Tag: perspective

Reform Called For

Placed without consultation
in an undesirable position –
certainly didn’t ask for this –
I am decidedly displeased.

Princess tendencies expected
pampered outcomes – exalted
deployment – hypochondriacal
drama despises responsibility.

Lack of working boundaries
merits complaints, too many
unknowns counterproductive,
yet I will forge ahead, accept.

Cross-purposes: reckless regard
for what’s important, and a need
to make things right (regardless
of cost) drive me to distraction.

Craving simplicity, am motivated
to create a suitable environment,
encounter more obstacles, feel
sabotaged from all angles, despair

lash out – not maliciously – only
begging for accountability, willing
understanding of consequences –
without collaboration futility arises.

Clear guidelines are needed here,
unrealistic expectations not helping,
need predictability, healthy protocols,
reinforcements to calm the chaos.

Foundational barriers breaking down,
the royal tower is crumbling – radical
change in the offing – reset, commit,
we can do this with duel dual effort!

tower

Moments of Glory

Went for a walk today –
pushed my chariot out the door,
faltered after it and set out –
a beautiful, sun-blessed day!

It was an act of independence –
defying shooting pain in shins,
a groaning hip,  an obstinately
bent spine – Carpe Diem, said I.

Two houses, three, I smiled
at passersby – “Beautiful day!”
our celebratory chorus – three,
four houses, freedom mine.

Five, six – I could see the corner
shops – half a block away – why
I bought this house – everything
close – until fated out of reach.

Then I felt it – that indescribable
shift in my spine, a warning –
shut down imminent – retreat!
Confidence melted into panic.

Now steps became a shuffle,
each foot dragged forward,
back curving in on itself, will
on full throttle – get me home.

Two houses more – you can
do it – husband stands at door
telling me to take my time –
No! No! Time is running out!

I stumble inside – find comfort
in the familiarity of my bed
think about giving into tears
then remember – the sun’s rays

generously washing over pale
housebound skin, the smell of
autumn, just before the cold –
a rare mid-November warmth

and I smile – a victorious,
proud recognition of how,
Nature offered a rare gift –
and I, for once, partook of it.

A Husband and a Son

Mistook a man for a boy
once – married, realized
error, buried self in misery.
We were just nineteen.

My son is quite athletic:
quarterback, downhill racer,
musical, too – we expected
great things – a doctor, lawyer.

He laid in bed till two, rose,
reclined on couch,  amassed
piles of litter around him,
while I worked two jobs.

Recruited by the drama coach,
he made a wonderful leading
man – handsome, rugged looks,
a certain charm to his smile.

We didn’t consummate – I’m
not sexy enough, he said –
although he seemed to eye
the friend that kept him up …

He met this girl – she was
a year ahead of him – leading
lady – suddenly, he’s going out,
needs a car, gets a job –

He bought a slot car – joined
a club, raced in our basement
till 3 am – men with tiny cars-
going nowhere fast, I reeled…

She was years ahead of him –
left home at seventeen, knew
independence, responsibility –
a go-getter, highly energetic.

He couldn’t hold a job – excelled
at failure – unwilling to settle for
second best – I took on a boarder
to maintain the status quo.

We liked her all right – fit in-
like the daughter I never had,
but when they said they were
getting married – what to say?

I booked us a getaway – plan
to reconnect, ignite a spark,
instead we fought – he said
it was so easy for me – what?

He dropped out of school, took
a job at a bank – would-be manager
– sounded promising -let go a month
before the date- unfortunate.

I started staying out after hours
hanging with men – platonic;
anything to avoid the coldness
of home – an emotional void.

We told him he could call it
off – wasn’t too late.  He was
still a child – so much of life
to experience yet – why not?

Tried talking to his parents,
they said he needed a career,
not just any job – wanted him
to be somebody – I exploded.

The wedding was extravagant,
such a waste of money, really –
an embarrassment for us, but
we smiled and acted pleased.

It’s okay for the slut to work
sixteen hour days, is that it?
Nothing’s good enough for
your son – but okay for me?

We had them for dinners
Sundays – a happy ritual –
kept our eye on them, could
see the tension building.

Kicked him out before second
anniversary – either work or
leave, said I – he left – home
to mom’s couch I assumed.

He’s really still a child, my son,
needs his mother, needs to
ripen, too young to be plucked
from the vine – give it time.

Half the furniture and all
the debt and I feel like a
failure – used, betrayed,
who’ll want me now?

I worry about him – never see
him – wonder where he spends
his time – is he warm, fed, is
someone washing his clothes?

Someone does want me –
shares my dreams, opportunity
for a new life – but I can’t find
ex – shunning divorce, he hides.

He comes to Sunday dinners now
with a new woman at his side –
a soft-spoken country gal, polite
enough – I somehow miss the first.

His parents won’t tell me where
he is – hire a detective – need
to serve papers – be free of this
blemish on my heart – move on.

