wrestles with angels

some dribble for you

2006-11-28T21:51:00.000-08:00

1.what letters do you type most often? do you know? i do. e, a, s, n, l. that's pretty specific. how do i know that, anyhow? well ... those are the keys that have long lost their letter sign - meaning they're blank. i have typed them so much they plain wore off. and pretty soon, the letter m will get added to this list. just some completely irrelvant and totally meaningless trivia for you. to make your head explode.

2. do you think the core of who we are as persons changes throughout our lifetimes? if you took a personality test, do you think it would be different at different points in your life? i wonder. i wonder if the fabric of one's essence can change with the seasons of living. i feel like mine has. or ... perhaps not. perhaps the changes i perceive actually reflect the pieces of myself i have uncovered?

3. i'm hungry these days. but ... have no desire to eat. until my body threatens to quit. and then i have no choice. why is it some of us have this fucked up love-hate relationship between our hypothalamus and our stomachs? one has no idea of the social nature the act of eating until one no longer has someone with which to share meals.

4. i walked by a live power line just dangling from the trolley bus line on my walk home from school monday. a horde of cops appeared to be lurking about the neighbourhood. all just standing there, fucking the dog. i wonder about the folks that supposedly manage the safety of this place, when they have to be asked to do something about a fucking live wire, dangling onto the sidewalk. i cyncally wonder if this had been the ritzy shaugnessy neighbourhood, how differently such a situation might have played out.

5. there's a spider living on the corner of the door frame to my room. she's been there for a few days now. she scared me at first, even though she's just a tiny black thing. still - she's ugly and different looking. and so i perceive that as a threat/fear. instant reaction - i want to get rid of her. then i think - why? just coz looking at her bothers me? and so ... i leave her there. why not respect her for what she does? after all she has a role to play in the food chain.

6. do you know that more than 50 % of information you receive about a person you meet is non-verbal? know what i hate about george bush? i have finally figured it out. its simple, really. and has nothing to do with ideology. its the incongruence between his verbal and non-verbal communication. it casts him in a suspicious light.

7. i hate the phone. it invites misunderstandings.

guest blogger - my stuffed moose

2006-11-26T22:05:00.000-08:00

lonely existentialist moose

moose seeks partner with fresh perspective to search for answers to the universal questions in life. (deep breath here) primarily - what is the plural of me? is it meese? meeses? mooses? moosi?
seriously! hell is not knowing the plural of yourself. how can i find love if i can't put an appropriate label on 'we?'
(sigh.) exploring the greath truths ... that's what counts in this life.

despair

2006-11-24T17:44:00.000-08:00

why, oh why, does it seem so hard to tell the difference between the despair that's placed before us to tell us to change course and the despair that's an inevitable part of transition?
there's a saying that tells us 'things seem darkest before the dawn.' in fact, its cliche to say so. so ... ? why don't we ever get it?

why do we find it such a challenge to know? to know, the difference.
time and time again, when i face my old friend despair,
i fear i do not know him. after all these years, i still don't know.

poodles on speed

2006-11-23T17:54:00.000-08:00

i feel like i'm riding a poodle on speed these days. things that define my life seem to change on a friggin dime these past few days. whew! i am really getting too old for this shit. really, i am. well, i sure am glad i DON'T have a daughter. my son, he's a good boy who doesn't cause his dear old mum - me - any worry or stress. i know that daughters are a right pain in the ass. i can say that - i'm one. ha ha. i'm sorta being flip here, so don't go all postal on me and think i'm expressing misogyny. i'm just being my usual sharp-tongued self.

and that takes me nicely into my next point. i really need to work with machines and software, NOT humans. so - yeah, on this, my 15th or so day here, i find myself in school once again - i start monday. OMFG am i serious? yes. yes i am. oh the life of a student. like, as if i haven't experienced it enough! i know i know. i'm certifiable. but ... it works for me.

ok. now seriously. some philosphizing. about people. about humanity. how much seems like too much to expect from others? do we just assume everyone is a disappointment, a selfish, egocentric prick out for him/her self? that seems rather bleak, negative and hostile. that seems like the perspective of someone who fought the battle and lost. doesn't it? and now - the sticky part. what about siblings? do we expect anything from them? i'm inclined to think so. does that make me naive, or old-fashioned? thinking that i should still approach life with some faith in humanity? i hope not.

i'm curious. what does anyone who reads this, think? and ... does it matter? does it change anything - the way we approach and view other humans? i'm inclined to think it has a big impact on how we, as individuals get perceived by others ... by society at large. really.

image originally uploaded by crayzy ray, flickr creative commons

OH YEAH ... I ALMOST FORGOT -
I MADE SOME MINOR CHANGES TO THE BLOG.
YA LIKE IT? (that's really more of a rhetorical question, btw)

a guppy in a bowl of dopamine?

2006-11-22T15:52:00.000-08:00

"i'll have one of what she's having, please!!!"

i looks pretty laid back in this pic, don't i? well, lol ... i sure feel anything but that today! i feel sort of uptight ... sort of disappointed that i am not really anything more than a fucking RENT PAYMENT to my so-called brother. yes, my brother is charging me rent! and he fucking monopolizes the TV (my viewing preferences are never sought), the phone, the temperature (he likes it at 25 degrees C - way too hot for me, a polar bear), and even tells me that i can't have my fucking windown open. he never washes his hands, tho always insists i do so ... apparently i am the only one with germs? no ... apparently he is the only one that's a FUCKING ASSHOLE! a bloody fucking selfish and egocentric prick that thinks only of himself! ARE ALL FIRST BORNS THAT WAY??

i really don't give a shit if he's dying. he's crying with his belly fully - 2 TVs, complete with satellite hook-ups, an $870/month 2 BR apt for himself (on his welfare income, no less) and a car ... and he's a 2 pack/day smoker ... and he's crying to me that he needs the fucking money for his car insurance? yeah ... when i'm already living on one meal per day, no internet connection (he has one, never uses it and forbids me to also ... nice, huh?) and virtually no spending money of any kind. HE'S A FUCKING SHIT HEAD. and life pretty much sucks today. but ... yeah yeah ... don't sweat the small stuff, right? i know i'm still luckier that most. too bad for the asshole, he doesn't recognize that, too.

selfish, egocentric people make me want to scream. he has succeeded in reducing me to tears once today over this fucking rent bullying. i know i know he will bully our mother for the money next. PRICK! well, fuck all humans today. if this is how disappointed i feel about humanity ... just imagine how disappointed g-d must feel.

it boggles my mind.

well, i will just think of guppies
swimming in dopamine.
and that will hafta make me laugh.

here's something else ... herbie (remember him?) on acid

cool, huh?

heaven's breath

2006-11-20T17:34:00.000-08:00

i sometimes feel it -
heaven's breath,
breathing down on me
miniscule, yet monumental
all at once

a conundrum
of major proportions,
heaven's breath -
sometimes so brilliant
it leaves me wanting for air,
sometimes so despairing
it sucks the life from my blood

can you feel it?
i don't suppose you can ...
its there, pressing
heaven's breath - pressing
all the foolish WORDLY resistance
from my aorta,
from my carotids

heaven's breath oozes
from the sky -
cotton batton dreams
sail on each whisper
of inspiration, of expiration
to this meager, and vulnerable soul.

