Change

I'm having an odd morning.  A morning of epiphany I suppose.   I left for work early this morning because I had woken up early and hadn't been able to doze back off.  While sitting at a red light, I had my window down because it's so unseasonably warm, and I heard two gunshots like 30 seconds apart.  All of these cops just started coming from every direction.  The light turned green and I came on to work, but it really made me think about how fast everything can just completely change.

Not that I haven't experienced those moments before.  I have had plenty of instances in my life where one singular moment changed my entire course.  Most times, those changes happen slowly though.  A gradual (within months) or relatively quick (within days) difference in my daily comings and goings.  The way I handle myself in relationships with family, friends, lovers, co-workers and even myself has changed sometimes at an extremely painful slow pace.  The choices I make with my money and my physical self seem immediate, but really they're not, they too are gradual.  I suppose the color of my hair has changed somewhat immediately, but even that was a process.

Everything changes.  No one is static.  As much as I, or anyone else, hate change, it is constantly happening.  There's no stopping it.  I've been guilty of digging in and being dragged through change, but, in the end, change happened regardless of my unwillingness.

Even my decision to stop using drugs and alcohol, which I celebrate on a single day of each year, wasn't an instance of immediate change.  I stopped abruptly, yes, but the process of changing myself to insure that I don't begin again just as abruptly, is a daily process of changing the way I act and react to life around me.

The moment I first realized and recognized the connection I had developed with a Higher Power, wasn't the life changing event, the process was.  And that process took almost five years of constant searching and daily work on myself.

This day has made me wonder.  At first, I had this moment of sadness, that someone's life had just changed with the firing of a gun.  Irrevocably changed.  In one single moment.  I thought for a bit that violence, deaths, accidents and the like are the only single moments that change a life.  I can't being to explain how depressing that thought was.  Then I thought about births, marriages, lotteries and such.  Those are single moments that change lives forever.  That made me feel a little better.

The epiphany lies within the realization that even these moments are all part of a process.  Decisions were made to lead to that decision, that even these moments aren't all that singularly momentous.  Even natural disasters that destroy lives and homes aren't THE moment that changed it all.  Someone built their house on a flood plain or an earthquake fault.  Someone didn't watch the weather and follow directions to evacuate.

The epiphany is that no matter how many times I've heard it, I must learn to live in the moment.  That's not to say I don't acknowledge that my past has brought me here.  That's not to say that I don't make sound decisions so that this moment doesn't negatively effect the future.  That's not to say anything except that I fully recognize that this moment will never come again, and I may not have the next one.

Change is inevitable, whether I get my next moment or not.  My duty to myself is to love who and where I am even if it's not the best moment ever.  ;)  

Money, Property and Prestige

I had a talk this morning with someone extremely dear to me about her necklaces.  She had expressed last night the significance of each one of the, I think, nine adornments around her neck.  Each one special in its' own right, tied to people, ideals and things. Reminding her of their presence in her life, past and future, providing strength and luck.

In our discussion this morning, I told her they appeared to be more like shackles and restraints.  The people, ideals and things are special to her regardless of whether she has a charm to dangle.  They are people, ideals and things that seem to be strangling instead of strengthening her.

What I didn't tell her then, but did when she called at lunchtime, is that I totally get it.  I've had some sort of physical embodiment of safety, security, status and love, in every stage of my life, as most of us do. 

A baby blanket, a stuffed monkey, a musical instrument, a letter jacket, a class ring, THE clothes/shoes, necklaces, a wedding band, a house, a car, a bike, the list could go on and on if I had enough time.  The blanket, monkey, musical instrument and letter jacket are in a storage box in my basement, and have managed to make every trip with me when I've picked up stakes and moved on with my life, but I don't carry any of them around for everyone to see.   The class ring was stolen and sold for heroin by an ex who to this day swears he didn't take it.  THE clothes/shoes, yeah, they quickly became the NOT so THE clothes/shoes.  All of the necklaces, including the herringbone gold chain everyone who was anyone HAD to have in high school, were pawned in my active using days.  The wedding band, o.k., bands plural, were sold as soon as I got out of the marriages.  The house, after a totally bonehead move, gone to foreclosure.  A car, at least every one I've ever had before the one I have now, GONE.  A bike, at least the first one, the one that symbolized my personal freedom, is sold, even though it's still residing in my garage.