I ask him what his plans are, he
shrugs, looks away.  Have you
divorced?  No, Mom – nothing is
settled – still just a boy, really.

I find him at his mother’s house –
Sunday dinner – the new woman
at his side – as if nothing happened
as if my life had not been destroyed.

She was big as a house when she
came – in a hurry, of course – getting
re-married, having a child, leaving
him behind – always such drama.

It’s an old story now, child’s play –
two not-quite adults making poor
decisions – no one to blame –
I had always like his mother.

She dropped by today, to say
hello, heard I was ill, wanted to
apologize – strange child really,
old in some ways, lost in others.

Can the past ever be undone?
They were good people really –
undeserving of my recklessness,
unwittingly caught up in my pain.

We didn’t know what hit us,
I laughed – you were so full of life,
but he wasn’t ready, timing was off
for the life you were craving.

Is he happy? I ask (not mentioning
the fraud charges – saw it in the news)
I’m glad he found someone (did they
find the love that we had missed?)

He’s fine, I tell her, had his share
of tribulations – as we all do – (don’t
say he was just here this weekend
thinking about divorce – still failing.)

I wonder that she’s never moved,
still keeps this house of empty rooms,
hollow dreams echoing in the hallway,
has she found contentment in her life?

She leaves, and the warmth goes with
her – always full of sunshine despite
the rain – I let her go – like I did before –
the tempest who changed our lives.

 

Invincibility

Remember when we were lovers,
and would stay all out night –
me full of bravado,
you coaxing one more drink?

I’d awaken the next morning
head thick and fogged
and you’d reassure me
that the car was in the driveway
safe and sound
and want to do it all over again
but I’d have to work,
so you would sulk all day
until you could sweep me up once more.

“You’re going to burn out before you’re 25”
a co-worker told me
and you just laughed and said:
“Not me, I’m invincible!”
and we’d dance the night away
never knowing where we’d end up
or how we got there.

When did it change for us?
When did you abandon me?

Was it the day we lost four friends-
all dead in a fiery crash –
a tragic combination of speed and alcohol
that fateful long weekend?

Or was it that time
you let me get into that car
told me I’d be okay
flattered me that a man so handsome
would want my company
then left me alone
to be raped?

Maybe it was me that
just couldn’t look you in the face anymore
deceived by your recklessness,
seized by the recognition
of your self-serving ways.

Time and obligations
have made me forget you,
yet every once in awhile,
I dream of those days
when we watched the sun come up
then sleepless and still buzzed
faced the world – our oyster –
as if nothing could tear us down.

 

My Spirit Stands Strong

Progress – seldom linear –
tosses me into unexpected decline –
stranded and incapacitated.

My son – with labour-hardened strength
leaps to my side, steadying me
and I feel the fear in his caring grip.

My daughter, ever compassionate,
reaches out for me with horror-filled eyes
as my body crumples onto the bed.

My husband, my oak, seeks to comfort
his voice betraying the helplessness
this futile predicament imposes.

Beloveds, I know that you see me
this dis-abled, non-functioning shell
weakened and sickly, lying on this bed.

Do not be deceived – that is not me –
it is only an illusion –
a vessel – temporarily fettered.

I am, in essence, beside you –
ambitions and desires intact.
Feel me there, tall and proud.

Sense the wholeness of my being
remember me for the woman I am yet to be –
My spirit stands strong.

Day 261 Birth

It’s been almost a year since I received the diagnosis of ME/CFS; two years since the visits to the emergency room escalated and I knew something was very wrong; four years since I suspected my system wasn’t working right.  Step by step along the way I have died in little pieces:  watching my dreams (some shared, some personal) slip away.

While waiting for the results of Thor’s biopsy we made out a bucket list:  places we wanted to travel, activities to pursue, risks to take – all requiring energy – all beyond my capabilities right now.

I am told that people recover from this disease – thirty percent completely – and others learn to adapt to the eventual return of some functioning – and so I keep hoping.

I am not one to believe that life is a haphazard set of events and then we die.  I believe that there is purpose and opportunity around every corner and that the trials we are given are invitations to delve deeper into the mysteries of the universe and the wonders within.

With this mindset, I await the first dawning of new light:  the birth of something new.

Every day I am letting go and surrendering -accepting – this process with an open heart and mind, anxious for the labour pains to begin.

Life remains pregnant with possibilities.

Day 243 Violence and Peace

The rage within my father was tangible and made him larger than life, the potential for violence ever-present.

My mother’s attempts at peace-making were fueled by trepidation – always on the lookout, hoping against hope to maintain calm.

Both adopted the facade that ‘all was well’ and deeply denied the reality.

The result – an unnameable terror that gripped us children.  No logic explained the tension that surrounded us, however; we understood without doubt that a threat hovered over us in every living moment.

Mother’s attempts at peace were merely misguided acts of enablement; empowering, not disarming my Father.