image: me, taken on the greyhound bus, somewhere between calgary and the okanogan

waiting psyches - no pics

2006-11-19T19:43:00.000-08:00

ugh! i hate 'em. all those waiting minds. just ... waiting. with varying leves of emotion. yeah. well, that's what i get for going downtown right in the midst of the santa clause parade and grey cup sunday (when BC is vying for the grey cup!). a sea of people lined the streets. a sea of waiting people. with waiting children. for my poor, battered and oh so tired psyche, it felt all too much to bear. i just wanted to cry. could i just go somewhere ... ? anywhere .... ? where i didn't hafta feel the overwhelming presence of OTHERS!??

i need to schedule a visit to the beach sometime soon. i have yet to make my way to the west side of downtown van, where the beaches wait for me. i need to get there. i also need to get a friggin job. i hate this constant starting over i seem to do every few years. why why why do i possess such a restless spirit? it sometimes feels as though all this material bullshit we need to survive in the world ... it feels as though all that shit shackles my spirit. y'know? it feels that way. stuff, money and stuff acquisition make this world so unpleasant and hostile. GREED. it just sucks. for everyone. even those who happen to HAVE.

its funny, this city. you have gastown - a great oldish sorta section of the downtown that one could think of as the 'old town.' quaint. touristy. (read: rip-off prices at all the little shops there). middle and high class, for sure. and then, one only need cross cordova and voila. presto chango - one finds oneself in the slummy part of downtown. just like that. sort of like our very own platform 9 and three-quarters. cool, huh? NOT.

i can barely believe i am taking all this so well. by all this i mean being here, while M. is not. its exhausting, in a way. you never really realize how it works, when you marry someone and are with them for many years. you never really realize the way in which the two spirits sort of feef from each other. and now ... distance and two time zones separate us. and it feels .... wierd. i feel like part of my SELF has gotten amputated. honestly.

and several days have passed since i have had a really stimulated, reciprocal, intellectual conversation with another human. i have also felt sort of ... afraid of connecting to the world at large via the internet sometimes. just ... because ... well, my pysche's energy reserves feel desperately low. and to connect myself to the world at large like this ... well ... i don't feel the same intense compulsion i did before arriving in vancouver. wierd. well, not really. adjustments take energy. it just about sucking the life fore outta me. and ... also the very real possibility that M and i will not see each other until 2007. YIKES. i hate that thought. my birthday ... winter solstice ... our anniversary ... all may pass without me being able to even touch him - my M.

i dread the thought.

that's all.

sorry - no pics because this fucking shitty wireless network i'm on is FUCKING SLOW! UGH!

get your umbrella outta my face!

2006-11-15T15:09:00.000-08:00

urgh. yeah. its raining. like ... a rain forest sorta rain. woah. and well, some people need to learn umbrella ettiquite in this town! oh well, not to sweat the small stuff, right? its all good.

um, yeah. it is, now that i find this place. wooweee. kewl. its like a neat little den - like a vapor den. remember watching sherlock holmes and seeing watson find him in an opium den? it looks all cosy like that in here. and this device called a volcano, made in germany, wow ...! its way cool! i DO love this town!

well, things change, but never the DTES (downtown eastside) of Vancouver. that famous corner of Hastings and Main exists here in this little section. and its vibrant ... colourful ... alive. oh yeah. at all times of the day and night pretty much. the Safe Injection Site looks like its aged more than its 3 years, lemme tell ya. yeah - well, junkies tend not to respect property very much. what's my first clue? well maybe its that huge board, covering what used to be a large, oh so large picture window. and ... you can look inside the place and see they had to begin constructing a new exit vestibule. hmmm ... i wonder if the feds still think that's a worthwhile venture? well, i suppose vancouver officials hope to keep this place open til the olympics are done. can't have the olympic public seeing the open drug trade, and etc here in vancouver, now can we?
well, those street junkies are sure wily. yeah - every day they have this huge sort of flea market, right on the side walk outside 25 E. Hastings. just the street dudes and what they have managed to find-steal-whatever. you know what they say - one man's trash, another man's treasure! enterprising, to say the least. well, its necessity being the motherhood of invention, ain't it?

yeah. coz its not like anyone else other than themselves is gonna look after things, is it? that's sort of the impression one gets, walking west on hastings, toward cambie st. yes, when you are walking in what most of the world classifies 'a great place to live' and you see a RAT on the sidewalk, you wonder. you wonder, just what the fuck is going on. and then it occurs to you - its a great place to live, only for certain individuals. yes yes. junkies live the results of their own choices, for sure. but ... compassion? or do we have criteria for that, too? and when when when will we LEARN. THE WAR ON DRUGS IS NOT WORKING!!! when? soon, i hope.

umbrella photo originally uploaded by louru

quick post, no pics

2006-11-12T20:10:00.000-08:00

tastey news bits
did you know that death row inmates have myspace pages? and, well, of course they don't ADVERTISE the fact that they live on death row. hmmmm ... scary. and, did you hear about the family that's suing greyhound for damages after a sanitary tank got emptied on the highway on the family's SUV. YUCK! can you say ... e coli ... c diff ... and all kinds of other ICKY BUGS??? guess who's buying a new family vehicle?

a note for M
moose tried to undress himself again last nite, of course. i had to fasten the belt to his leather jacket. naughty moose ... :^B ... truly, i have this feeling that moose wants to somehow plot his way to those 'sexy boy' leather pants hanging on the doorknob of my new bedroom.

the radio's playing jewel, and i'm having an emotional orgy with her voice and the enrgy of her song. she asks "do you love me like i love you?" and darling i smile because i need not ask you this question. i know. i know the answer. i feel your absence. not just as a loss or silent aching. but i feel the entity that connects us - love. it burns brightly. i treat moose like he's holding a piece of your soul inside him.

about war and remembering our soldiers
i happened on the remembrance day service yesterday at the cenotaph in downtown vancouver. a sea of people, as far as the eye could see - all around victory square, all along cambie, hastings, and that little side street on the western edge of victory square whose name i cannot remember. anyway - the psychic wave from this gathering of 10,000 people just flooded me. it felt - overwhelming. but in an okay way. i could feel the intense emotion in the crowd. since i'm on the topic of the military, i will just say i think its pointless to vocalize opposition to current military campaigns. its like a zero sum game. what's the point? what does it accomplish?

i suppose those who oppose iraq and afghanistan don't consider the folks who sacrifice themselves to a military career. well, y'all should, y'know. ya should. i can say this because i opposed the invasion of iraq this time around. but, several years later and many lives lost and broken, does it matter? not really. its like protesting against the softwood lumber deal or free trade. futile. and i wonder, what value do opposers place upon military service and sacrifce? just wondering. perhaps it would make a difference of opposers channelled their energies of frustration and despair into constructive causes, like writing letters to soldiers, sending them care packages, or just taking some time to visit the cenotaph in your own town. SPREAD SOME POSITIVE ENERGY is what i'm saying.

