show details 8:48 AM (3 hours ago)
Someone told me that I ought to be writing ALL THIS down and, it is true, I should. I’ve gotten out of the habit of note-taking and this is unfortunate, as I actually have notes to take now.
Friends have come and gone and stayed but still gone…gonegonegone.
They are a mess. Then again, I suppose I have – at various points – been quite the pretty mess myself. I’m not a mess anymore. I figured out that the most troublesome parts of my self-ness were the attributes that had been crafted for me by other people. I was written all wrong. So, I took the best parts and the worst parts and I hung them all together in a story that is truly mine.
Sometimes we just have to consider the ways we tell our stories. Me, I have always told my story true – but, as we well know, truth is quite subjective. The very same person in the very same circumstances could easily be a victim or a triumph. I am not quite triumphant, but I am not a victim anymore. Realistically, I was so shut down for so long that, really, I was hardly even there when .all.that.bad.shit.happened.
…except for last year, I was there for that – fully present and:
However, I finally understand the word to the songs that I never really understood before…
‘when you have no one, no one can hurt you…’
See, I’ve always had someone…even if it is barely anyone, even if it was only my mom…and then, during a series of days in the Fall of 2010, I had no one…truly no one…I had disappeared in a very real way. Even my children couldn’t see me after all that had been done.
I came out of hiding and the reception was not kind. It almost killed me.
However, some certain lightness is gained when we are freed from the burdens of all that we have been told that we are.
There is heaven in the hell of having your ego destroyed.
Old friends came through in the end. From every edge of my stories, old friends came through.
Then, as I struggled to stay alive, I made a lot of new friends.
Always though, there is a soft spot in my new-old golden heart for all my long lost brothers. I have sisters, too…but, you know how it is with sisterhood…
Unless ego death has occurred, the sisters still see me through the eyes of men and in relation to themselves. For those women who have achieved true sisterhood, well they know the score and I don’t have to explain a single thing to them.
We learn from crossing paths and sharing brief appreciation for what we bring to the story.
The long-lost brothers are, by and large, shipwrecks on a foreign shore. Though not all of them, a lot of them are music makers and image takers, story writers and early-morning witnesses…
I don’t know them, but I know of them. You know…how it goes…how it goes…
…shaking on the shore…and then they stumble back into their lives…
for better or for worse…
If I can hold their gaze for a few minutes, they return to themselves and all the brilliance of sailing with the wind at your back.
They remember, sometimes just a little, who they are.
Some of them end up drinking or dulling themselves to death to try to forget again and that, my friends, is unfortunate.
More importantly, as I was taking these notes earlier, I found myself wondering: do squares exist in nature. No. No they do not. Squares are a tool of the system.