Posts Tagged personal

So tired of people…

Screaming for love
When there’s no love
In them

Crying foul
When they cheat
At every turn

Pointing a finger
Casting the
Blame

Refusing to take
Responsibility
For actions all
Their own

Refusing or
Unable

A sure sign
Of the true
Make-up

Is it any
Wonder
I chose this
Path of
Darkness

Blinded by the
Light
When true colors
Are revealed

No regrets
No looking back
Both feet on the path
Forging ahead -

Sitting in the dark
Listening to silence
Lights from the Christmas tree
Illuminating the room

I don’t know what it was; perhaps the fact that it was my first card of the season; excitement filling me before I even opened it; a plain white envelope with a Cincinnati postmark; a holiday greeting from home.

I opened the envelope, slowly removed the card, and realized immediately that it was so much more than that.

Greenery of a pine tree trimmed the edges, nestled in the corner was a gold globe ornament, encasing the image of my beautiful friend Denise and her son. Their eyes sparkling, filled with love, smiles of happiness and pure joy, radiating from the image, wrapping around my heart.

Mother and Child, the embodiment of Christmas; a reminder in times when commercialism reaches its peak and we’re all expected to give and receive, what’s truly important in life and why we celebrate this wondrous season in the first place. Even more special because of the trials and tribulations I know they’ve overcome, to get to that captured moment in time; sharing with me that joyous piece of their lives.

A single, simple card, meant as a holiday greeting; the best gift I could hope to receive; one that will be treasured long after the season reaches its end. A reminder in this turbulent world that it all comes down to love…

I missed her birthday; first time in thirty-seven years. I wonder if she can forgive me. I wonder if she would understand if I were to tell her that while I thought of her, I simply hadn’t the will to get out of bed, go out into the world, into the store and read through a plethora of cards, when I had no sentiment in me; blinded by my own darkness, searching for the light; lost in an abyss of loneliness and angst, trying to wrap my head around truth, for all the lies.

An endless stream of bittersweet lies…

I can see clearly now, for the fog has lifted; and while I still feel bad for not reaching out on her day, I cannot help but wonder why we do it. Nine years since we’ve seen each other and probably twenty since I knew what was in her head, in her heart.

Inseparable once upon a time, drifted apart on the current of life, landing on opposite shores. I wonder what trials and tribulations she’s faced in hers, if they in any way match my own. Somehow I doubt it, though I’m probably wrong. We were similar creatures growing up; living on opposite sides of the tracks, but on the same street nonetheless. But we lost something along the way and though we’ve talked over the years, it seems meaningless, forced and incredibly contrived; stuck in the past, when we are no longer those girls, but women who have yet to be properly introduced.

Her hand in mine
So soft and small
His bear hungs
Belly laughs
Thinning hair

Only traces remain
Her scent on
The quilt
Pottery bowl
Filled with his
Change

Happy they came
Sad to watch
Them go
Can’t wait
To see them
Again

Feels like
Forever
Until Spring
Will come
Counting the
Days
Looking forward
To home

#133 – My Style

In life and writing….

Macabre
Yearnful

Simplistic
Tenacious
Yielding
Labyrinthal
Eclectic

I, Jill Terry, being of not-so-sound mind of late and overall healthy body, do hereby bequeath the following; Three years worth of writing; my blood, tears and toil, from the depths of my soul; to anyone who cares to delve through these pages and take from my words what you will.

In my darkest days when there was no light to be found and I purged to keep from losing my mind; to when my light shined brightest, my words flowed with hopeful grace and lighted upon all those who took the time; reading, commenting, making a connection; so many, but only a few I took into my world, would ever call a friend. You know who you are and you know how to reach me; should you ever find the need or want.

August 4th marked the third year of Wordsmith; 3 years; 653 posts; 43 categories and 616 tags. Enough words to keep those interested, reading for many a day and night; while I take my leave and concentrate on freeing myself, finding some semblance of peace in my world and return to my passion; writing my books.

I leave you with one final, soul-searching thought; not words of my own, but profound words that should be read and pondered by the whole of the world. If I did nothing else for you, I at least gave you this…

How, if some day or night a demon were to sneak after you into your loneliest loneliness and say to you, “This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more; and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain and every joy and every thought and sigh and everything immeasurably small or great in your life must return to you – all in the same succession and sequence – even this spider and this moonlight between the trees, and even this moment and I myself. The eternal hourglass of existence is turned over and over, and you with it, a dust grain of dust.”

Would you not throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse the demon who spoke this? Or did you once experience a tremendous moment when you would have answered him, “You are a god, and never have I heard anything more godly.”