pink luvs vancouver
i love this city. love it. have i told you, i feel as though i've come home? i went wandering again down east hasting. and i found a cool market grocery store. and just when i began to pine away for my reusable canvas shopping bag, this cool store had the for sale - tres cheap! yeaaay. and so i filled the bag with all kinds of good things. yum. i'm glad i remembered to pack my umbrella - we love rainfall warnings here, don't we?

the spirit of vancouver fills me. its verdant and lush, damp and cool like a rainy fall day. its hot chocolate at 4 am in at the wireless internet cafe downtown. its the tree outside my bedroom window with orange leaves AND succulent green buds. its screeching seagulls searching for their lost mates. its those steep hills that leave me almost breathless. its the high i feel just breathing in the air and considering all the amazing possibilities. its shiny, wet holly bushes, complete with lovely red berries. its sheets of rain puddles cascading along the slopes of the back lanes. its the towering old evergreens - not just the kind with those tiny needles, also the kind with cypress-like leaves. its the pittering tap of the raindrops against the side of the building that lulls me to sleep in mid afternoon. its shopping for fruit and vegies on the sidewalk in november. its a sea of umbrellas coating the sidewalks.

today today today

2006-11-11T13:09:00.000-08:00

the separation
i felt a vital piece of my heart rip away as the bus started up and began slowly backing out of the terminal. an intense feeling of incompleteness squeezed my gut really tightly. i felt mildly nauseous. the full impact of my departure for vancouver hit me square in the gut the moment i lost my view of M. i felt simultaneously silly and unapologetic, at my silent tears and stifled weeping, as the bus slowly meandered its way thru the ghetto of downtown winnipeg and westward. i clutched my stuffed moose tightly. the moose M. gave me for my 2005 birthday. i treat this moose as if some very dear and fragile piece of M. heart lies buried deep inside. i tell myself it does. ok. 'nuff of that topic. *sniff*

the trip
W, my brother - the family gypsy, if ever we had one - told me to expect a crowd on this bus. in anticipation of the 'long weekend.' well, long because remembrance day - a statutory holiday - fall on a saturday and so most businesses will close on monday. anyway - grrr. far too many people. with all the psychic energy in the bus i felt as though it would explode. or perhaps my neural pathways - from absorbing it all. how do i turn that off? where's the switch for this ... this ... sensing ability i seem to have? i have yet to find it ... its debilitating sometimes. I HATE CROWDS! the consolation lay in the fact that i still had weed left and that i managed to get a seat very near the back of the bus. it seems all the potheads gravitate toward the back, doesn't it?

so ... as our bus set out on the trans canada highway on a sunny thursday morning, a set to work getting my nimble fingers a rollin! hee hee. a girl's gotta be prepared, y'know. i am not one of those losers that rolls reefers pathetically with no filter (urg - pet peeve - joints with no filters ... !!). anyway ... first stop brandon. i have no mental appetite. however my gut feels like it will inwardly collapse if i don't put food in it. so - one plate of greasy fries and gravy. oh yeah - like THAT'S food! ha ha. well, i ate enuf to prevent my from passing out and then went a walked around the block with my stinky little cigarettes.

the bus - its the fucking milk run! urgh - the driver pulls into ever forsaken little prairie village - you know place that comprise a grain elevator, a fuel station and a general store. yeah - so the driver pulls into each small fucking town ... dotted just off the highway at 15 or 20 minutes intervals. oh and he just goes in - blabs to the store clerk for 5 minutes and then comes out. no parcel to pack. no passenger. TIME WASTER!

ok. miracle upon miracle. we finally get out of manitoba. the only thing worse that being in manitoba is being in saskachewan. a giant fucking ping pong table. honestly - no bloody trees! and - FUCK its friggin -19 degrees celcius. yes - in regina. and swift current. and moose jaw. FUCK. COLD. oh burrrrrrrrrr that is COLD. and it feels colder still at 0215, when the bus driver wakes you from a delirious sleep to announce everyone must get off the bus while he refuels it. urgh ... it sucks. but -- may as well smoke another reefer!

ok ... so i had fucked up dreams - like wierd shit that i don't remember enuf to recall but sufficiently to know it seemed psychedelic. and also i kept waking up half asleep with this feeling that i had ... um .... like somehow become detached from my body. wierd. like - the sudden realization that i couldn't really feel myself. ha ha. anyway ... crossed over to alberta sometime in the wee hours of the morning. and calgary at the obsene hour of 0630. fortunately, i know where the staff smoking picnic table is, in some nearby yet obscure part of the terminal grounds. it'd snowed there. the snow looked oh so white. divinely white. of course ... i don't hafta tell you what i did there, do i? HAHA.

urgh .... the bus leaving calgary fucking filled up. and yes, i actually had to tolerate someone sitting beside me. it turned out pretty cool. i had forgotten what a great girlfriend a gay man makes. we smoked together of course. and we had lunch together at subway - yes i finally did eat. but only half a sub. the trip thru the mountains - its always nicest early in the morning. the sun shone down on the trees, giving their icey-silver coating a golden hue. ever see golden silver? on a tree kissed by jack frost? its breath taking. the mountains hulked, as they always do. and the canyons and crevices and deep rolling hills folded into one another. and the crystal green streams that trickle and sometimes rush down the mountain sides. thar's lime in them thar hills!

i found most annoying the chap sitting in a neighbouring seat, telling us tripped out pot heads shit like, 'oh this is where that tour bus when over the rail' ... at a deep canyon that brooded along side the highway. a highway with near hair pin turns. oh - did i mention the weather conditions in the moutains? snowy. like - poor visibility and black ice snowy. like - 'oh is that the ass end of the bus i'm on sliding and skidding slightly?' like - 'holy shit! look at that semi truck (with long trailer attached) laying on its side on the highway, at the foot of the mountain.' the bus driver surely earned his wages those few hours. whew.

the bus remained fucking packed basically most of the way. i lost my cool gay man girlfriend at revelstoke - that's where he got off the bus. and i managed to avoid a seat mate the rest of the way. still - all that energy in that bus coach. too fucking much. and my arm -- my arm that's not supposed to be broken because there's nothing on the xray except the scar of my growth plate - my arm fucking hurt! urg. possibily it had something to do with the numerous times i had to lift that fucking heaving back pack with my 'sore' arm. i dunno. well, eventually 600 mg of ibuprofen helped it. well made the pain bearable enuf that i lost the urge to just chew the fucking thing off its socket!

pathetically, i could not bring myself to leave my beloved moose unattended on the seat. so i stiffed him in my pack and brought him with me. sad sad sad, huh? well, whatever works i guess. possibly i'm just a child at heart? yeah - and also a junkie. when i smoked my last joint in kamloops i immediately set my mind to how i would go about hunting some down upon my arrival. hey - at least i'm honest about it. most people deny it - can't admit they're junkies.

