On A Spinning Rock

The Earth seen from Apollo 17.

The Earth seen from Apollo 17. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It’s more than a rock, I know. It’s maybe more accurately a living rock.  It’s molten inside, at least partially, constantly erupts and shifts, expanding and contracting.  Our world has not had all of its depths plumbed, and who knows how much remains a mystery.  Species are discovered nearly every day it seems, whether they’re new or not.

The universe is full of other, smaller, speeding rocks that mostly miss us, although once in a while they slam into our atmosphere and smash holes in our living rock.  I wonder if our orbit once was a much more dangerous corridor that brought lots of spinning rocks raining down onto our only home, killing untold species while creating conditions for new ones to thrive.

I’m spinning in my orbit, people and things occasionally careening into me, wreaking havoc in my life, throwing me off-balance, causing me to adjust or die.  So far, I’m still here.  I just hope it matters.

*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

Sisters

Being the youngest of the girls in my family of six (three boys, three girls), I looked up to my sisters and only ever wanted their kind attention, which, of course, I very rarely got until we were much older.

I was convinced my middle sister hated me and thought she actively wished for my demise until I was in my late teens.  I didn’t understand that she was going through as much hell as I was, even if she expressed it differently – or passive-aggressively – which I also learned to do.  I’ve had to work diligently to deal head-on with issues in my life rather than sideways retaliation.

I’m not sure how my middle sister and I became better friends, but I always liked her, even if she didn’t share my enthusiasm.  Our older sister was usually kinder to me, but not always.  My personality blends well with aspects of both of my sisters, but my oldest sister and I got along the best.

My middle sister has more ‘blue-collar’ aspects while my oldest sister is definitely ‘white collar’.  I’ve never been fond of collars, so I’m still trying to invent one for myself…

Once I was of partying age, my middle sister and I began to hang out more socially, and I think she realized I didn’t suck as much as she thought.  I had already been skiing, dancing, and socializing with my oldest sister and her friends whenever the opportunity presented itself, which wasn’t often because my oldest sister was working so much, and her jobs were always higher end – management, or head positions – while my middle sister held more salt-of-the-earth, factory, work-horse jobs.

I spent more time with my middle sister throughout our twenties.  I loved going to her apartment, wherever she happened to be living – in either Rhode Island or Massachusetts – and spending the weekend.  We’d often go to the beach, or find some interesting event, or people to hang out with.  She liked camping, and we went every summer, even though it wasn’t my favorite activity.  I was the slacker, youngest girl, so I never wanted to work that hard when I was vacationing.  My oldest sister hated camping, so our biggest time spent together was winter activity.  We’d go skating and skiing every winter, and spent time on weekends playing card games, which my middle sister would also sometimes be there for.

As the years rolled on, we all spent less time together, seeing each other only at holidays, which we continue to do, but also make sure we have one summer weekend together as a family – even if it nearly kills us!  That tradition started the year my son graduated high school.  We recognized his coming of age as a turning point for all of us and we needed something to continue our bonds physically as he rode off into his college-bound sunset.

Now, as my role of mother has become a figure-head, and I’m still waiting for my golden parachute to arrive, I have much more time for my siblings and extended family members again, and they are the only people on earth morally obligated to give a fuck about me.  Even though I hope our bond is beyond obligation, these people issued from the same people I came from, and that still holds more weight.  I think we choose to be involved now, but we have more shared history than anyone else, and it’s important to me that we end much better than where we started.  Regardless of that not being hard to do, my sisters have my love and respect because they strive to be their best selves, and to remain lovingly connected.

*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

Day Break

Steaming Coffee

Coffee poured into my favorite mug.  The tendrils of steam flow up with the air current, alerting my brain with its inviting aroma.  Some of the vapor hovers on the liquid surface, reminding me of science experiments gone awry in movies I watched as a child, or read about in books.  There are no beakers bubbling on Bunsen burners, but I am in my white bathrobe – easily mistaken for a lab coat from a distance.

Outside of my alliterative sentence-challenge met, I’m being drawn outside to listen to the birds on this brightly sunny morning.  The temperature is only in the 40°F’s, but my porch stair will be warm as long as the wind isn’t too chilling.

*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

What A Life It Is…

Some people are taken in by the mystery of life, and I find myself just pissed off that it’s so short, and that the last years are often spent in miserable pain, suffering, or having other dread issues like dementia, or Alzheimer’s, where your life is over before it’s over.  What the hell is the point?  Is it noble to suffer through things like that?  If so, why?  Do you get brownie points on the other side?  For suffering in a suck-ass body?  What lessons do you learn?  Endurance?  Athletes do that, and much better than the suffering.  Humility?  I already know I’m human, bound to die.  If there is sentient life beyond this, is it so fucking bad that we have to go through so much hell before we get there to get used to it?

Some compare the afterlife with being in the womb.  We grow limbs, and all these things we need to survive outside our host/mother, and sometimes they don’t work at all, or only sparingly, and it’s logical to think about how our prenatal growth prepares us for life outside of the womb, but the analogy is weak between that and what happens once we die.

What if we just die?  What if having reached this level of evolution is miracle enough, and we’re not done evolving?  Maybe the best we can be will happen in another million years and we’re basically zygotes now.

When you live with chronic, hard-to-treat pain, this is the result.  Yeah, my nervous system is fantastic.  It works overtime. I need medication to tell my pain receptors to stop sending me signals.  New body parts would be so much better.

I know we have to die.  There is simply not enough room on this tiny half-livable world for all of us to stay here indefinitely, and we continue to poison the livable areas as though there are no consequences for it.

