The yearning
Twisted emotion
Consumed all thought

In the end
Realizing
The very thing
I sought
Was not at all
What I wanted

The yearning itself
Is what I craved

The sweet distraction
From monotonous
Existence
That I had grown
Oh so tired of

Stay strong.

After the fact I thought about what I had done and wondered if saying nothing at all might have been more appropriate, for exactly what sort of message is “stay strong?”

Everyone deals with personal crisis in their own way, and to tell someone who may be falling to pieces to “stay strong” is just wrong in my opinion. Why must we stay strong? I don’t think we should; if that’s not what our emotions are telling us. We shouldn’t fight to stay strong for the sake of another; we should let our true emotions be seen and heard, otherwise we’re just projecting a lie.

So, have a breakdown if that’s where you feel yourself headed – cry your heart out – allow yourself to wallow in your pain, your anger, your sadness. Whatever you’re feeling, just stay true to you. For only then are we being true to others.

Something to think about…

It’s that fleeting moment when you hang in the balance; no longer awake, not fully asleep. Where reality and fantasy enmesh and become one; and you know with clear certainty, in the deepest most secret recesses of your soul that what you thought was only a dream, was actually your truth…

It’s that fleeting moment when you hang in the balance; no longer awake, not fully asleep. Where reality and fantasy enmesh and become one; and you know with clear certainty, in the deepest most secret recesses of your soul that what you thought was only a dream, was actually your truth…

~ Friedrich Nietzsche

Lab worker held in Yale student’s slaying – Mom finds slain bodies of 2 kids, ex-husband – Case casts spotlight on sex offenders – Hofstra student recants rape story – Millionaire gets 8 years for sex with orphans – Teen could be charged in smaller L.A. fire – Bone found at Calif. kidnap suspects’ home – Notre Dame sues ex-worker over $29,000 tip – Woman arrested for spanking stranger’s child – Prison log: Execution trouble due to drug use

She finished the list, turned off the computer and gently shut the lid. Walked to her bedroom, closed the curtains, climbed into bed, pulled the covers over her head; and wept.

Some people laugh and call it cute.
Some people label her anti-social.

Some think she’s naïve, lost in her own world.
Some call her a self-centered bitch.

Some say she’s an overprotective mother.
Some advise she should cut the apron strings.

Some get it.
Some never will.

She didn’t ask to be here. Wasn’t an errant soul who mistakenly happened into this world; sent here as punishment for behaving badly, or waiting for that next big reincarnation, in search of a real adventure.
But she is.
Here.

That doesn’t mean she has to like it. Doesn’t mean that by being “one with the universe,” she must accept that being part of the “whole,” means we are “all one.” She’s not certain if she will ever accept that as truth. Perhaps that’s why she’s here now. Perhaps that’s the one thing that keeps bringing her back; over and over again.

She has a very clear vision of the duality of good and evil that lives within each and every human being. Possesses an uncanny ability to penetrate the façade, see behind the veil, and into the soul where good and evil resides. A gift? A curse? Call it what you will, but its something she has lived with her entire life. Defining and honing in her adulthood. Used as a tool to reason and rationalize paths taken in her youth. Researching and recording events predicted, premonitions seen, déjà vu witnessed.

Her path is a winding one. Her journey is of a spiritual nature. Not in search of God, for she knows where He dwells, but rather to obtain a better understanding of the why’s and how’s of this material world, as well as the afterworld and those who dwell in between the two.

Knowing for certain that when we reach the highest realm of being, we will be shown the ultimate reality; when everything else leading to it, is nothing but illusion; an illusion that all too often is filled with real life monsters, who take lives and destroy souls.

There is a very real battle of good and evil, existing in all corners of the world, every single minute of every single day. Well aware of the ever-present threat, she does not wear blinders because she’s too weak or uncaring to handle the truth of the world. She does it out of necessity; for her own personal survival.

She is unable to return the gift she was given; to lift the curse and see only what she chooses; incapable of numbing herself to the truth within the illusion, by allowing herself to be spoon fed images that television executives and the media think we need to see and hear, by simply tuning in and zoning out. It doesn’t work that way for her.

But, oh, how she sometimes wishes it did…

With old patterns faltering in the wake of time, serving him less and less; desperation creeps, then slowly sets in.