yeah ... so ahhh ... by the time we got to kamloops it felt like having entered the garden of eden. green, warmer. even a little sun. nice. i saw a couple get on the bus. it reminded me of what i missed. especially when she laid her head on his shoulder and snoozed. especially then. the bus, of course, got behind schedule. only 1 hour. no biggie. and still it left plenty of time to go carousing around the usual spots for weed. oh i hate buying dope on the street. oh especially at nite. i almost laffed out loud when the dude asked me 'are you a cop?' haha ... nah man. i'd never pass the fucking drug test! lol.

arrived and ... !
oh yes. it was a colourful walk my son and i had in the downtown east side at around 0200 hours. colourful, indeed. i made a point of telling my son that's not how i normally make my purchases. however, desperate times .... [you know the rest, i'm sure]. sounds like funnnnnn, don't it? lol. oh ... and its hasn't stopped, yet. as of this writing its 16:11 and i have yet to sleep. not feeling like it yet. i do that. in a new place. especially without M. don't like sleeping. it feels to .... empty and lonely.

well, wireless internet cafes rule. especially those opened 24 hours. oh yeah. guess where i'm gonna hang out? ha ha. well, not ALL the time. i gotta get me a job on tuesday. and ... oh i know i know i owe about 5 or 6 emails ... yes - i have not forgotten. please allow me to catch up with myself. please.

i feel good here. well, aside from the absence of that a vital piece of my heart. along with that core part of my soul. its ... its ... still in winnipeg. with its most gentle and beautiful keeper. but you know something? M, darling, you're here with me too - i see you so much in our boy. and me, too. in many ways.

thinking of L. makes me sort of think of my own mum. and now that i'm here with L. i just don't get mother. and how she so easily can unload her burdens on her kids. in fact her interaction these days consists mainly of playing broken wing. most parents go out of their way to avoid burdening their kids. mother, on the other hand, prefers to manipulate her children into staying close by playing broken wing. its not working. for me, its not. sounds harsh, perhaps. but not if you know the whole story. and ... in the end, regardless of what i vent here, i remain distantly respectful. i have come to realize the distance - its a requirement for the respect to remain. that's where i'm at. at this point, its the best i can do.

i'm spent.

[fotos: (1). M - taken the day before i left winnipeg. (2). & (3). the view from 'my room.' the picture does not do it justice. it looks too one dimensional - maybe a flash next time?]

when i am an old woman ...

2006-11-07T13:42:00.000-08:00

when i am an old woman ...
i shall wear shocking pink
with a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me
and I shall spend my pension on frappucinos and reefers
and satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
i shall sit down on the pavement when i'm tired
talk nonsense to strangers and press alarm bells
and run my stick along the public railings
and make up for the sobriety of my youth.
i shall go out in my slippers in the rain
and pick the flowers in other people's gardens
and learn to spit.

you can wear terrible shirts and socks that don't match
and eat three pounds of curry at a go
or only bread and a pickle for a week
and hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
but now we must have clothes that keep us dry
and pay our rent and not swear in the street
and set a good example for the children.
we will have friends to dinner and read the papers.
but maybe i ought to practice a little now?
so people who know me are not too taken aback, surprised
when suddenly i am old and start wearing my shocking pink pants.

poem - originally written as
when i am an old woman i shall wear purple by jenny joseph
image from geekphilosopher

a picture speaks 1,000 words

2006-11-04T18:55:00.000-08:00

i'm collecting the stories of injured soldiers.
many sources of information tell us about our fallen soldiers.
not-so-many tell us about those who have returned
from the battlefield with a permanent, life-altering injury.
i want to tell those stories.
for, i believe these soldiers, even though they live,
also gave their lives. i want to honour this.
if you encounter such a soldier's story
that you find particularly inspiring,
please share it with me ...
so i can honour the story and the individual.
i aim, with this project, to transcend
national borders, military campaigns, political lines
and, instead, focus upon the human element.

originally uploaded by violinsoldier

cpl paul franklin - a solider's story

2006-11-04T07:29:00.000-08:00

The pain was excruciating.
He called it 'the most g-d awful pain you could ever imagine.'
'I've never felt anything like that and I would never give it to my worst enemies.'

and that's cpl paul franklin's description of what it felt like, when a suicide bomb in kandahar ripped off the greater part of his left leg and also ignited parts of his body. and ... after 26 surgeries, a double BKA (below the knee amputation), and several month of rehab, franklin walked on that stage, with his two prosthetic legs. he hobbled along, with his two canes, proudly wearing his uniform. and he touched the purest and most raw innard of my heart.

he denied claims that referred to him as 'hero.' he instead wishes glory for all the canadian troops fighting on the hindu kush ... and other places in afghanistan. he claims glory for himself only as a representative of canadian troops out there, fighting for canada, for what canadians hold dear. indeed, though he did not say, i would venture a guess he wishes glory for all soldiers - including the brits and americans in iraq.

paul franklin can walk only about 800 metres at a time. he doubts what he can do. he knows, in his heart of hearts, he will never run again. never run again with his 6 year old son. but, y'know something? he will try still. it touched me deeply - paul franklin touched me deeply - when he spoke of a promise made to his wife. 'i promised audra i would come home, no matter what.' and he recalls that thought keeping him from letting go, slipping away from living consciousness on the battleground, to the other side.

this man touched me. with what he said. they way in which he said it. and with his great big compassionate heart. it burst through the tv's photons. i could see it. feel it. touch it. cpl paul franklin burned with his positivism. with his bright light. and ... when asked his feelings about those who oppose the war in afghanistan, the wounded soldier gave a reply filled with wisdom, tolerance and love. and not whiney outrage, bitterness and intolerance.

it makes me think ... makes me appreciate my country.

ahhh ... my dear sweet canada -
a place which does NOT embody
the "for or against" philosophy.
tolerance ... they name is canada ... thy name is love.

[however could i think of leaving this place? my canada ... however could i think of leaving this country that my dad chose, that M chose - from the world at large they both chose canada. how could i leave? i do love it so ... even when i say i don't.]

ahh - but i digress ...

cpl paul franklin fought for what he believed in and lost his legs. instead of tending to the wounded soliders on the battleground, franklin will now live out his remaining career imparting this skill upon others. he will don that uniform ... that one that took his legs ... and teach other soldiers how to do what he did. medics - paramedics - embody even more divinity and grace than do nurses. press on, cpl franklin. you leave me in awe.

why do we find wounded soldiers so noble? is it because they gave a body part for their cause? is it because they laid their life down for the cause? perhaps its because they follow through upon what they believe? all of the above. and so ... heros abound. they surround us. and so? the biggest hero of all, here? the little 6 yr old boy - simon - who will never play run alongside his dad. and all the children who have given their dads to the cause. of war. of liberating. and relieving suffering.

thank you simon ... and all the children you represent.
you have given us more than you can imagine.

images originally uploaded by peejoe and limbic

its not quite remembrance day here
- that is november 11 -
but, i remember today. remember that,
many men and women wage war daily -
doing a thing i cannot.
we all serve humanity in different ways.
the way of a soldier ...
its a painfully ugly noble compassion.
and you, soldier, walk it.
i thank you
... i honour you ...
for walking the walk that i cannot.

the poppy - its for you.

image originally uploaded by kayodeok

still here because ...