Does the packing away, selling or losing of any of these objects that symbolized my childhood, my teenage years, my marriages, my home ownership or my personal growth mean none of it ever happened and therefore they all cease to exist?  No.  Do them not being a constant reminding presence mean I have forgotten?  No.  Does letting them go mean I've abandoned it all?  No.  Does anyone but me need to know of or see their existence in order to validate that I am a person with a long history of success and failure and growth?  No.  Are they all just mere milestones and building blocks of my journey and my life?  Yes.

Don't be mistaken.  I LIKE having the reminders that I have.  I don't want to NOT have them.  But, after physically losing pretty much everything I ever worked for a few years back, and drowning myself in this struggle to separate who I am from what I have to show for it, I now know that all that "stuff" really doesn't matter in the least.

It all comes down to me and my higher power in every single moment, past, present and future.  People, ideals and things are all outside of myself, as imperminent as I myself am and really are of no necessity.  That old saying, "Pray for what you need.  Work for what you want.", is the reality of it all, not the physical incarnations that come from seriously doing the work.  I am my own partner.  I am my own vehicle.  I am my own home.  Anything extra that I and everyone else can touch and feel is just a joyful bonus.

I'll take inner freedom over outside confinement every day of the week.  No one, NO ONE can take that away from me unless I give them or it the power to do so.  Ain't happenin.  Not today anyway.  My life and who I am are what's really of substance and value.

Defects of Character

ONE thing about being a part of any 12 Step program that really makes me take a look at shit is the formidable 6th Step.  For those that are unfamiliar:  "Step Six:  We became entirely ready to have God remove all of our defects of character."  Gee.  That sounds nice.  Yet, if you've ever personally experienced "working" this one, you know that most times it is NOT very nice.  It's really quite unpleasant to look at the worst parts of you.

This time around, I've seemed to struggle a bit more with it.  I've wrestled with whether or not I can move forward with it, while I'm still having this gnawing disbelief that that these nasty bastards CAN be removed.  Looking back on my previous one from many years ago, I know that this is the point at which ME completely began to change.  I know from THAT hard work, that THIS work will most likely cultivate the same, and I'm truly ready for that.  And yet, looking back on THOSE past defects and writing last night on THESE present defects, I pretty much still have the same fuckin' ones.  They were never "removed".  They seem to, at times, have been "relieved", but I definitely relapse on my character defects when I feel threatened.  They're my shields and my weapons, yet each time I wield them, I am the one that is beaten and broken.

 

I settle in quite comfortably to a few old standards, "people pleasing", "self centered", "passive/aggressive", "manipulative".  While writing last night, I kept visualizing these like "a powder puff of metal shavings".  I seem to be "patting" ever so gently, to make you "feel better", all the while knowing full well that what I'm actually doing to you is abrasive, brutal and will harm you, ever on the ready to point out that you LET me do it, so it's your own damn fault you're bleeding when you finally notice.

 

The last time I did this step, I was amazed at my character defects.  I'd never actually "seen" them before.  This time... it's different...  I've known of their existence and fully embraced them when it suited me.  I've made a conscious decision to act out on them when I have.  That ain't cool.  That ain't nice.  That is not who I am, but it sure as hell is what I do when I'm...  what?  Pissed?  No.  Hurt?  Sometimes.  Afraid?  You betcha.

 

So, in looking for the key to unlock the door and remove these beasts, I've discovered it's in my pocket and I remove these defects myself, just long enough to tear someone else apart, then hide them back away.  Hmmm.  All this time I've spent trying to "turn it over" to the God of my understanding, I really haven't been doing that by still cherishing the key.

 

This powder puff of metal shavings needs to be tossed out for good.  Not just because it hurts people I care about, but because everyone knows I fucking hate makeup.  ;)   

Wow...