Searching for something real to cling to; in a world of illusion and cheap parlor tricks; of which he created and has always dwelled.

Better to be an imaginary somebody, than a real no body; his platform, his soapbox, his mission, his salvation.

Spewing his gospel as weightless as smoke rings, growing bored with his half dozen converts; unable to stroke his monstrous ego; he sees only one place left to go.

One soul he touched. Upon a time was touched by. He refuses to release and let go. Disguised as forgiveness, he sets about his mission; back to the only arms left, that wait wide open.

Naïve and weak, yet privy to his ways; a masochist for certain, to take him back in. She is not the reason, but merely a convenience. Providing him shelter, buying him time; bringing him closer to where he believes salvation resides.

The beautiful butterfly, with delicate wings; once so fragile, easily ravaged; consumes his thoughts, still rules his darkness; and so true to predator form, of which he will always be, he sets about stalking, making connections; broadcasting his relation, as if guaranteeing him a position. Wasting time, sniffing and searching; for the butterfly has morphed, long ago taken flight.

And so time ticks on, for this wasted life; over educated and under achieved. When he could have soared to the greatest of heights; been a true inspiration, perhaps a revered master. But the only expertise, he can lay claim in the end; is leaving a trail of pain, in the wake of his disaster.

Endless line
Twisting
Curving
All waiting
To get inside

400 plus
Students alone
Not counting
Parents and sibs

Overzealous
Excited
Nervous
Shy

I stand in
Observance
With an
Unsuspecting eye

Listening to their
Exchanges

Hollow compliments

Throwing down
Cards
Trumping the
Jones’

Comparing
Exorbitant prices
Decked
To the nines
These women
Of leisure

In the same
Goddamn line

Ever the
Outcast
Seem to always
Have been

It bothered me
Once
Now I just shake
My head

Observing their
Depth
Or rather lack
Thereof

Thinking to
My self

What
The
FUCK

My stomach reminded me about half way home that I hadn’t taken a break for lunch and needed to eat. Too tired to even try to visualize the contents of my kitchen, I realized, as the line of cars in front of me suddenly came to a screeching halt, and I almost ate the ass end of a mini cooper, that I’d need to make an unwanted stop for food.

I knew I’d pay more, but didn’t care, as I whipped into the parking lot of the Fresh Market. The thought of driving circles in Publix parking lot to try and find a place to park, then face the mass of shoppers, under row after endless row of glaring florescent lights, then argue with the check-out boy that I could manage just fine pushing my own cart to the car, made me want to gouge my eyes out.

So, into the Fresh Market I strolled; strolled in the pouring rain, with no umbrella and too tired to give a shit. The scent of the wicker baskets hanging from the ceiling, mingled with cinnamon and vanilla assaulted me the minute I crossed the threshold. The dim lights and soft music instantly calmed me, as I took my cart and began to stroll through fresh cut flowers and candle displays; choosing a lovely little hydrangea arrangement to adorn my kitchen table.

The gentleman at the meat counter waited patiently with a smile, as I tried to decide between chicken cordon bleu, or chicken ala Venezia. I turned to look; no one behind me, hmm…maybe I don’t want chicken after all. He thanked me seven minutes later and told me to have a wonderful evening, then went back to whatever it was he was doing before I interrupted.

I wandered aimlessly, picking items that suited my fancy, sampling the pretty pink, perfectly chilled watermelon; my feet no longer hurting, the pounding in my head all but gone; enjoying the experience, wondering why I don’t do all of my shopping here. Totally relaxed and nearly done; though I wasn’t ready to leave the safe, comforting haven, to face the ugly rainy world that awaited me, just on the other side of those doors.

She made my decision for me, as I must have traveled too close to checkout territory, and she said with a bright and cheery smile, “I can help you over here Miss.” MISS…how long has it been since anyone called me Miss!

Alrighty then; into her stall I turned.

She commented on my flowers, then proceeded to explain that even though I was purchasing reusable green bags that she was going to wrap my watermelon in plastic because she didn’t want to get the rest of my things wet, just in case the container should leak. How very thoughtful, I mused to my self.

Then I don’t know what happened; she started telling me about her last job at the pet store and how she got attached to one of the tropical fish, because every day when it saw her it swam to the side of the tank toward her and how one day she came in and it was dead. So upset she was over this dead fish that she was crying when her sister called her; but when her sister asked the cause of death, suggesting that perhaps it had drown, she reared her head back and released a raucous laugh that literally sent chills up my spine.