2006-11-03T23:48:00.000-08:00

bad weather in the columbia mountains means treacherous travel conditions in the mt passes, already some of the most dangerous stretches of highways in canada. soooo ... i'm here 'til the weather system passes thru that part of the columbia region - sunday or monday. i plan to use the extra time here to write a post about cpl paul franklin, a canadian soldier that lost his legs in afghanistan in a suicide bombing. he made a speech at a red friday rally and it moved me.

image originally uploaded by suckamc

-SOME RANDOM THOUGHTS FOR YOU-

i got restless again. and, well, i changed things. yet again. HA HA. ahh, y'all must be used to it by now. i promise though, not to change the urls anymore. i wanted this blog to have a plain look, since its the only one with the great pics. and the sidebar on this one is long enough. there's others. you can see 'em via my profile. oh, btw, i moved the political blog back here, from wordpress. just so y'all know. its now this. its just become easier to have everything in one place. i got my blogs the way i want 'em for the forseeable future.

if you can see yourself, you can help others. recognition of self in a looking glass and capacity for empathy seem related somhow. according to studies done with animals. chimpanzees, elephants and dolphins recognize themselves in a looking glass. monkeys, birds, and some cats/dogs see their reflection as another of their kind. interesting, huh?

why bush-43 won't let rummy and cheney go. well. its simple really. these two must remain in the bush cabinet because they serve as the most splendid scaegoats for bush-43. they have really, really come in handy these past many month, when the media has pounded the current administration for its incompetence in iraq. i had this ephiphany this morning when i read the president's quoted statement telling americans cheney and rummy would remain thru to the end of his term in office. why else would bush-43 refuse rummy's resignation? because its working for bush-43 to have rummy around, a villain we all love to hate. and surely anyone looks good - even dubya - alongside a man who shoots his friend in the face!

i'm leaving on a greyhound. yup. i'm taking the greyhound to the west coast. my bus leaves winnipeg tonight - just b4 midnight. and it arrives in vancouver sunday at 0800 - that's am. ugh. i'm 5'8 and all leg. like, my legs are loooooong. blood clot city, here comes pink. ok. well, that's the point. i'll just hafta duck out to smoke a splif at every single stop the bus makes, now won't i? gotta keep that circulation going. gotta prevent those blood clots. that's my story and i'm sticking to it.

please feel free to publish pink's link. here it is. just so you know. i'm not hidin' out anymore. got nuthin' to hide from. so link away!

my recent posts. i know. i know. i got lotsa blogs and i'm hard to keep track of. yeah, well, try being married to me. M.'s forever telling me he can barely keep up with me. anyway. the "nightingale" blog is something i started to write about my nursing encounters. touching g-d has a post about letting go of our children - like, letting them grow up and into themselves. the "tales" blog has several new posts, one of the recent posts delves into addiction. the post, in this blog, just before this current post is part 2 of the life post.

whaddya think? just a small aside ... i toyed with the idea of starting a health file blog - like a place where i could post all this health information that's clogging up my neural pathways ... its all very useful info. but not doing much good rotting away inside my head. it would provide the answers to common and timely health concerns. like ordinary things such as heartburn, insomnia, or stuff about diseases or whatever. i don't profess to know everything. but i have collected a lot of health and medical intelligence over the years. it only seems appropriate to continue sharing it in some way. i will no longer have a license to practice nursing. but i can certainly share what i know with others - with y'all. does that sound like a dumb idea? maybe. but ... i'm gonna work on it. slowly though. for - i've found another distraction to write about.

image - night-time skyline of vancouver - originally uploaded by chris rae

sacred life - part 2

2006-11-01T08:36:00.000-08:00

still contemplating life. this time, though, its end. i'm thinking of issues that pressed themselves into my frail and weak soul. end-of-life issues. euthanasia. life support. resuscitation. futility of treatment. i've faced this stuff. in my career as a caregiver. and, now that i have achieved a safe distance from that role, i see things differently. and, i'm inclined to think it hinges upon the way i see suffering. read on. it will become clear. i hope.

terry schiavo. tracy latimer. do you remember these stories? different circumstances. different people. yet, the same issue at play in both cases - the value and definition of life. so ... know i ask. does cognition constitute life? does cognition serve as a criteria upon which medical treatment decisions get made? do only we only allow life for those individual with physical and cognitive capacity to contribute to society? who are we to decide such? to decide when death should visit? to decide when life should end?

the soul - its the spark of g-d. the breath of g-d, that gives us life, existence. its not ours to destroy. its not ours to create. its ours to honour. and love. in the face of disease. in the face of suffering. in the face of physical pain. in the face of emotional pain. in the face of psychic pain. does suffering have a purpose? i believe it does. and so ... it seems selfish, vain, short-sighted to end a life with a view to ending suffering. does death - a la assisted suicide - really end suffering? i don't believe it does. it merely makes it easier for those of us who remain standing.

i sympathize with michael schiavo. and with robert latimer. but ... i cannot condone the actions they took. it seems selfish, vain. it dishonours the sanctity of life. such actions put our own selfish fears and despair ahead of g-d. they reflect a lack of trust. in g-d. in ourselves. while i appreciate the cruel irony of removing a feeding tube from a woman who, indirectly, sustained brain as a result of an eating disorder, i cannot agree with the action taken. instead, i just think it underscores the importance of making treatment decisions with complete information, based upon reality, and not hope. [of course, hindsight is 20/20]. it also underscores the importance of each and every one of us making our wishes known to our loved ones - in writing. what treatment would we want to undergo? and what would we want to refuse? one of my assigments in nursing school involved writing my own living will. it had to be specific. and articulate. and it opened my eyes to a world i had never before entered.

with respect to the latimer case. i sympathize. i have felt the crushing despair of having a child whose care needs i cannot meet. of having a child who lacks the cognitive capacity to return my love. its worse than death, i believe. for, having a child like this involves loss of the child on so many levels. and never-ending, at that. still. it never, ever occured to us to kill our child, to take his life. i could not imagine snuffing out such a beautiful, angelic spirit. in fact, i am inclined to believe that 'special children' possess a special sort of divinity. their spirit - contains such frail and divine beauty. anyone who has worked with these kids will know what i mean.

and so ... i conclude that what the latimers did they did out of fear, out of despair, out of selfishness. do we ever want to destroy the thing we love the most? no. and that makes me think about a reminder that mayden, dearest provided us in her blog, today. yes, indeed. the difficulty in loving lies in knowing that the needs of your loved one takes precedence over your own.

image - a collage by moi!