The cool, interesting, compelling, astounding, etc., aspects of being alive are still apparent.  My tantrums ebb and flow.  I keep asking to know the unknowable, and the silence frustrates and saddens me.  Maybe I’ll never know, and then this has to be enough, or I’m always free to go.  I just don’t know why I was born to die.  I don’t understand how being here matters, if it even does.  Maybe if there is something perceptible beyond here, I’ll be glad if it’s unceasing – and if there’s nothing, then I suppose that’s also my solace.

*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

Had It Up To Here

My new life isn’t as shiny or full of green grass as it looked while I was standing on the other side of the fence.  My new life still requires my participation, and I find aspects of my old life searching for loopholes.

I just cleaned up what I thought was the last toxic spill in my life, my personal Love Canal – replete with hundreds of skull and cross-bone emblazoned barrels, stacked and ready to be shipped to outer space, or maybe incinerated in some fissure where the lava would burn away all vestiges of my life’s hell.

Life is like Honey Badger – it doesn’t give a shit.  It’s up to us, individually, collectively, whatever, however, to make life palatable.  Life isn’t merit based, and there is precious little justice.  It’s difficult to know that I could do the most heinous things and it wouldn’t matter.  Humans mete out whatever justice exists, and you have to catch the crooks for that to happen.

A friend said that maybe my purpose is being a light in this world.  I’m not sure I have enough light anymore.

*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

House Break

My apartment was broken into and I suspect the teenagers/young adults from upstairs.  I don’t want to write about all the evidence pointing to them, but anything I owned of real value is gone, and I had so little anyway – so I suppose the good news is that they didn’t get much, but really, they got my attention and let me know nowhere is safe.

I can’t afford to move somewhere safer, although ironically I’m as poor or more poor than those fucks, and I wouldn’t invade their home and take the few fucking things of value that I found.  I’d be glad for them to at least have something that made them feel their life wasn’t complete shit.

It’s probably apparent that I’m not feeling positive and all zen about this. Yeah, it was only ‘stuff’.  Yeah, I wasn’t raped or maimed.  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Fuck off.  I’m feeling pretty Old Testament right now.

Eventually, I’ll hope that the one ring I ever had that is worth anything makes whoever has it now feel happy when they wear it.  I’ll hope that the silver and amethyst earrings a dear friend of mine gave me looks good on them.  Maybe the Kindle my son bought me for Christmas a few years ago will broaden their mind and lead them to do kinder things.  Maybe the old, worthless-to-anyone-but-me, Gateway laptop and my boyfriend’s brand new tablet/pc they stole will net them some presumably much-needed cash because the encryption on the tablet renders it useless to them until someone is able to wipe it back to factory settings, I suppose.

I have a need for cash too.  I have medical needs, I can’t buy new clothing.  I can barely afford food, and am always out of money before the end of the month, but I do have this luxury called an internet connection which twenty dollars a month gives me something keeping my life from feeling like complete shit.  I don’t go to movies.  I don’t have cable, or satellite.  My phone is the cheap pay-as-you-go (or can), and homelessness is only a few dollars away.

It could be worse.  I am privileged to have ‘first world’ problems.  I’m just sad and angry.  My home was invaded, and life wasn’t a bowl of cherries prior to said break-in.

*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

DPChallenge: Dystopia, The Musical

Set Present Time. Suburban neighborhood. Backdrop sunny, blue sky, distant hills, but a dark pall hugging charred tree tops, suggesting recent fires, and dank atmosphere.

Act I
Scene I
Chorus in black-hooded robes, heads bowed, arms folded tight to body, hum discordantly – low in front of curtain. Curtain rises on street scene: once beautiful homes graffiti-ed, broken windows, smashed bird bath, broken fountain. The chorus retreats US center, in a crescendo-ing hum, then silence as grey-ish filtered early morning light rises on a disheveled lone female quickly searching through a garbage bin on the sidewalk.
A shot is heard – the female rises erect, alert, looking around for close danger. No one appears. The woman relaxes her stance, continues her search, and finds a torn one-armed rag doll. She stares at the doll a moment, then holds it close, silently weeping as music begins. She wipes her tears as she sings:

 What have we done? What have I become? Is this reality now?
I can’t believe this awful dream, I’ve got to wake somehow.

She puts the doll in her coat pocket.

Enter two children, dirty & hungry, salvaging. They see the woman and turn back.

“No, stop! It’s ok – I won’t hurt you!” The children stop hesitantly.

“I’m looking for food too. We can look together.” They look doubtful. The woman takes the rag doll out of her pocket. “Look, you can have this, if you want it?” She holds out the doll to them.
The boy steps in front of his sister, stopping her from going closer.
“I know you don’t trust me, but I’m really not going to hurt you, or take anything from you. I’d just like to help – and have some company.”

The boy relaxes and lets his sister take the doll.
“If we stick together, we can try to help each other, alright?”
The children nod in expressionless agreement.
“Are your parents alive?” The children look down, unanswering.
“Oh, you don’t know? I’m sorry.” The woman looks toward a fenced compound on a near hill. “Sometimes the Citadel cooks throw out scraps or bones, but you’ve got to get there early and be fast to get anything. Do you want to come with me?”
The children look hungry, but doubtful. “You don’t have to go near, you can wait by the trees, and I’ll try to get what I can – if there is anything today.”
The children follow the woman off SL.

Scene II

The woman and children enter in front of the curtain, SR, through a line of trees.
“You wait here. Don’t eat the mushrooms, they’re poisonous.” The woman points to mushrooms growing around and on the trees. “And if you see anyone, pick some and pretend you’re going to eat them, but don’t really put them in your mouth. The juice can make you very sick, especially when you haven’t eaten anything else. They’ll think you’re stupid and won’t bother you because they think you’ll die soon anyway.”

The choir chants low ominous sounds, becoming louder as the curtain opens to reveal barbed wire fencing with a metal prison-door like gate, and security cameras facing all directions. Choir falls silent.