I suddenly noticed that during the story she was holding my snow peas hostage in her crazy clutches, and that most of my items still remained in the cart; only one green bag opened, and not even half full. Then I watched helplessly, as the other lone shopper turned and walked away; leaving me alone with the mad maven of blathering chatter.

Two items later she asks if I had a bad day, said I looked tired and worn out. Before I could respond with a righteous fuck you, she starts in about a new employee just recently transferred from another store; how mean he is; young guy that acts all fruity and that she’s certain is gay. I took out my checkbook and asked her for a pen, prompting her to move her prejudice ass; as the ugly outside world didn’t seem so ugly to me anymore.

On and on she went, until finally I looked at her and said, “did you ever think maybe that’s why he’s mean to you?” she looked at me and said, “Huh?” I repeated myself, more slowly than the first; “Did you ever think that maybe that’s why he’s mean to you?”

“Well, I don’t know him or nothin’, so he’s got no reason to be treatin’ me mean the way he does.” She gave a slight jump when I exclaimed, “Exactly!” and pointed my finger at her.

“You don’t know him, he doesn’t know you, and yet because he doesn’t act in a manner you’ve come to consider normal, acting instead in a way you consider ‘fruity’, you automatically make the assumption that he is gay?! What exactly about his behavior has led you to the position of assuming you know anything whatsoever about his sexual orientation?”

“His what?” I looked at her and shook my head in disgust. “His sexual preference; whether he prefers to have sexual relations with a person of the same or opposite gender.” Just then a tidy little man with black rim glasses, who would have been perfectly fetching had his ensemble included a bowtie, came into view, making his way toward us and stopping to adjust some miscellaneous item at the end of the isle; obviously her manager.

He came into her line of vision, making his presence known and she immediately began scanning and bagging my remaining items. She gave me my total and I stroked a check. She thanked me by name as she handed me back my driver’s license. “Well,” I said, as I took it from her and put it back in my wallet; “are you some sort of psychic, or have you been called upon by a higher power to act as judge and jury?”

She leaned toward me and whispered, “We shouldn’t talk about this anymore, ma’am.” Oh, alright, suddenly I’m ma’am; no longer the friendly Miss! I leaned right back and said, “You’re right, we shouldn’t be, but I didn’t ask for this conversation, and your coworker didn’t ask to be judged and talked about behind his back; by a prejudice, no-count, blathering idiot. No wonder the fish is dead!”

I grabbed my bags and left her standing with her mouth agape, no doubt trying to decipher exactly what I had just said, then turned and nodded acknowledgment, when I heard clapping behind me and the pretty young cashier stood looking at me, with a grin that covered her whole face; obviously thankful that someone had put that old bag in her place.

Offensive.
Threatening.
Intimidating.

Something until that moment, she was completely unaware of.

She heard herself apologizing; for something she had done unintentionally; a reaction she had unconsciously displayed; one that others had seen, did not like, and nonetheless commented on. She tried to reason, attempted to explain, but nothing appeased and so she apologized once more.

A defense mechanism.
A trigger response.
Raw, uninhibited, instinctual emotion.

Certainly not something she did on a whim, without reason or provocation; and certainly not intentional to cause such reaction; happening only when pushed; to the point where emotions automatic reaction is beyond conscious knowledge or control.

The only way she could define and describe it; falling on deaf ears that did not seek a reason, simply wanting to bring to light and condemn for.

A single look; nothing more. One that apparently, speaks louder than words.

She tried to reason this irrational response; what was expected in search of appeasement. Why such an issue was being made of nothing. But there was no rationale; only comparison came to mind, as she drove home that night…

Tell me; does a dog not bite when feeling threatened? Does a snake not strike when cornered? Does a child not wale in fury when feeling enraged, having no other way to express itself? Is she not a being of flesh, blood and feeling; not unlike that of yourselves? Or does her refusal to succumb to meaningless melodrama, remove her from your realm of the norm?

People fear, judge and ridicule that which they do not understand; yet none of whom she speaks, have ever taken the time to truly come to know her. Stop and consider what might have spurred her reaction; or consider for a second what might happen if her look were to be replaced with thoughts that spewed forth…