Taking Stock

“I see…fields forever                                                                                                       Growing wild and free.”

nature vs. nurture
nature vs. nurture

Stuff I’ve learned the past five years.             Good-bye, NY.

-when in doubt, go back to the start, go back, go back, keep going back

-I don’t miss cement towers, crowds, noise, designer flare and busy streets full of empty strangers
-if you plant seeds, they will grow
-closets filled with fancy things are just that, overcrowded
-sweats, sturdy hiking boots, practical dress may not look cool, they are warm and efficient

 

-purpose. find a purpose that nurtures the five-year old dreamer, naive, exuberant, happiest parts

-choosing love is hard, brave and healing
-loosing your mind, over and over, putting the pieces together is not what I would have chosen, it’s what I got

-right now is it, tomorrow is guaranteed different, tomorrow is not a guarantee

-I have lived in many countries, cultures, cities, experienced various tastes, varying people                      -you have only one heart-happy home

-when asked if I wanted to replace Lupe, born blind in one eye for a different puppy, my  answer was a vehement no, thank you                                                                                      -trust your first instinct, even when living in a constant flux of polar opposites

-at my sickest, darkest, scariest I knew, I would take care of her
-what I didn’t know was how well she would care for me, asking for nothing
-Lupe sees and feels with her heart, much like her mama

-where I am going is…nowhere, nothing special on the agenda                                              -I am here, doing my best to make it count

-there is pure, white magic on the small-town Street where I come from
-doors remain open, smiles greet me no questions, no judgement                                                 -warm welcome home.

-simple is good, simple is okay, simple is not very simple at all

its all right

to go back, try again 

lupita
another bridge

Knock Three Times

this old clock
this old clock

When I’m stressed, I clean. When I’m confused, I clean. When I’m angry, I clean. Exhausted, nauseated, in full-blown Benzo withdrawal. Not permitted by my shrinks to travel, basically I’m assigned to the nut house. Only, this house arrest comes with a ton of perks, comfortable amenities. Yeah, you could this house is pretty clean. Benzo withdrawal is worse than heroine. You could say, that, yes could.

Just when I think I can’t take one more day of the absurdity that has become my existence, apparently I can. I blame the doctors in part, the shrinks, quacks, they don’t a clue what might work, and what won’t. Mental Illness meds that could very well kill you, they’re so quick to write a script. Well, that one didn’t work, let’s try this on top of that. Pretty soon, your brain is a full on pileup of conflicting signals, no wonder it’s lost without a roadmap. My beautiful mind, gets more and more tangled, lost inside forgotten memory, drooping eyelid, psychosomatic illness, blindness, hallucinations. They’ve really fuked you now, you have no choice but to go nuts. There’s no winding the hands back on the clock.

Me, I’m the anomaly. The med-resistant patient, the BiPolar opposite. I hate the drugs. Muscle rigor, swollen tongue, numbness, vertigo, ringing ears, eye paralysis, what’s next? Fuk off, you can keep your pink, white and yellow pills, in various doses of madness. When I can’t fight anymore, when I can’t find the will, I will look to the clock. With what’s left of my shredded dignity, faith, courage and hope, I’ll simply go, on my time. My brain, I’m donating to science.

I received ‘the phone call’, email. The sad news we dread, three times in one week. Each ring, every broken heart, gave me strength to fight the personal pain, fear and sorrow. Empathy takes over in tragedy, gratitude settles in. One loss hit hard, knocked the wind out. The loss of a child. I would’ve gladly given away some of my time, to his mother. I have lived so much beautiful, loved so deeply and laughed so loud, freely. Time doesn’t work like that, the hands do not stop. I will fight for her, silently, the unbearable loss. In honor of mother and child I will live, because that’s all I can do. I offer prayer, for the loved ones who’ve gone missing. Maybe they’re not missing at all, maybe they returned home. To an ethereal world where there is no pain, no disease, filled with Technicolor dreams, and Opal crystalline riches. Enough for us all. Home to an impeccably clean house, with five-star amenities and perks, and no sorrow.

GEORGIA PINE.
GEORGIA PINE.

Time tells me I’m here, for a reason. For now.  Until I’m not.

And that is, just fine by me.

Three Part

today is a three-part kind of day

Image

I know.

I used to see Phillip Seymour Hoffman in the Village, head-down, unassuming posture. The year was 1995, I was studying acting and a mega fan. My brother saw him on the subway, asked for his autograph for me. He graciously signed a pack of matches, he was kind. Addiction, Mental Illness are merely misfirings, faulty wiring in the brain, that cannot be fixed with duct tape. People judge, self-involved, some do anyway on any given Sunday. He didn’t judge, why should you?

I know – part 2

I look nothing like I felt yesterday. I have two friends who knew me when, and still like me now. I might be peculiar, have you looked in a mirror lately? Be prepared if you get around to The Vast Landscape, just sayin.’ I don’t feel like playing nice, I’m a grown-up shouldn’t have to. I try, was brought up with manners of a sort. I’m stuck in a place I don’t belong, temperatures below freezing. The agoraphobiac, surroundings don’t matter much. State of mind is the devil’s business.

I knew.

I knew from the age of five, I was different. My father remains alive in my heart, my most favorite person. He draped me with love and kindness. I was rich, well rich enough, spent time in exotic places. I rarely said, “sorry.” Thought thousand dollar bags, shoes would make me happy. They never fit, are of little use now. I had ‘fancy friends’ who stopped coming by, when I started seeing visions. My family didn’t understand, yet hung around. Obligation or not. I was skinny, young and less sad, some time ago.

I hope.

God’s listening to the internal discourse going on in my head. Maybe he can show me a future, one with me in it. Give me a reason to choose hope, not hell. I best get back to the  make-believe world of Georgia Pine. I’m so enjoying the bayou, lingering spirits, the deep south. Three stories intertwined gets complicated, direct descendants, sisters and friends of Harrison. The character I adore, who doesn’t exist in real-time. She shines bright and  vivid in my imagination. I dare, hope.

To carry on this one piece of madness I love.