sacred life - part 1

2006-10-27T14:16:00.000-07:00

ok. i'm thinking about life, euthanasia, abortion, end-of-life issues. they're on my mind. because i've contemplated alot lately the life sanctity, its sacredness. i guess i'm trying to juxtapose the spiritual with the corporeal. its challenging. what follows is my attempt to detangle all the convolutions about life and the purpose of suffering that currently press on my psyche and my heart. its written in the 3rd person, which afforded me the ability to get some things off my chest. its sort of a stream of consciousness poured onto the screen. so, forgive me if clarity seems lacking. it all makes sense to me. hoping it does to you too. please, share any constructive thoughts or feelings in a comment. i'm curious about what anyone thinks and feels. i wonder, does anyone else think of this stuff?

she struggles. she wrestles. with the concept of LIFE. what constitutes life? she realizes the question sounds ridiculous. so much so as to seem flip. but ... she wonders. what does constitute life? she feels g-d. she innately knows him. and sees the soul as a spark of g-d. an animating force. housed - on this plane of existence - within a decaying shell - the human body. the soul - a life force.

she wonders, still. what constitutes life? animation? does animation constitute life? does cognition constitute life? where does the soul go, when a person lies unconscious? when a person cannot express itself tangibly? can life support really keep a vibrant sacred soul in a failed shell? and what of conception? has the fusion of two souls, during sexual intercourse, miraculously produced a third? does this occur at the moment of fertilization? she surmises for herself that it must. it simply must. and so ... yes, she believes, at her core, that life begins at the moment of conception. the presence of a living soul does not necessarily coincide with the presence of cognitive awareness. she innately feels this truth. the presence of a living soul only coincide's with g-d's breath.

but still she struggles. with existing. with existing while honoring life. while honoring humanity. while battling suffering. she wonders, in a reserved thought whether suffering fulfills a purpose. or whether suffering simply exists as the cummulative result of humanity's choices. it does not seem clear. and that's why she wrestles. and does it seem related to the issue of life? well, yes. in her convulted mind it does.

she questions her previous mode of thinking. which basically placed the relief of suffering above the sanctity of life. which placed the sanctity of humanity above the sacredness of life. she believes that every occurence has a cosmic purpose. including suffering. even though suffering to her seems the spawn of humanity, knowledge and free will. she believes. and at times it seems an insurmountable standard of existence. but she believes. she knows. she thinks of how the sacredness of life ... the sanctity of humanity ... and presence of suffering have carved her life.

she remembers thinking about her youngest son. about how she felt, at the lowest points of her life with him. about how she chose to feed her despair by saying she felt it better to have only had one 'normal' child, instead of one 'normal' child and one 'defective' child. yes, she feels mild shame, at disclosing to you, dear reader, that, at times, she wished she'd never had him. and, that she deliberately chose the word 'defective.' s opposed to 'special.' and, ironically, now that she no longer has that second, special child to love, her soul admonishes her for feeding her despair and bitterness. and for starving her love and compassion.

every fibre of her being knows that abortion does terminate life. she feels, at the core of her femininity, that no woman has the right to chose abortion. she feels that, rather, women have a responsibility to harness their creative - ie life-giving - powers with respect, wisdom, and love. as opposed to lust, greed and self-gratification. however, she wrestles, here, too. she wonders, about the sanctity of a life conceived in the throes of violence ... of utter disrespect ... of fear ... of violation. she wonders - what if the girl did not chose? and ... what if she trusted, and that trust got betrayed? does a life produced in violence and violation, in an act of abuse, hold any sanctity? she wonders ... does it constitute murder, when a girl chooses to abort a life created during such an act of violence? she tells herself that it does not. she must believe it. for her own psyche, she must. but she does not know if she can believe it.

she wonders. if that's why she spent so much her sanity in a career that saves life. she wonders if its her attempt at some sort of cosmic repetence. to try to add life. to make up for the one she took. she also wonders, does it work that way? and she wonders. didn't her father violate life, too? she surely believes he dishonored humanity.

and she wonders. about 'honoring thy mother and father,' she wonders. does it matter what parents do? does g-d still want her to honor her father? despite what he did? and her mother? for standing by and never fighting to protect her children? she feels that, yes, she must still honor these parents. she cannot ever touch her father. or allow him to touch her. but her soul tells her she must honor him. and her soul feels only mercy and sorrow for her mother. and love. and yes, honor too.

she wonders. and wrestles.
with herself. with life. with angels.
and she feels the warm hand of g-d
touch her, at her core.

images originally uploaded by loswl and ivory illusion

unreacting - a lesson i'm learning

2006-10-27T12:24:00.000-07:00

the nature of a human being is to simply react -

to give back the medicine others give you.

here's some advice from the ancient sages:

ignore the urge to return bad with bad,

hurt with hurt, scorn with scorn --

and the heavens will ignore

all the mess you've made in the past.

image originally uploaded by hanuta

my mosaic lense (she = me)

2006-10-25T03:09:00.000-07:00

she sees the world thru her markedly mosaic lense. she realized how it colours her vision of humanity. it raises her expectations of humanity. for the beauty of a mosaic lies in its contrast of differences. she believes in the principle of equality. and so, she cannot accept that differences must all be melted into some sort of sluggish paste. that view, she sees as intolerant. equality for all means respect of each and every individual. she believes that this view makes her quintessentially canadian. the poetic beauty of the mosaic embodies, symbolically, the canadian identity.

her mosaic lense makes murky her visualization of cultural identity versus assimilation into society. while some others around her appear to have the answers ... or seem content acting upon an initial emotional reaction to a cultural controversy ... she feels bewildered. puzzled, by the issues. she understands the desire to express oneself religiously - nun's habits, turbans, hijabs/ niqabs, and yarmulkes. she also understands the importance of maintaining a secular society to honor egalitarianism.

her mosaic lense muddies clarity. she understands where jack straw is coming from regarding the issue of the niqab - veil that muslim women wear which covers their face, save for their eyes. she understands people, and sees how speaking to someone - whose face one cannot see - could evoke some discomfort. she personally thinks that a requirement to cover one's face seems tantamount to an attempt to marginalize ... render invisible. to silence women. however, she respects a woman's desire to express herself religiously. and so ... she doesn't know. how does a society juxtapose or balance freedom of religious expression with the requirements of a secular society?

her mosaic lense causes her to stumble, when it comes to consideration of fundamental issues, such as health care. politically, administratively, and quite possibly financially as well, universal health care seems questionable. but ... equality means all citizens receive equal treatment. democracy fundamentally goes hand in hand with equality for all. so ... how to reconcile dis-equal access to a basic requirement for human existence? this seems at odds with egalitarianism. and so ... these opposing views wrestle within her.

culture and religion provide shape, form, identity, context. they can even promote growth and enlightenment, as long as they're not excessively repressive, exclusivist and/or reductionist. to diminish the cultural identity of an individual or a group seems to her like ripping the lovely, thriving flowers from the ground. that said, she resents attempts by a particular religion to manipulate society for its own promotion. she thinks that christianity has really come to embody idolatry. so much opulent and massive machinery ... g-d does not exist there anymore. it makes her soooo angry. she seeks truth. she feels like that droplet ... searching for its source. she knows g-d provides her context. she feels it. g-d cannot live where intolerance does. that she knows also.