Uncontested he reigned tyrannically; yet, what he really longed for was peace.

Peace, not peace-making.

Father longed for a sense of acceptance and acknowledgement that was beyond his grasp.  He was society’s outcast:  unwittingly born into an era where gender definitions were polarized – male or female.  He did not know – we did not know – about genetics and the sliding scale that defines gender identification and sexual orientation.  He was forced to conform and, therefore; denied basic human rights.

My mother, whose understanding of all things sexual came from watching the animals rut on the farm where she grew up, and pushing away unwanted advances from her father and siblings, was not equipped to understand the enigma presented to her by her husband.  She only knew that this tortured soul of a man was the provider for herself and her role was to be submissive and nurturing.  She found herself trapped between his ‘awful’ secret and trying to maintain an outer appearance of normalcy.

It was dysfunction at its finest.  Unable to resolve their own issues they looked outward, finding causes within their children’s lives to replace their compulsive need to fix.  There was never any shortage of broken, needy, helpless occurrences to satisfy their lust.

The answer to violence, and the threat of violence, at least in our home, was not peace-making.  In hindsight, it was a need for individualized peace – an understanding of differences, motivations, desires, and a stated acceptance that allowed us to come together in respect and honour for our diversity.

An atmosphere of open-mindedness would have allowed father to reveal his truth.

Assertiveness, on the part of my mother, would have allowed her to set healthy boundaries and limits defining her participation (or not) in my father’s reveal.

Trust in the basic nature of our love for one another might have prevented the constant need for self-preservation, which only turned us away, one from the other.

Inner peace offers a strength that fortifies against fear and outrageousness.  It believes in a wisdom that transcends time and space; offering the possibility of order and compassion in the midst of chaos.

The concept of peace – real peace- was not part of my growing up.

Without peace, violence – physical, mental, psychological, emotional or spiritual – reigns.

Day 242 Arrogance and Humility

Humility prepares the way,
selfless, focused on servitude
lending a patient ear to each possibility
befriending challenge with an open mind.

Arrogance arrives late
a cloud of disruption, reeking
of too much perfume,
dressed like a dominatrix
commanding attention.

Such display of total disregard
triggers Humility’s vulnerability
causing hesitation and in that fateful
moment, surrendering control.
Arrogance thrives on chaos.

Humility chokes but regains
perspective, politely, assertively
suggesting Arrogance’s help
is appreciated, but not necessary.
Arrogance whirls and glares.

Feeling the pressure, Humility
holds firm and reaches deep within
and curiously, unexpectedly sees a light
Arrogance has ignited inspiration!

Day 240 “Self-Sufficient”

isolated and incapacitated
I am prohibited from partaking
of the influx of information incessantly presented

consequently cut off
from prescribed expectations
dictating costuming and culture

external expressions of acceptance
are sorely missing, suggesting
an overall lacking of self-worth.

Interestingly inverse to such conclusions
is the sudden contentment that arises
from escaping the mayhem

Internal relief overrides dictated performance
surrendering willingly to intrinsic motivation
and renewed self-acceptance.

Day 238 One Woman’s Quest

I started this blog in 2011 as a gift to myself.  I had just undergone a lumpectomy to remove abnormal cells from my right breast, and was awaiting the results.  Because of the Christmas holiday, I would not hear for five weeks.  Those were five long weeks, and a whole gamut of thoughts and emotions.

Since that time, my husband has been diagnosed with and received treatment for Stage III, Prostrate cancer, and while I escaped the ‘C’ word, I am now confined to my home with ME/CFS.

But life has not been just struggle.  At the same time as I awaited word, I found out that my middle daughter was pregnant with our second grandchild – a joy that never ends!

Nor were these the first challenges that I had faced in my life, just more in a long line, actually.

So why a quest?  What is that a woman of mature age quests for?

Let me try to answer.

I seek a sense of autonomy in my life – to be able to feel that my decisions/ needs/ wants are not overshadowed by the dictates of another, or a past that is always looming.

I want to know what it means to feel truly empowered.  To know, for once and for all, that I have laid the victim to rest and instead, embraced my authentic self.

I want to live life from a place of inner peace; a trust that no matter what life throws at me, I can continue, because I believe in myself.  And in that peace, I want to know what it feels like to live without guilt, need for permission, or a sense of unworthiness.  I want to be able to forgive (myself and others) in order to be free.

I want to be able to breath freely and stand firmly upon this sacred Earth and make a difference.  To engage with life.  To seek understanding and share passion with all people – no exclusions.

I want to live a life that at the end of my time I will want to celebrate, so that my dying words will be:  I did it!

I am not there yet.  As Robert Frost said, I have “miles to go before I sleep”, and so I quest on.

At least now you know what I am looking for, and if at some point you and I should meet in these pages, maybe you could share a little of your wisdom, and I might come closer to finding my own truth.