The woman walks up where a window is seen from the fence, her face obscured by a tattered scarf. She searches the ground for scraps and finds none. As she waits, others begin gathering. The woman stands more erect, but does not look at anyone. A figure appears in the window looking out at the gathering crowd, and closes the curtain. Some soft cries and groans are heard among the crowd, the signal that no food will be thrown today. They begin shuffling off stage L&R. The woman and three men remain in hopeful expectancy. One man puts his hands on the fence as the others are too late to warn him. The shock jolts him, and he cries out from the powerful surge.

The window curtain opens slightly, and the figure in the window looks at the remaining few. Two large meaty bones are thrown out over the fence. The woman has drawn a knife and readies for a fight. Choir takes up chant, pantomiming the actors with voice and action in their group. DS man draws a knife and the woman lunges, slashing his arm. He retaliates, narrowly missing her shoulder as the woman ducks and slashes again, missing his leg. US man has grabbed a bone and the woman lunges at her foe’s face with her knife, meeting his shin with her foot, stomping down. Choir finishes tones in triumphant harmony, reforms original stance.

The woman grabs the remaining bone and runs, the man limping after her in pursuit. The choir takes up a crescendo-ing chant for the chase. As the woman nears the line of trees, the man catches her shoulder, but the children rush out screaming and running toward them, the woman using the moment to plunge her knife in through his ribs and twists it in deep. He falls dead. The choir ceases their chanting through rushing expelled air.

Act II
Scene I
Curtain opens on the woman and children sitting around a fire where a pot containing the meaty bone and gathered roots has cooked. They share one cup, sipping the broth. The woman watches the area for intruders, but none come.
The woman speaks: “When I was your age, my parent’s left my sister and me in the care of the Citadel home while they went to look for work – before the Citadel fell to Bolinger. They never returned, and my sister and I tried to find them when I was old enough to travel longer distances on our own. She knew about wild plants – what could be eaten, or used for medicine. Bolinger’s guards found us. My sister died defending me. I had fainted and they left me alone in the woods. I came to next to my sister’s body, and I cried through the night. No one came to help, and I had nothing to bury her with, so I covered her with nettles, leaves, and branches. I wandered through the woods hoping I’d find some help, and came across a family that let me travel with them, probably because I was still young enough that I wasn’t a threat, and acted as a look out for them when they hunted or stole food and things they needed. I learned to steal too, but I never got used to it, and I finally found work washing clothes for food and shelter at the Citadel. I spoke up to Bolinger’s men mistreating an older woman, and was beat and thrown out. I’ve been on my own ever since. I’d like to know what happened to you, if you’re willing to tell me?”

The boy looks at his sister, and back at the woman, and speaks: “We woke up one day last week and our parents were gone, and they haven’t come back”.
“Did you live far from where I first saw you?”
“No, we left our camp trying to find something to eat – and then we met you…”
“It’s OK. I know what it’s like being alone and lost – inside and out.” The woman smiles, and gestures toward his sister. “Does your sister talk?”
“Yes, but not since our mother and father left.”
“I’m sorry. I hope they find you again soon. We can stick together until then.”
“I’d like that.” The boy looks at his sister who has moved closer to him, and he says – “We’d like that.”
“We need to find somewhere to sleep tonight, and maybe I’ll find somewhere to work for food tomorrow.”
“I can work too”, the boy says.
“I think your work is taking care of your sister. It looks like you both could use a washing, so we’ll go to the falls. Have you been?”
“No. My father said to stay away because it’s too dangerous. The rocks are slippery and you could fall and die on the jagged rocks under the falls, and there are bad people who live there that like to eat children.”
“It’s trolls who like to eat children, and they don’t live at the Falls. They live in fairy tales and made up stories. Your father was right that the rocks are slippery, and there are jagged rocks in the water below, but that’s where the sweetest fish are too – when there are any to find.”

As the woman and children walk through the woods, the chorus begins a low hum and appear in staggered relief in the woods. They cease humming as forest dwellers who have been watching the woman and children’s progress step out to confront them.
A man speaks: “Where do you think you’re going?”
The woman says: “We mean you no harm. I am bringing my children to safe sleep for the night, and then we’re on our way out of these woods.”
“There is payment required for safe passage.”
“But we have no coin or goods to offer.”
“Then you’ll turn back the way you came, and hurry through, or you may not make it out at all.”
The girl holds out the rag doll which the man takes and rips off the other arm, throwing the doll roughly back at the girl.  The men laugh coarsely.
“That was all we possessed.” The woman picks up the doll putting it in her pocket, takes the girl and boy by the hand and turns back the way they came.  She speaks quietly and urgently to the children: “Don’t look back, and walk quickly. They’ll leave us alone if we don’t stop.”

Scene II
The sound of a waterfall is heard as the woman and children walk in front of curtain. Two of the forest-dweller men trail them at a distance. The woman turns to pick up the girl to quicken their pace, and glimpses one of the men. She pretends not to notice as the curtain rises revealing jagged looking rocks and cascading water. The choir appears on an US riser, intoning rising cacophonous sounds as the men move in for the kill. The woman lifts the girl to a higher rock, telling the boy: “Take your sister over these rocks staying as far from the water as you can. You can make it, but you must not stop, no matter what. There is a Citadel corn field down below that you can hide in and wait for me. Now go!”
As the children disappear over the ridge, the woman takes the opposite, more treacherous path by the water, slipping toward the edge of the falls, but finding crevices for her hands and feet as she goes. She finds the opening she once knew under the falls which the men do not see, and comes out onto the opposite side, stepping out onto a rock where the men will see her. She mimes difficulty ascending as the men leer at her and begin climbing to reach her. One of the men grabs hold of a rock protruding from the Falls, assuming that was the woman’s path, and loses his footing, falling to his death on the rocks below. The other man looks for an alternate route, and slips onto a jagged rock, lying there in obvious pain as the woman expertly climbs her way over the outcrop of rock and disappears over the other side. The choir has been rising and falling throughout, emphasizing the man’s demise, and the woman’s triumph. Close curtain.

