bedtime story: a eulogy of the yellow brick road

Limits are boundless, moot ideas with funeral sentences.
but the walls cave in like impending fortresses.
and i can't tell whats real anymore.

I'd like to believe the stars are on our side, breathing relief into our complicated lives.
but i'm sure we wouldn't hear them anyway, we're so close and yet push so far away.
there is no light beyond the barricade.

Since when did we stop listening, to the man behind the curtain.
he never availed us, we just failed to get acquainted.
there's hope he says still, as his voice fades off into our distance..


but it's getting late and we're all ready for death now.

and so it begins.. again times two.

The similarity in the place I was in my life when I started writing in this blog and now when I'm pulled back again are eerily the same. I've come full circle.. but of what? Is it a forward moving circle or have I been running counter-clockwise? I was a senior in BFA, winter, in my last semester and feeling the immense urge for change and passion and drive and creation. Six years later and I'm in my last semester of MFA, dead of winter, feeling immensely anxious for change, for new, for accomplishment, acknowledgment and for love.

This makes me sad. At the same time also hopeful. I feel the weight and burden of that time when I was 22, but more, double, triple.. It's hard on my chest. It's not healthy, my heart tells me, begs me to stop. to chill out. Theres so much to catch up on.. it gives me anxiety. Like I'm losing segments of my life that I'm not ready to forget. I see myself in the same state and capacity as I was when I was 22 at the current age of 30.. the feelings of inadequacy and failure over churn me.

Maybe I just need to write...
bc he's not listening.

my nested womb amongst the stars. this girl's 30 now.

Five whole years later and I find myself drawn back to my little blog refuge. I'm shocked at how much I can see a change in myself while revisiting these pieces of writing. I was a different girl then, struggling so much to feel comfortable in her own skin, to make sense of the conflicting values and morals that I was force fed on a religious patriarchal silver platter and my own that undeniably were developing, but nonetheless extremely impassioned by. But maybe, more likely, I'm just jealous of that old perception of myself and feel a certain level of complacency which has always been my single most largest fear. Little did I know how long and difficult that journey was/is still going to be. Coming back, I realized how much I retreat into the cathartic prose of streaming thoughts whenever I'm struggling in life. Not much has changed there, who am I kidding though, not much changes anywhere.. old struggles just morph into new struggles, they just get smarter at disguising themselves and you get tired of caring so much. Hense, "enlightenment." I have a much more cynical view of the New Age "Spiritual Movement" now a days, but contradictorily am still very much apart of.. writing about it should be interesting. Maybe I've just grown the "adult baggage" that loses its brilliance in the eyes of life.. that we all hear growing up and think "nah, couldn't happen to me.." Maybe I'm just scared of growing up.. Maybe I will find all these answers here.

Although this blog indeed exists in the cloud, floating with trillions of other bits of information, somehow I feel like it has always rested somewhere outside of the www, nestled deep into a crevice of the universe that only I have access to. This is my nook and cranny in space, my ethereal nest in the gemini constellation, it's my alternate reality cabin in the woods. Sprawling snow covered land with a thick aspen forest just on the edge of the river. No phone signal, no neighbors within a 20 mile radius, a 1980's Ford F150, wrap around deck, and winter boots for truggin'. A knitted pair of thigh high socks, herbal tea steaming up my face, a large comfy grandpa chair atop a sprawling wool rug, a wood burning stove leaving small vignettes of frost on the windows and a pen and paper and my thoughts... Of course the dream is never complete without my solking, but he's lost in another dimension at this moment in nontime. Nonetheless, I'm so happy to be back, I already feel better.. more rooted in my being.

Oh, and I'm also 30.. Goood LOrd thats a lot of years. I hope I am worthy.

and naturally, so as for me not to miss her, cadence made herself so plainly obvious she appeared at the top of page 82. pre-meditatively of course.

written 6/3/11
now let me see if it is even in the slightest bit possible to put this into words. even though it is as if the pure joy of ecstasy has no words. a truly undefinable, un-identifiable, euphoric experience that once attempted to confine into matter's method of communication--language--you lose it all. now, the fickle, dual-natured gemini sun in me has been in conflict over this very attempt to put in words what i have been experiencing, one - because how can I possibly and successfully complete such a task, and two - because I would be overwhelmed by a sense of deficiency to wrongly describe and/or transcribe something so powerful into the minds and universe around me. but then again, and option number three - what does it matter? i tried. and the burning sensations of solidification through word would become still. content. i have this ongoing desire in me to not forget. which is the most hilarious irony i know since my mind only remembers that which i did an hour before, maybe four. but definitely nothing more. and so I waiver between these two, three, options of my controlling mind because sometimes this task of writing can become acutely confounding, but to my surprise always rewarding. so here it goes.