image originally uploaded by silkdiver and firelily

dark caves and pillars of salt

2006-10-22T20:35:00.000-07:00

currently i'm reading wrestling with angels - a jewish interpretation of genesis. amazing. utterly elucidating. glowing with wisdom. the authors of this book have simply cast a bright light on an ancient, divinely inspired writings - revealings its timeless messages. i'd heard many of these stories so many times before. being catholic, of course, i'd never heard the story of dinah. hmmm. funny, that. repression, thy name is deviant.

the tendril of wisdom i wish to impart here in this post relates to the story of lot and his wife leaving sodom. you know the deal - despite the angels telling them on more than one occasion to go forth and not look back - lot and his family delay and delay and then when they finally do leave, lot's wife looks back and then gets turned into a pillar of salt. what happens here, in this story? why the procrastination, despite numerous urges to leave and escape an impending inferno? what, about looking back, causes lot's wife to become the most inert and lifeless substance? perhaps it had to do with her disobedience? NOPE. simply put?

when lot's wife looks back, instead of 'going forth,' she becomes a haunting metaphor for the perils of inertia. her preoccupation with the past literally paralyzes her in the face of danger, freezes her in time ... attachment to material possesions, coupled with denial of evil, can create a fatal blind spot. lot's wife, and the legion of procrastinators who have followed her through history, teach us that we suppress our instinctual flight response at our own peril

the wisdom of lot's story does not end with his wife's demise. oh no. there's more. recall the story of lot in the dark cave? after g-d plucks him away from the brimstone and destruction of sodom, lot makes retreat into a dark cave. somehow, he cannot seem to rescue himself from himself. i see this as a sort of looking back, don't you? extend the wisdom of the story of lot's wife.

can one really go forth while hanging on? NOPE, that's just common sense. symbolically no difference exists between hanging on and looking back - they originate from the same energy of inertia. and so, focussing so much attention and energy on past offences, angst, upheavels - it closes our spirits and psyches off to the possibilities and potential of the present. and ... the future.

image originally uploaded by two crabs

spiritual awakening

2006-10-16T15:59:00.000-07:00

i'm having one. its breathtaking. to wade through the wisdom of ages. to come face to face with the thoughts, ideas, stories of the most brilliant and respected sages of ancient history, of present-day. to live in this era - this era in which information avails itself so widely among the populace - its such a privilege. the ideas of so many swirl all around me. i only need reach out and grab. and scrutinize. and attend, distantly.

and ... i'm doing just that. the word 'israel' apparently means struggle with g-d. i really believe i feel the essence of what that means - what that struggle feels like and whence it resonates. i tumbled into the world and landed in a microcosm veiled by an ultra-catholic filter. the cult of catholicism. an institution which strives to keep its believing masses uninformed - like faithful zombies with no capacity for scrutinizing - one cannot scrutinize what one does not fully know.

all the questions i had. ignored, all of them. one mustn't ask such questions - its a sign of your weakness of faith. we must just believe, even if it doesn't make sense. that was the standard party line. and ... well, now it just does not suffice. its a cop out. so i'm on a quest. to quench this thirst i have for knowledge of g-d. i've poked thru the summa theologica by aquinas. the logical inconsistency of the trinty, the notion that illogical propositions are 'mysterious' and therefore, worthy of faith -- these i found untenable.

i have discovered maimonides and his guide for the perplexed - a stunning, stunning and brilliant work. light years ahead of his time - in terms of his description of the universe, the notion of planets, circular motion, atoms, and description of laws of nature that remind one of the so-called newton's laws of motion. and in all this, yes, a brilliant discussion of the nature and essence of g-d.

i read a lucid, well written refutation of the classic christian proof-texts re: messiahship of jesus in why the jews rejected jesus, written by david klinghoffer. wow. inspiring to see such a lucid explanation ... such clear answers to questions i have had for so long. the questions that i always got told pointed to my weakness of faith. inspiring. incredibly inspiring.

and then i began to read about kabbalah on the bus ride back home. (yes, finally after three hours i managed to drag myself away from the library). i only read a few pages. but, even just opening my mind and heart to the words and sentiments contained within the pages i held, even this filled me with a strange ecstatic sort of rapture. not a physical feeling. an essential sensation - a psychic sensation.

and so ... that's it. the awakening. or, more accurately, its beginning.

image originally uploaded by panic-embryo

the sea waits knowing ...

2006-10-16T09:31:00.000-07:00

the following poem, penned by wch inspired this post (which used to be a blog, but which i have now condensed to this single post). the ideas of simone weil also inspired this post.

the forest marches to the edge of the sea,
challenging the waves, challenging fate.
and the sea waits.
patiently,
knowing.

simone weil writes about attente - translated to english as 'waiting'.

WAITING - ATTENTE:
“… waiting; not motionless, nor shaken or displaced by any shock from without.”
a state in which we suspend ourselves, and allow the truth to penetrate our minds.
a state of active contemplation achieved thru suspension of any thought that powers our faculties of observation.

this, to me, sounds intriguing, philosophical and mystical all at once. its crucial in my search for truth, meaning and light, because it lies at the convergence of human complexities - knowledge, belief, spirituality, connectedness. and, at the deepest level, it echoes faintly sound hues resembling both the eisenberg and ripple effect principles. and ... in some wierd metaphysical way i think that nature waits, knowing.

NATURE WAITS:
this attente ... this waiting ... manifests itself even in nature. and yes, in waiting, knowledge emerges. waiting ... it does the word 'attente' a misservice. really what we mean by 'attente' exists more completely in 'attending,' than in 'waiting' ... however, even this does not fully describe the pure psychic state known as attente. distant attention ... or distant waiting. adding the qualifier 'distant' somehow brings us closer to the essence of it -- of attente eloignee.

and this distant waiting, we can see everywhere in the natural environment. if we approach and observe nature with contemplative sensing - in this suspended pyschic state. go for a walk. and you will see. the amamzing and simple way in which nature attends itself. the throbbing sea waves - beating a contemplative sigh with each ebb and flow. the hush of a spritely breeze, tickling through a forest of brooding and moss-covered giants. the glistening, pink worms burrowing in the rich, dark earth. the migration patterns of birds and butterflies. the innate wisdom of deciduous trees. how do they know? they wait ... and in waiting they know what needs knowing for their survival.

so ... 'the sea waits, knowing ...' what does this mean?

it means that state of awareness we call knowing does not come from possessing material and finite knowledge. rather it can only emerge in the light of suspended contemplation, in the light of emptiness of thought, in the light of clarity of the psyche. when we open and empty ourselves fully, then this knowing state can emerge fully and fill us.