Scene III
The children huddle at the edge of the cornfield below the stage, anticipating the woman’s arrival. Unfamiliar sounds, an owl hoot, or coyote howl, are heard in the distance, causing fearful reactions as they wait. The woman, scratched and hurt, limps toward the cornfield in front of the curtain, checking around her as she goes. As she comes offstage toward the cornfield, she spots the children and reunites.
“Are you alright?”

The children nod yes, but the woman sees a gash on the boy’s arm. “We’ll have to get that cleaned out so you don’t get infected. We can’t stay here because Bolinger’s guards will soon pass by, if they haven’t already. Did you see anyone since you’ve been here?”
“No one has gone by since we got here. I was afraid you wouldn’t find us.”
“I was afraid too, but we’re OK now.  We can rest for the night in Fairwoods – it’s near the brook where we can wash up, and if my old mistress is in her cottage, we might have something hot to eat.”

Exit SL

Scene IV

The woman and children are seated DS, the wooded area behind them, their faces are clean, and they are eating stew from an old chipped porcelain bowl.

“You’ll clean the bowl in the brook when you’re finished.  I’m going to try to catch some fish and we’ll leave it at my old mistresses door for feeding us such good rabbit stew.”  As the woman walks toward the brook the Chorus enters with low, ominous chants.  A lightning storm stirs up and thunder crashes as the Chorus chants the louder, urgent cacophonous tones as a bruised and limping man brandishing a machete lunges toward the woman from SR.  The boy sees the man and picks up a large rock, coming DSR, throwing it and connecting with the man’s head, just as the man has slashed the woman’s shoulder and arm with the machete.  She cries out, badly hurt. The man has fallen, unconscious.  The girl cowers US with the doll in her hands as the boy does what he can to help the woman USC and helps her sit.  He takes the shirt off the man and tries to staunch the woman’s wounds, but the woman is fading.

“Go and tell my old mistress – that I am done for, and you will work – for her – if she can take you.  Help – your – sister.”  The woman dies.  The girl cries and hugs the woman, and keeps crying as her brother puts his arm around her, pulling her away, and leads her off SL.  Curtain closes.

Scene V

The boy enters SR, a rough shack is USL, in a wooded area.  The boy has a large fish that hangs partially over in the chipped porcelain bowl.  He goes to the shack and knocks, but gets no reply.  After a few knocks with no response, he leaves the fish in the bowl in front of the door, and turns to leave with his sister.  A window curtain is slowly pulled aside in the shack and we see an older woman peering out at the backs of the children, and she closes the window curtain again.  The Chorus has been chanting slow, quiet, tones, and stops as the light fades on the shack and comes up diffusely focusing on the girl who has dropped her doll and stoops to pick it up.  The boy has stopped to wait for her.

The girl sings, with a quiet echo of the woman’s voice in the air:

What have we done? What have I become? Is this reality now?
I can’t believe this awful dream, I’ve got to wake somehow.

The children exit SL.

End.

*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

Untimely

I tried to take one of the Daily Post Challenges, and haven’t posted because I wanted to get it right, dammit! So, failure notwithstanding, I’m very proud of a friend of mine, Ashley Blom, who won a “So You Want To Write A Cookbook” Twitter competition through the Lisa Ekus Group. Check out her blog: http://www.quarterlifecrisiscuisine.com/, besides being a great writer, she’s a fabulous human. ♥

There were so many other things I wanted to bring into this post, like how much I enjoy “My Drunk Kitchen“, a YouTube treasure.  I’ve had a few glasses of Cabernet tonight, and I am feeling fine.  I will pay later, and it’s sad to be aware of that, but I didn’t get too crazy, so I won’t pay as much as I might have had I drank the whole bottle.

My life is a whirlwind of happy and unhappy circumstances lately – as I suppose all of life is – but it seriously hit me in a bunch these past few weeks, so I’m still trying to parse it all.

I intend to finish the Daily Post post, even though it will be about a month late.  There should be a section for procrastinators on Word Press, or perhaps I’ve just invented it?  I kept trying to write that phantasmal post – even when I had a tooth ache so bad I wanted to scream and get pliers and pull the tooth out myself.  I continued to write, and quietly moan.  On the Internets, no one can hear you moan – which could also sound dirty, were it not for the intense pain that I’m surprised wasn’t felt over the interwebs!

I’m now minus a dentist-extracted-tooth, and hope to get the funds for a replacement before too long.  Regardless, having teeth or not having teeth does not prevent writing, so I apologize, and will be writing regularly post-haste.

Cheers, dear readers, and the many blogs I’ve been reading but not commenting on lately. ♥

*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

Daily Prompt: Undo – Television

Today’s prompt by michelle w:

If you could un-invent something, what would it be? Discuss why, potential repercussions, or a possible alternative.

I would un-invent television. I can hear the cries of ‘Nooooooooo’ now, but what an intelligence-sucker it has been. It has brought us down to the lowest common denominator, made us lazy consumers of media without adding much to our well-being. I know there is educational programming, but we’re still passive viewers. I suppose we’re passive listeners in classrooms as well, but I appreciate teachers who can bring the material to life, and involve me as a participant.

Television is powerful and does effect us – maybe for the better in some ways, but clearly for the worse in most cases. We’re so numb and desensitized that we can’t get enough of ‘reality’ shows, puerile entertainment that only serves to separate us further from each other while glorifying our basest nature.

We teach our children that the best use of our time is to sit in front of a box radiating EMFs into our brain, while the actual world, with its valuable and ceaseless edification and entertainment sits idle – and worse – is slowly destroyed by the sponsors of television, counting on our passivity to rape and pillage the Earth of our collective wealth while we’re absorbed in the latest episode of whatever dross we’re hooked into.