freedom. what does this word really mean? i am discovering its layers, one by one, they reveal themselves to me and, one by one, i am relinquishing its veils. freedom is a state of being, not something to achieve. we are already free. this notion of free is even off-scale, for the very word sets yourself in condemnation. it creates a dichotomy, making something UN-free. to be free implies we live in a state of un-free-ness until we become free. this is WRONG. WE ARE FREE NOW. it becomes a matter of lifting the veils we have accumulated over time, over and over and over and over, lifting them one by one further clearing our vision and seeing, feeling this sense of free more and more with each veil risen. the chains and shackles of our surroundings, our society, our very nature and the matter that exists within and around us. it is ingrained. it is impeded deep within the bone. and deeper. this is our battle zone. this is where you hear the warrior cries. high pitched yellow, orange and blood red screeching heralding its own death and the excrutiating pain that gives birth to the blues, pinks and purples of the third eye. and the third eye of his third eye. and so on.

the divine flow. where is this flow coming from and where is it going? i have practiced living within or abiding by the natural flow of divinity since i can remember. this, i remember, was one of my first lessons. however, mastery is far from taste, a nibble for that matter. literally. i have learned that this technique goes hand in hand and never without the loss of ego. only then can you see the play happen before your eyes and only then can you INTERact (not REact) with its movements.

day breaks and the stars shown bright. somethings changing.. india was right.

A new dawn is approaching, I can feel her rays. The serenity of the still ocean has me locked in his gaze. I am dreaming now, but consciously awake. 

The smell of pure soothes my every aching bone, as my body melts into the thick of the purple sky. I am calm now, and my breath alive. I have never experienced such peace in my life.

cleaning house. i feel filthy.

i find great anguish in the lethargy of egoism. when the 'i' is all you know and anything other than 'me' is a burden.

i don't know whether those are palpably exhausted dreams or a slothful aversion to affable engagements. but regardless of their spawn, he cradles them until my bloody grip makes him weep.

and thats when he knows i will let go. and i do. because i never wanted to make a man this meek. but i also never wanted to accompany a man this weak. and he is. so he sleeps. and eats. his soul away.

days, weeks, months become lost in his world of confused heresy, where people have no names and night blurs into days. where neglect is common place and pain is fair. where no one honors sun and moon is raped of all its glory, there is no nature there. there is no higher truth. its a place where all he knows is 'he' and the wild, canine glory of his mind. to me, this is the saddest story of our kind. to me, this is why our earth is dying.

i'm not scarred of alone this time.
i'm ready to say goodbye.


..i hope.

purge

in her breath i do weep.


she tells me of life, of surrender, of goddess divine. she explains in detail the experience of detachment, of refinement, of ambush and decline. she recites devotion and proclaims release. she devours expectation and rejoices inner peace. her ability to love beyond their hate is something i've painstakingly had to learn to embrace. i find sorrow in her lust. i find weak in her strong. my love for her is so thick, it burns.


there is no more room for love in this heart of mine. she has taken up every last space. but i would still give her more if she asked. reaching to every extremity my limbs do possess. i'd die for her i said, i'd die for her. i would kill my own breath.


can love become so vicious that i strangle my very heart that beats and bangs so malignantly beneath my chest? does she know how utterly hard it is to contain the pain that so violently thrashes himself against the walls of my breast? do i dare tell her of this mess.


i want to cry and scream so hard that my chest fucking explodes and bleeds red all over her linen sheets. i want to stab my heart so hard my last breath leaves me for nothing and i choke away my gut-wrenching feat. i want to curl up into fetal position and know what it feels like to have somebody cradle me back. to have my mother cradle my back. to have my mother love me back. to have my mother back. to have my mother back. to have my mother back. to have my mother back. to have my mother back. i want my mother back.


i hate so much that I'm weak. because i try so hard to be strong. but in the end, i will always wish she had never gone. i was too young, i was too young.


I'm sorry mother. i will never love anyone more intensely than i do you. and i know it's because i will never have you like i used to.






the tears are cold and my chest empty. it makes me feel so lonely. a lovers heartache could never match the loss of a daughters mom.