So it's January 28, 2011.  It's been awhile.

Where have I been?  Here, there, somewhere, nowhere.
What have I been doing?  Laughing, crying, sighing, smiling, lots of stuff, nothing.
Why haven't I taken the time to write?  Too much on my mind, blank stares, evil glares, who cares.

It's been a strange few months.  Relationships blossomed and fizzled.  My physical self got sick and my spiritual self got stronger.  I've looked for a solution rather than a cure.  I've tried and I've failed.  I've given up and succeeded.  I've been bored.  I've been over booked.  I've wasted time.  I've wasted money.  I've been afraid of not having enough of either and both have been given freely.

I've seen beautiful people turn ugly.  I've seen strangers become absolute angels.  I have expected less and received more.  I have relished the quiet and sobbed in it when I wanted.  The impermanence of everything has finally set in.  I've learned so much and only begun to retain it.

My life is settling in to a most pleasant ebb and flow.  Even the spinning I've done of late on my own mortality, has brought me to a place of surrender once again.  There is nothing to be done or undone.  I am happy.  I am calmly abiding the pain.  I am accepting the fear of the unknown for exactly what it is right now.

Someone recently told me I'm too dramatic and sound like I'm straight out of The Young and The Restless.  If feeling emotion deeply is dramatic, so be it.  I'm no longer young and honestly don't feel restless.  I've been having a bit of trouble sleeping, but that's just when I don't let myself be right where I'm at.

I am....
quiet
grateful
free
here.

What's buggin' me today? Part II

Pretty much nothin.  Is that a good day or a bad day?  I mean, am I really having a good day or am I feeling so apathetic that I don't even care enough to complain about anything?

No.  I'm having a good day.  It's not that I haven't noticed how annoying the stories of bed bugs and the impending Royal Wedding are.  Or how I wish I had a flight scheduled so I could get felt up by a stranger...  I definitely have.  And it's not that I could give a shit about the poor victims in their beds or that Diana's prodgidy has bequeethed her ring to another, I do (not).  I really do (not). It's big big HUGE news.

It's just that, hey, it's Friday.  My life is not spinning out of control.  My bills are paid.  My dogs are healthy.  My friends are the shiznit.  My new tat is healing beautifully.  My new hair color is rockin' it's arse off.  It's going to be a gorgeous weekend to ride my not broke down bike.  Life is truly good.  Even if I don't have any travel plans that involve nude pictures or gang groping!

Letting Go of the Past

Anyone who believes they have let go of their past, needs only to pay attention to their actions within and with others in the here and now, to know that the very thought is ludicrous.  Even once you've accepted the past, it is still affecting you daily, for you are who you are in "this" moment, because of "those" moments.  Lessons learned, love of self lost and gained, boundaries drawn and erased, are all here because of the past.  My goal is to embrace what was so that I can continue to find the peace I've found lately.

I've pulled back, coccooned and begun to protect myself the last year or so.  My reactions to people outside of myself have lessened in frequency and intensity.  I have dedicated myself to my therapy and my program and my spirituality.  I have taken deep looks at how I've treated myself and others.  I've taken deep looks at how I've allowed others to treat me.  I have taken full responsibility for that which belongs to me, however painful or embarrassing it may be.  I have made choices that have left me many times where I had zero desire to be and had to make other choices to get to where I belonged.

This process of realization of self has been remarkable.  Catching myself thinking and reacting like the worst parts of me and actually noticing it before I can cause too much harm.  Easing up on myself while holding those around me to stricter standards has not been easy.  I enjoyed being the victim for too long.  I had loved the attention of negativity I drew to myself because if something "bad" was happening, it was yet another perfect time for me to show everyone who would look how mistreated and taken advantage of I was.

Bad things have happened.  I place no blame, not even on myself.  It is what it was and can never be changed.  The here and now are all that can differ.  Here and now, I choose to free myself from present pain by not participating in "business as usual".  Boundaries don't work for me too well, because I have never possessed the inner sense of self to enforce them. 