I write this as a television consumer. I’m often entranced by the medium; I enjoy being passively entertained, and I’ve embraced this invention as much as anyone. I’m also aware of the harm television has caused and continues to exact on our society. If television didn’t exist, there would be other distractions from active living.

There is always another side to consider, and I prefer being out in life, spending time with friends, and enjoying the wonders of our world as much as possible. I tend toward dichotomy, and tunnel vision at times, but I also understand that there is always more than what I see, feel, or believe – and I still think television has created more problems than it has ever solved. I look forward to reading other perspectives.
*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

A Week And A Half Out

The shock has subsided, along with the anger, and the big sadness, but I still feel a drop in my stomach when I remember that he’s dead.
I’ve lived a full life this week. I saw my son, and that was wonderful. I looked at a beautiful Forget-Me-Not colored sky, watched a flock of birds soaring through the air, diving, recovering, turning in near unison at acute angles, and saw an incredibly deep orange, red and purple sunset over the western hills.
I got to see that because I chose life.
I choose life knowing I’ll have pain, knowing I’ll have sorrow, knowing I’ll have times it’s hard to breathe from the horrors of this world, and the difficulties of my life.
But that’s not today.
It’s not today.
I have today.
*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

Sweet Dream

I wish I had woken up thoroughly so I could have written the dream immediately, but you were smiling and present to me in a way you never were in life. I know we had a nice conversation, and we were laughing, and it just felt easy. Other weird stuff was happening in the dream, and it’s all disjointed now – the more I try to focus on it, the further away it recedes. That’s how you were with me in life. You never let me get very close, I guess that was all for the best.

Was it your spirit visiting me in my dream, or just my sub- or unconscious trying to make peace with your death? I’m so sorry and sad you were in that much pain, that you were so walled off, that you left no room for any other possibility. I’m sad I never got to have that pained, pointless conversation with you, in which you would have said there was nothing left to live for, so I could have hugged you, at least, and told you that I hoped it would get better. I know I have no magic, but you didn’t even let me try.

*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

Wind-less

One day my older sister and I were at a playground and she was swinging and I was watching her swing higher and higher, and then suddenly she was falling from the apex of the swing, landing right on her back.
She couldn’t move and couldn’t breathe, and I thought she was going to die. Luckily, my older brother was there, telling me it was going to be alright, that she was hurt, but mostly just had the wind ‘knocked out of her’. Right after that she took in a gulp of air and coughed for a while.

I feel like you knocked the wind out of me, but I’m breathing perfectly fine.
*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

I Am Here

Breathe in and out. Long, slow, and deeply. Feeling my lungs expand, and contract, and being aware that it needs no help from me, but I can control the volume and rate. I can create anxiety by breathing too fast, and stasis or calm from breathing slowly. My heart pulses a steady rhythm. I am gratefully alive.
I have choices today because I’m still here. I can alter my fate today in a way I couldn’t yesterday. I will not give up this power willingly.
*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

Death Was Not Proud

Precisely because I shouldn’t write about this while I’m so angry is why I am. I can taste the exhaust fumes in the back of my throat. I don’t need that, thanks. You didn’t have to kill yourself, and you’re not saving me. I don’t know the level of your pain, but you saw no other way out, or you didn’t give a fuck, or whatever – but it’s done.
Our ‘relationship’ – whatever it was that we had – was over several years ago. Being with you cured me of wanting you, and for that I’m grateful. I liked you a lot. You made me feel special when you deigned to pay attention to me, as you did for many. You were so talented, but you gave up, or the demons took over.
I’m so angry with you, which is a selfish reaction, but between that and sadness, it’s authentic. You want your death to matter? It does. I don’t want to die by my hand now. I understand better how messed up that is. I know it leaves ripples whether you want it to or not. It actually hurts more that you meant it to happen. Maybe it doesn’t, I don’t know because there was only one you.
I’m sorry it sucked being here so much that leaving was preferable. I’m sorry that you didn’t want, or couldn’t ask for, help.
You had been on my mind the last month or so, but your disdainful manner often made me reluctant to engage with you because I’d come away feeling bad, and who wants that? I was careful to appear as competent and flawless as I could around you because you would disparage anything less. You truly incorporated the sins of your father, and I’m sorry for you in that.
I guess we all do the best we can. I’m sorry nothing was good enough. I wish it had been, and in spite of it all, I enjoyed knowing you. If there is an afterlife, I hope you eventually find peace, and whatever you lacked while here.
*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

Stupid Storm

I had tickets to see Grace Potter & The Nocturnals and the concert got postponed until Monday because of the Nor’easter that’s about to descend on the Northeast. I refuse to go along with naming a snowstorm – a snowstorm! The idiots at the Weather Channel, or wherever, decided they wanted to start naming snowstorms, but NOAA, the shit of all weather related activity, declined to participate, but the pansy Weather Channel decided to name them anyway.

I came down to my sister’s in R.I., and we’ve had a good night, but I was so hoping that the storm would end up being a non-issue. The club where Grace Potter will be appearing decided to postpone, which is fine, but I can’t see them on Monday. I could see them tomorrow, when they were scheduled to appear, but all is not lost because at least I’m spending the weekend in the epicenter of the storm with one of my sisters, and I don’t get to see her that much as it is.

I auditioned for a commercial today in Boston, and feel like I blew it, so I’m not in the best of moods tonight after the concert also being cancelled. Even though I was in Boston, I didn’t get to see my kid because he was an hour away at work, and I was trying to get down to my sister’s and get settled before the storm descends. So, it was my choice, and I did hem and haw for a little while, but obviously decided to continue on before it got too dark. It’s an ‘all’s well that ends well’ deal, so I need to be grateful I arrived safe and sound and had a nice dinner with my sister.

