents tells them I feel "more like myself again".

I thought about that statement after reading my Dad's reply, he was so glad to hear that.

More like myself is, as I've indicated in previous posts, is more playful and less stoic; more centred and less restless; more committed and less anxious.

But, as I related to a close friend on the weekend, since I've been back, I've been...forgetful. Misplacing objects. Forgetting to return calls. Not as tirelessly communicating with all those in my life. That is really not like me.

I tried to pinpoint where the shift occurred.

In the same conversation with this very close friend, A., who imparts her wisdom and knowledge on me with an eloquence that few people I have ever met are gifted with, we talked about the need for control in life. How people employ so many methods and strategies (not all of them healthy) to "manage the uncertainty" in life....that's when it hit me.

In dealing with issues of recent months, and prior to that, I realized I had really no control over some events that had occurred, and had continued to occur in my life. All I had was an illusion of control--meaning, I could imagine all I wanted to that things were going along the way I had in mind, when in reality I'm simply an instrument of fate, meeting life halfway as much as I can.

It sounds frightening. It's not really. It can, if allowed to, be kind of freeing.

That is the shift I think.

I'm not overly trying to manage and control every detail right now.
In dealing with some family health issues, I don't have the energy.

Poem

I wish I had the words
To show you the inside
of my heart.
It's a place that
some days
I don't even get to.

I think I've realized
the difference
Between life here on earth
and life after.
There, there is no fear
Here, we breathe it in like air
and expel it out
Only to draw it in again.

I once thought
a few words and
some paper
Would solve all the problems
But words can be erased
and paper can blow away.
It can get ripped,
and shredded

Land in the water
and drift away there.

Recover Me

The light flits into the window
slatted by the blinds.
Same light (I suppose) as last night,
as last year.
My arm holds onto the window ledge
same arm, it's been here all the time.

It's dusk, the sky is that August blue,
azure, alight,
dark and light.
The buildings stand
solid and real
Pretty much
the same buildings as before.

But those are the only familiar things
Because inside my head
inside my life
Everything is different.

I'm marooned on my bed, with a book,
and a glass of water.

And then a friend calls.

Knowing

Over the bridge is where I split in two,
Above the road, away from you.
Away from me, and away from my thoughts
They swirl around but then get lost.

On the pavement I had them lined up in a row
All my beliefs about how life should go
This thirty-sixth year they all blew away
Nothing I can do makes things any other way.

My life continues to morph to another shape
From the one I had before
Its the one I'm supposed to be living I imagine.

Knowing this doesn't make it any easier, but it could.

When I try to control my thoughts,
it's easier to accept that I don't have control,
Over anything, really.
I just have this soul.
Carrying me over the road
Someone else's route?

I think about karma, it's unbending rules
And wonder exactly what did I do
The examined life, I know I chose it all

Knowing this doesn't make it any easier, but it should.

From another poem, Later got older
But I don't see the future,
In a way that makes me afraid.
Because fear of life never got anyone anywhere.

This thirty-seventh year is looking at me curiously
Telling me I wanted to be here, despite my desire to crawl back in time
And fix things to what I think they could be or should be.

I can't do that.
I have to live my life forward.

Knowing this doesn't make it any easier, but it will.

Nothing New

I was listening to a radio program on the way in to work this morning.
Yes, I know, that in itself is disconcerting, as I have rejected all news media in recent weeks, because hearing news, sensational stories, tragedies from around the world, and an endless stream of negative information raises my anxiety levels to heights I didn't know possible.
Anyway, there I was, flipping through the stations, when I hit upon a program that spews out 'studies', cleverly sandwiched between songs, contests, and commercials, just random news items that they pick out and read aloud, in a condensed version, on the air.
In a nutshell, they had found a study by someone with a PhD in Sociology (and this makes it all the more 'credible') that men who were in cohabitating relationships with women who made more money than them, or who were more successful than them, asserted their masculinity by cheating on their partner.
Wow. It took a STUDY to figure this out?
Well, here's some more food for thought. Successful men cheat too. Know why? Because they see women as perks, as possessions, like a new car, and they should be able to get one any time they want.
So. It's like my Dad said a few weeks ago, when I was sitting in my parents' backyard, my Dad comforting me as I cried; "All men are hardwired to cheat. It's just that some of them are able to control the impulse better than others".
Thanks Dad. I think your information is more reliable than the PhD woman.

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sway your house
empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honourably.
He may be clearing you
out for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

A poem by RUMI
translated by Coleman Barks with John Moyne