A recent meditation class I attended spoke of how being angry with a person who strikes you with a stick is as pointless as being angry at the stick.  My sense of well being doesn't depend on not being angry, as I'm truly not.  My sense of well being depends on being able to stay away from anyone with a damn stick. 

Unfortunately, that has meant stepping back from an entire tree.  It has brought sadness to me.  This is the oldest and most important tree I have.  How can I just walk away?  Because I have to.  At least for awhile, I have to completely step away so I can learn some things about myself that I've never wanted to see.  The forest of my life began with that tree.  I have been completely incapable of seeing the forest for the trees....  It's so entirely past time for me to get some focus for the first time in my life.  I'm not cutting down and logging the whole forest.  It's still growing.  Hell it's not even on fire.  No need to run for the hills Bambi.  I'm just going to step back and take a walk with me for awhile.  There's a really peaceful stream I'd like to dangle my toes in and I think I will...

Thank you to those that love me enough to know that I need to make the journey.  Blessed be to those that are actually walking with me.  For those that wish to throw sticks and stones at my back, I'm not any angrier at you than I am the objects.  Everyone is where they are.  Me.  I'm ovah heyah!  ;)   

73

There was an auction in Camp Point, IL yesterday, 08/15/10.  An auction I refused to attend.  Not because I couldn't physically be there.  I did not go because I could not emotionally do it.  It was an auction to sell what remained of my grandparents' belongings.  The items that had not already been thrown in the trash or burned by their children.  My sister had the agonizing task of taking our grandpa to the auction house week before last to see "his stuff".  She wept watching this man we love so deeply delicately pick things up and "pat" them before he placed them back where he'd found them.  His things.  His wife's things.  Yes.  Just things, but an entire life time of things.

My other sister sent me the on-line link this morning to the listing of "things".  I saved the list as well as all of the photos.  I've looked at each "thing" several times.  Each time, the same emotions:  sweetness, joy, bitterness, sadness.  These "things" that can't be touched by me again.  My cousin Kim bought the top that each of us at one point or another played with.  I remember that much of my conversation with my sister last night.  The top is safe.  My mind spun away with the memories of it for the rest of our phone call.  I can't recall who she said bought the pull tractor.  I hope it's being loved as it should be.  The buttons.  Where are the buttons?  I remember dumping out the jars and cigar boxes of buttons and trying to find matching ones, listening to the tinkling noise as I learned to count by dropping them one by one back into the glass jar.  Almost every time I went to visit, they were the first thing I'd go for: to the left side of the door in the first room to the left in the hallway.  They're only buttons.  Why do they make me weep knowing someone has them and they're not where they belong?

How can 94 years be narrowed down to 73 pictures?  I started looking up the significance of the number 73.  Because, well, because that is what I do.  I feel a NEED to make it all make sense on some metaphysical, spiritual, non-visible plane of my existence.  73 itself is meaningless. 

When I looked up Psalm 73, there were a few phrases I connected with, it's meaning translated to "The Suffering of the Righteous and the Success of Sinners".  Not that I find my family "sinners" for selling my grandparents' things(I honestly have quite another word for it), but I do relate to "The Suffering of the Righteous".  I feel that my grandpa is truly a righteous man in every aspect of the word, as defined by dictionary.com:  Perfectly wonderful; fine and genuine.  And I feel that making him go thru this while he still lives made him suffer on some level.  If it hurt me to see his things go, how painful was it for HIM?

When I looked up Shakespeare's Sonnet #73, I cried.  It is a sonnet on aging and dieing, the last line transalates to this:  'This is something you can see, and it gives your love the strength deeply to love that which you have to lose soon."   Yes.  That is what this heart ache is.  These "73 somethings" that I can see.  They are giving my love for him the strength to continue to love him as deeply as I do even though he will be gone sometime soon.  He told me on my visit with him last month that he thought he had another 4 or 5 years in him.  I told him that I hope so.  He said he hopes not.  One of us will be right.  Either one will break my heart but not my love.  I sure wish I had some of grandma's buttons to close up these gaps I'm feeling lately...

Maybe I'll start my own glass jar.  One button at a time...