I went into the bathroom to wash up and saw myself in my sister’s mirror. I look different here than I do at home. I realized my mirror at home is much more forgiving than my sister’s mirror, and it’s harsh to see yourself as you are rather than as you think you are.

It probably has to do with having spent many happy weekends with my sister in my twenties and thirties, and when I’m with her, I think that I should look the same as I looked while making all those memories. I don’t. It sucks. It’s useless to rail against it, and I don’t have any money for plastic surgery, so I have to live with the reality of my aging. It’s happening. I cannot stay the hands of time, blah, blah, cliche, blah. I get it that others before me experienced this and wrote about it, sang about it, made art about it, but it never happened to me before. I get it – I’m not alone, it’s the journey, and all that bullshit, but I believe that every single living being would absolutely trade eternal youth for growing old. I don’t care about dying, I care about aging. I’d happily die being a totally young-looking eighty year old. This world has no intelligence in its design – it’s pure biology, when it could be so much more! Ugh.
*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

Evolution Of A Boy

I found this letter/ode I had written to my son in a bunch of old papers I was going through to recycle today.  I wrote it when he was twelve, and pulling further and further away from me – right on schedule!  But just because biology dictates a thing so, doesn’t mean it wasn’t terrible for me…

                                 Evolution Of A Boy

When you were born I held you close, rocked you, walked you back and forth while you screamed with colic – or was it protest at being out in this cold, drafty world from the temperature controlled, fluid womb?

You stayed in a crib until you were two and a half and began crying to me of your needs in the night, or in the morning, coaxing me with “Up, Mommy? Up, Mommy – peas.  Peas, Mommy?”  How could I ignore that?  You asked so politely, so pleadingly.

As a toddler, and ever since you were born, I read to you day and night.  It became the bedtime routine: books and a back rub until you fell asleep.  Often you would play with my ear – a throw back from your nursing days – a comfort habit that never bothered me.  Whoever held you until you were four or five would have their ear manipulated by you.

Nighttime was our time.  It was sometimes the only peace in the day.  I was really present most of the time for you then, and we both knew it wouldn’t be a struggle of wills; it was a time any outside observer wouldn’t question my parenting skills.

That nighttime routine when you wanted me to lay down with you after reading and rubbing your back until you fell asleep – or nearly – lasted until you were eight or nine.  I would sing Mockingbird – replacing Papa with Mama, of course – and Lily Of The Valley, three or four times each, and sometimes you would sing along.  Then we would always play the ‘I love you more than’ game.  “More than chocolate cream pie with ice cream and marshmallows, and a ton of whipped cream” – or whatever we would dream up.  A phrase we had read: “I love you to the moon and back”, began a long tradition of sometimes jokingly arguing over who loved the other more – “I love you the most – eternity, infinity!”

The mornings nearly always had me picking you up and carrying you into the kitchen for breakfast until you were about seven years old.  It seemed to help you wake up just that little bit more.

Sometimes you would jump up into my arms for a hug and you did that until you got too heavy for me to grab you up into a hug like that.

Now you’re twelve.  You are on that precipice between knowing you are not a dependent child to knowing you are not quite grown-up either.  It can be confusing, frustrating, and scary – but exciting too.

You are, at times and often, so much more than you think you are.  You have so much to offer this suffering world.  She needs boys and men who care, as you do.  Societies may seem indifferent or hostile to boys and men who care, but that is because societies are not grown-up either.  They don’t know how to accept the whole boy or the whole man – but they are learning.  Just as I am learning to let go – but I have built a path from my heart to yours – and there is a path from your heart to mine too – so that we’ll always know there is a home for us, especially when you find the need, or just to be reassured that it’s there.

I love you my dear child.

*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

Oh, Hell, No!

There’s a guy – isn’t there always? – and just when I was settling into my new-found spinsterhood, and he’s exiting a relationship that’s not been good for him, and we’ve been friends, he told me today that he really likes me.  That’s fine, and it’s sweet, and I like him too, but there’s no hit in the gut for me.  I wouldn’t throw the proverbial baby out with the bath water on that account alone, but he let me know he ‘had the talk’ with his soon-to-be ex, and added that I’d ‘better still be interested’ in him.  It’s a fear-based statement, rather than a restraining order worthy utterance, but all the same, ‘oh, no, you didn’t‘!

We’ll be having our own ‘talk’ in just a while…  I will never be anyone’s emotional rescue, and I’m angry that he tried not only bringing me into his terrible love life situation, but to foist responsibility for his happiness on me.  Holy hell, I can barely keep me happy never mind someone else.  I am responsible for my happiness, and that’s it.

Maybe I’m not relationship material.  I’m far too independent and have no filter for bullshit anymore.

*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

It Feels Like March – Uh, Nevermind

The March lion wind is roaring early.  Warm and cold fronts threw down all night and are still at it this morning.  I don’t know if the wind seems, or is, more ferocious because I’m fully awake, but I keep expecting to be picked up and dropped in Oz – although I’d rather not.  I doubt I’d make it there as intact and fresh-looking as Dorothy did.

My son and I went to Kyabram, Victoria, Australia, in June of 2000.  While there, we were in a fierce thunder and hail storm, and I asked my host if they got tornadoes there, and she replied, ‘No’, with a laugh.  We drove back to her home, the storm gathering strength, and as we were entering her house I looked up at the swirling, roiling clouds, and thought I’d never seen anything so beautiful.  The thought: ‘Coming in the clouds of Glory’ entered my mind and I just wanted to stand out there and watch it, but it was too wet and windy.  A few moments later her children, my son, and I were looking out the living room plate-glass window and saw a funnel cloud form, not too far in the distance.  I wasn’t sure what to do because my friend didn’t have a basement, but I saw drainage ditches nearby and thought we could run there if necessary.  Luckily the tornado was moving perpendicular to our position, but it was frightening all the same.  I felt so bad for whoever or whatever was in its path.