If this thought were to gain possession of you, it would change you, as you are, or perhaps crush you. The question in each and every thing, “Do you want this once more and innumerable times more?” would weigh upon your actions as the greatest stress. Or how well disposed would you have to become to yourself and to life to crave nothing more fervently than this ultimate eternal confirmation and seal?

The greatest stress
Nietzsche

PEACE…

Twenty minute line at Starbucks is how the day started; not waiting was not an option.

Walk in the department store, two minutes to twelve, store clerk stops me short, “You can’t be in here ma’am, we’re not open.” Surely she couldn’t be talking to me, “Ah, excuse me, but the doors open, I just walked in.” She rolled her eyes, “Yes, but it’s not twelve yet, you have to leave.” Two minutes; two fucking minutes! I’m already in the store and she’s telling me to leave!

I turned and walked out; actually I stormed out; NO WAY was I waiting. I might have wasted a thirty minute trip getting there, but was not going to waste two more minutes of my time, because a recent high school grad told me I had to! I wanted to tell her she just lost herself a really big sale, but it wouldn’t have made a difference, she didn’t care. It’s not like the days when I worked her job, when every customer could have been a secret shopper; get one mark and you were written up. Forcing pride in your job; it sucked, but it worked.

Next stop; cruising the lot looking for a parking spot when an old woman in a motorized buggy comes flying out the door directly into my path, didn’t even bother to look, slow down or stop. I’m old, I’m a pedestrian, therefore I’m privileged and don’t need to be bothered with something as trivial as looking to see if someone in a three thousand pound vehicle is about to plow my old ass down. She slammed on her brakes, looked at me and glared. I just shook my head and felt my blood pressure soar.

Pedestrians…someone gave them the right of way and look what they created!

Mother pushing an overloaded cart with two snot nose kids in tow; walked past the woman manning the dressing rooms, “Which one yelled at you?” They pointed to the woman in red. “Did you yell at my kids?” The woman shook her head, “I didn’t yell at them, ma’am. They were running through the department knocking clothes off the rack and I asked them to stop.”

The redneck mother puts her hands on her hips, turns up the attitude; “Don’t yell at my kids, that’s not your job, that’s a parent’s job, do you understand?! Who do you think you are, yelling at my kids? I want to speak to your manager!” The woman behind the counter didn’t say a word, what would be the point.

I, on the other hand, within perfect earshot, began conversing out loud with the voices in my head; “Yes, a parent’s job! To control your kids when they’re running around trashing the store, terrorizing shoppers and being little menaces. It doesn’t matter that I’m a fucking idiot and DO NOT control my kids; it’s not YOUR place to reprimand them. Reprimand…that’s another word for discipline; you know, busting their deserving asses instead of threatening with empty words!”

Her hand fell from her hip, her mouth dropped open, but she didn’t utter a word; the kid’s stood there with their eyes wide in disbelief, the clerk smiling a jubilant smile. I winked at her, turned and walked on.

Two teenage boys running through the store, slammed into me, dropping sunglasses and a video game into my cart. “Jesus!” I said then began to move on. “You shouldn’t use the Lords name in vain lady,” one of them actually said. “And you should watch where the fuck your going you big turd!”

“Mama, you’re scaring me…..”

My head suddenly spinning, my vision temporarily blurred, feeling as if any moment, I was going to collapse to the floor; yes, I had little buddy in tow, as my sanity unraveled and the meltdown occurred. I stopped, took a few deep breaths and tired to steady myself.

I apologized and explained that this is one of those days when I should have stayed in bed, rather than try and face the world. I don’t know if he understood, but that’s the best I had to offer.

The truth.

Wise one says I have to open my eyes, accept and see; be part of the truth instead of always looking the other way. The only way to advance on the path toward enlightenment; to make certain this insanity is not repeated again and again and again. But the more I see the more I suffer; the farther I want to run and hide; my intolerance to the point that I can barely cope; a manic search for the operator who can flip the switch and stop this wild ride…

The sun sets golden in a clear blue sky; but for the few white plumes lending their signature to the conclusion of this day.

Bucks bistro table for two; occupied by one. Don’t Stop the Dance with its sensual sax; caressing my ears, filling my senses; editing of manuscript having reached the end.

Words which instill fear yet bring enormous comfort; having become so familiar in their reading and their meaning; knowing what publication will eventually bring. Left behind; moved beyond; entrusted to my care.

Nietzsche in my bag; portable and basic writings; a grounding connection through time and space; “every philosophy also conceals a philosophy; every opinion a hideout; every word also a mask.”

How well we dwell and dance behind those pretty masks; identities hidden as we interpret life’s poem; basic need and want mirrored; revealed only to each other…

“Truth is all that matters; drifting through a world tattered and torn. Love is stormy weather; beauty should be deeper than the skin. Footsteps in the dark come together;
Don’t stop…don’t stop the dance –