Later we heard that a six-month old baby strapped in a high chair got sucked through a window, and landed a quarter-mile away or so, unharmed.  That was probably the only good news out of that storm.  The next day the newspapers ran bold-faced, above the fold commentary about the storm, and one paper simply headlined: ‘TORNADO!’.

The winds have quieted considerably since I began writing this, but the temperature, which was about 56°F, is now 38°F, and dropping.  Brrrr!

*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Love

Image

There are hundreds of family pictures I looked through while searching for photographs for this challenge, and other pictures of places and things that fill my heart, and love is such a vast topic that it was difficult to narrow down.

Love is more of an essence, permeating every area of my life, through every cell and fiber of my being, and, in its finest sense, love is beyond example or explanation.  As I looked at the pictures I have on my laptop I’m posting with now, a few hit the center of my heart: one of my mother and I that I took when we were at one of my favorite lakes a couple of summers ago, and one of my son and I at his High School graduation:

meandmom2010

Austen & me, June 2009

*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

Weekly News Blows In

I get a local weekly newspaper and the delivery guy sticks it in the holder under the mailbox.  There’s never more than ten or eleven pages to the paper, so it doesn’t have a lot of weight, or bulk, keeping it snugly held by the tines.  Several times I’ve discovered my paper against the yard’s back fence, strewn about and weathered-looking like, well, yesterday’s news.

Most of the time the entire paper is there, but two times I spotted a single missing page a few days later, up against the back fence.  The house next to mine must act as a wind-tunnel of sorts, blowing leaves and random trash into the back yard as though piled there purposefully – which is convenient, I suppose.

I called the newspaper office and asked if they would put the paper in my mailbox, but they aren’t allowed to by law.  Your mailbox is federal property, and I guess it’s cheaper for them to deliver it than to mail it.  There isn’t a screen door, or anywhere to wedge the paper, either, so I have to be home and get the paper as soon as it’s delivered, or hope the wind wasn’t blowing that day.

Fences not only make good neighbors, they make a good catch-all too.

*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

Daily Prompt: Musical

Michelle W. posted this prompt yesterday, January 26, 2013:

What role does music play in your life?

Having sung since I can remember (and far before that, my mother tells me), music and song are inextricable from my life.  It’s no happy accident that movies are scored, and that specific tones evoke or heighten emotion.  Music has helped me survive loss, and hurt.  Music bolsters my courage, energizes me, and connects me to others.

When I sing, I feel like a separate entity is within me, making beautiful sound come out of me – especially wonderful if I’m feeling ugly in any sense of that word.  Music is that in which the whole is more than the sum of its parts.

I am definitely a rock-n-roll woman, TrainWreck Sept. 22, 2012

although I appreciate many musical genres, and instrumentation.  While I can’t listen endlessly to certain genres, cultural influences, whether regional or global, enthrall me.  Music through the ages and across cultures fascinates me with its many variations and combinations of sound and style.  If you’ve been exposed to music from around the world, you can listen to a piece and likely know what part of the world it’s from, and I find that astonishing.  We bend and re-shape genres more and more these days, mixing old world in with new, in ever-expanding creative expression.

I can be moved to tears, called to action, and filled near bursting with joy – all from one song!  My inner homeland soundtrack includes: America The Beautiful, The Star-Spangled Banner, This Land Is Your Land, and dozens of others, while other country’s anthems and signature songs connect me to people and places I might not otherwise feel any affinity toward.

Music helps us learn, and moves uniquely through our brain.  A fascinating look at this can be found here: This Is Your Brain On Music.  The academic writing and science made it difficult for me to follow some of it because of my learning deficits, but it’s remarkable material and well worth reading.

Beyond the scientific data, we know that music touches us as few other things do.  I find it incomprehensible that there once was a movement to banish music, and some people still believe that music is somehow ‘evil’, and responsible for humanity’s downfall.  Yes, emotions are heightened, but the same thing can be said about prayer, and anytime people gather for a common purpose – with or without music.

To me, music is life.

*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

Kit-Cat Klock

kit-cat klock

Kit-Cat Klock (Photo credit: World of Oddy)

KitCat Clock

I bought a Kit-Cat Klock for my son one Christmas, nearly ten years ago now.  He had it hung up in his room, and when we moved, I was happy to see that he put it back up on his wall.  I really like the way its eyes and tail move back and forth, but it’s not the most accurate time piece.  This one is battery operated, but I think the original Kit-Cat Klock was electric.

When my son went to college, the clock remained here, even though I suggested taking it as a memento of home.  I removed the battery and put it with his things that I’m keeping in case he wants it in the future, which I realize isn’t likely, but you never know.  If he ever has kids they might enjoy stuff that was once their Dad’s, or at least having a physical connection from the past to the present.

I was cleaning the other day and saw the clock and decided to dust it off, put a battery in, and stick it up on the wall.  I forgot how much pleasure I take in simple things, and I’m so glad I decided to claim it, and went through the trouble to put it up.

*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

In Spite Of It All

‘New age’ philosophy irks me because it’s invalidating by design.  That whole ‘pull yourself up by your bootstraps’, ‘you are what you tell yourself’, and all those inane platitudes do nothing to further someone’s well-being.  They are not designed to bolster anyone but the speaker, a somewhat narcissistic philosophy.

There is real pain and horror in this world, happening now!  I can’t focus on it because it’s overwhelming.  I’m accepting that I can’t fix it, that I might add to its cure, but only through my actions, not what I try to say about it – even though I think it’s still important to voice my concerns.  There will always be invalidating people, but there are plenty of empathetic, compassionate folks too.

In spite of what happened in my life, I feel goodness.  I embrace joy, fun, and laughter.  I feel grateful that I find the most ridiculous things funny, but I appreciate intelligent humor too.  Slapstick makes me guffaw, even though I feel pained at the same time if someone really gets hurt.

Pain has made me a kinder person, but I’d rather be an asshole and never have experienced pain, thank you very much.  I also know that pain doesn’t equal kindness or compassion, that’s simply how it worked out for me.  I’m sure there are lots of traumatized people who are now some of the worst offenders on Earth.

Being a target is something I’ve worked on eliminating, and I’ve done a fairly good job from where I once was to now.  I’m still learning how to spot constitutionally-incapable-of-reciprocity men and friends, but even that has improved.

There are times I love life, the simple joy of being.  I have remarkable DNA, and resilience.  My deepest desire, after healing, is service.  I love encouraging healthy risks in others.  Go for your dreams, people!!  No one is going to hand them to you, although you may fall into them.  You living as much of your joy and passion as possible creates that much more goodness in the world, or at least in yourself – and that is worth the struggle, although many people prefer the word ‘challenge’.  I like ‘struggle’ because it evokes worthiness, where challenge sounds haughty and poseur-ish.  I suppose it’s all in the framing.  I’ve risen to many a challenge in my struggles…  :-)

*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

Has It Happened To You?

I was reading a post of a young woman harassed by a group of men, the most vocal of the guys trash-talking toward and about her to impress his friends.  This woman’s response revealed what she had endured from men just that day in which she worried about whether she would be raped.  This wasn’t a one-off situation.  This happens all. the. time.

I started thinking about our story similarities, and while they still happen to me, they occur less frequently.  Not only was I being molested by an older brother starting when I was around seven, but at nine, a group of boys about a year older, their ring-leader brandishing a knife from where he stood on the rise headed up toward a rail overpass, him and his friends all leering down at me while he talked about maybe fucking me.  I was nine.  Thankfully I knew his sister and had seen him once before so I called him out by name, saying I would tell his sister, and he and his group backed off.  Imagine if I hadn’t ever met him before that morning on my way to school.

I’m eleven and my friend and I, tired from trying to wield her bike with one of us on the handlebars or bike seat by turns on the four mile ride to her house, decided to take turns riding the bike for a long stretch and then waiting for the other to catch up.  We had just switched turns for the last leg and I was to walk the last quarter-mile or so and meet her at my house.  The guy on the side of the road with his pick-up truck’s hood up must have seen our bike switch and was waiting for me.  He seemed a lot older to me, probably somewhere between his twenties and thirties.  He asked me how far it was to the center of town.  A street sign practically next to his head stated how far the town center was, and in which direction, which was his next question.  I thought he was very stupid.  As I’m walking away he calls out ‘hey kid’.  I turn to look at him, and he’s jacking off walking toward me.  Thankfully my flight response kicked in and I ran to the first house I saw, which was the longest hundred yards or so I’ve ever run, and I was screaming and banging on the door, not daring to turn around, and finally a woman came to the door and I pushed past her, the wild animal I had become, screaming for her to save me.  The man was long gone, and I’ve never been able to look at a man in painter’s pants without wanting to throw up ever since that day.

A man I knew, we’ll say he was a neighbor, for brevity, was molesting me every chance he got.  He had digitally raped me, forced me to tongue kiss him, and humped me (because what harm is there if he didn’t penetrate me with his penis?), and I wasn’t the only little girl he was molesting.

I lost my virginity through rape at fourteen by the leader of the commune/cult, a man eleven years my senior.  I said ‘no’, but he laughed at me and continued.  I tried to stop it, but I should never have had to face that situation with him because of his position of authority, and because I said ‘no’.

In my teens and twenties men unabashedly remarked on my ‘nice ass’.  I hate my body.  I hate my ass most of all.  I wish I could cut it off of me.  One day, I finally snapped and viciously told the next guy who talked about my ass what a disgusting creep he was, and what made him think it was OK to say anything at all about my body? -  and he didn’t apologize for being inappropriate.  He called me a bitch.

I had recently moved to California, had a fight with my roommate, and left in a huff to the corner 7-Eleven.  As I’m walking into the parking lot, a man in a truck slows, puts his window down, and tells me in a hoarse whisper that he’d like to fuck me.  You’d think I wouldn’t be shocked anymore, but I was.  It was still dark out, and we were alone enough that terror swept over me and I worried I might get raped.  I couldn’t call my friend to come pick me up, and I shook for the entire short walk back to her apartment, and never spoke of the incident until now.

I was so deeply ashamed by these sexual assaults, and others, that I almost killed myself.  All this sickness I’ve endured through out my life has shown me that I am an object, that my value is only in what others can take from me.

What happened to me is mild compared to what happens to women here in the United States and all over the world every day.  There is no good god.  We are on our own, and it is up to us to stop it.  I hope we do.

*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.

A Cold Wind Blows

It is a wind-whipping, bone-chilling, winter’s day, and I’ll be watching the two boys I occasionally care for, and looking forward to it, although yesterday’s skating adventure reminded me I have muscles, joints, and, or, ligaments I forgot I had.  This is why acetaminophen is wonderful.  I’d take ibuprofen, but it gives me terrible heartburn.

Maybe it’s the Arctic winds flowing down from Canada making me hesitant to leave my warmer apartment.  Sadly, my landlords don’t live here, so they don’t really care that the insulation is sub-par, and I can feel the freezing wind slipping through the window frames, and around the door.  I can put plastic over the windows, but I can’t seal off the door.  I do keep a rug pushed up against the bottom of the door to minimize the icy blasts, but it barely suffices.

I’m going to look for some heavy-duty plastic to put over the windows today, but I need the light more than I need the window covering, so I hope it won’t diffuse the light too much.

*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh) and Life On Earth’s Blog, 2010 – infinity.