ATTENDING EMOTIONS:
does attending one's emotions transform how these emotions feel, when one feels them? does existing in a psychic culture that demonizes so-called negative emotions have some sort of repressive effect? and then, does not this diminish the value of self-attendance?

i find our western culture quite emotionally repressive. its stifling, sometimes, the barrage of messages we receive, that portray expression of emotion as undesireable, a manifestation of weakness. and yet, despite all the media's desensitization we humans continue to feel emotion, and with blinding intensity. and, the apathy carved into society via the media leaves us with little or no mechanism for outlet or channelling of said emotions. and we wonder why we have road rage? and tragedies such as columbine and lancaster?

we feel emotion. plain and simple. its a physiologic phonemenon that no amount of technologizing can remove. so, why all the repressivity? why the desperate need to dilute emotions? do we fear emotion? specifically, do we fear grief? anger? sorrow? it would seem so ... yes?

and so ... back to my original question. if we embrace our emotions, by attending to them - a la attente eloignee - does it make a difference? emptying oneself of all thought, of all distraction, allows for the grief, or sorrow, or rage, to penetrate the self and then, pass through. by sitting with our feelings, not resisting, oppressing, or repressing, but just experiencing them, we transform and heal ourselves. transform ... because we work through the stuff of life - the psychic manifestations of our daily existence. heal ... because we acknowledge what our psyches know, what our bodies know ... what we feel on both a visceral and spiritual level.

do you think me esoteric, in this discussion? well ... try it. the next time you feel your viscera boiling ... or the next time you feel the inertia of sorrow/grief weighing heavily upon your spirit ... just clear yourself of all else and sit with it. retreat inside yourself somehow. for whatever morsel of time you can devote to yourself. and just be in the moment. be in the sensation of feeling.

face the compulsive desire to escape, to avoid the sensation of emoting. face the compulsive. name it. and clear it from your consciousness. and emote. feel. its nature, you know. and, even though the sensation of emoting may feel unpleasant, its liberating. yes, liberating. because emotions, when allowed to run their course - ie, once acknowledged, named, experienced and then embraced in feeling - transform and strengthen the self, as opposed to restraining and impeding the self.

writing ...

2006-10-13T20:01:00.000-07:00

chECk WORdprESs
and also, CHeCK this one, too
i've recently discovered simone weil
... and so, i'm reading
and its led me to consider,
in my quest to touch god,
the kabbalistic vision of the god entity
and, also, the agnostic vision.
interesting
an interesting juxtaposition
of varying visions
of the god entity.
i can't really bring myself to blog surf.
no energy.

sucked under

2006-10-11T16:11:00.001-07:00

that's how i feel, these days. just sucked dry, like the husks of those shrimp tails from which one sucks the flesh. a husk. dessicated. passion. momentum just sucked from my essence. and i don't know where it went. and i wonder how long it took me to notice it missing.

i feel as though i have awoken from a very lengthy period of anesthetized slumber. wierd. trippy. i remember feeling this way sometimes as a child - sort of a restless, listless dessicated psychic sensation. and mum would tell me 'that's a growth spurt.' i'm guessing that's what this is - some sort of growth spurt.

a molting - like a serpent shedding its skin. molting - an intensive, metabolic process. i will refer to the serpent analogy, then, since its quite fitting here. the serpent retreats - becomes reclusive - into a sort of nesting phase for this metamorphosis. once the serpent has cast off the old skin, he's renewed, refreshed and ready to tackle his world once more.

of course, it goes without saying that the serpent and the world into which he re-emerges have changed since their previous interaction with one another. and so it goes. the dynamism of life. juxtaposed with the inertia of metapmorphosis. that's the space i find myself within these days.

so ... forgive me, all of you out there, if i just fall away from following your blogs for awhile. its just that i haven't the energy ... the psychic energy to interact in any meaningful way. in fact, this oppressive inertia has blocked me even from writing since the weekend. i've had spurts of inspiration. just tiny spurts. ideas. with no spark in me strong enough to nourish the idea into a blog post. do i rambling? ehh gads. i feel it.

ok. so ... i'm molting. or struggling to stay afloat. or retreating. for a bit. i'll come to my blog world to write ... write ... write. but i can't think beyond that for now. not just now.

image originally uploaded by shutrbugr.

alphabet soup

2006-10-06T23:59:00.000-07:00

he didn't come home.
do i read anything into that?
not sure.
where's the consideration?
it must've gotten lost.
in that FUCKING barley soup.
am i over-reacting to feel hurt?
first time ... ever that
he fails to come home.

image originally uploaded by vialetter

i'm tired tired tired
... sooooooo tired of humans ...
and their seeming inability
to deliver anything except
a lot of empty and patronizing platitudes
you know, human race?
you're all quite tiresome
and that is how i feel
today.
right now.

- EDIT -
he came home.
i said nothing
he got cross at me
for talking loud
talking loud,
because he failed
to listen
i'm invisible
just talk right over me
i'm not really here
he's gone for cigarettes
its 4 am
i'm watching a movie
i just watched a character
slaughter a tiny canary bird
i think i was
slaughtered then, too.

i feel dead inside.
like that bird.

breathe. can we?

2006-10-06T21:45:00.000-07:00

[also posted in wakeupcall] deny. demonize. deny some more. then kick sand in everyone's face if they express opinions that differ from yours. have we, here in this north american society, grown this small? really? i despair. it feels like we have. where, oh where, have our hearts and minds gone? where has constructive outrage gone? where has compassion gone? oh ... sometimes i feel like its all too much. far too much.

did we think the threat of mcarthy-ism dead? think again. maybe not. did we think solving the middle east difficulties would really be that easy? did we bother to inform ourselves of the history of the conflict? did we already forget about lawrence of arabia? did we already forget that 54,000 canadian, 400,000 american, and 25 million in total, soliders died in WW2 - a war that spanned 6 years? the world effectively lost an entire generation of men. do we have a fucking clue? about history? about things that happen on the other sides of the oceans?

do we really think its ok to send adolescents, who have questionably yet to reach the age of consent, into a environment filled with manipulative, power-addicted narcisstists (read:politicians)? OMG. what the fuck makes us soooooo blind and naive? really, its all too much. i wonder if its occuring to anyone out there that sexual deviance and sexual repression goes hand-in-hand. or if we are all just going to put another pair of blinders on and get on the 'indignant outrage' soapbox.

it saddens me a great deal that people out there still think the collective WE bears no responsibility for all the world's suffering. absolutely saddens me. that they honestly believe, because they did not pull the trigger, wield the torture device, or hold down that 15 year old girl so 14 others could rape her, this grants absolution and frees them from accountability. why? why, if another human, somewhere - anywhere - out there, suffers would ANY one think they have no responsibility to contribute toward efforts to relieve said suffering?

and why have we attached some sort of twisted ideological entitlement to the relief of suffering?

and what the fuck is up with this culture of retribution and revenge?

breathe. can we?

image originally uploaded by wimdejonge.

choices. creed of my self

2006-10-04T11:28:00.000-07:00

i've done self and soul inspection recently.

i came up with this.

sort of like a creed.

a self creed.

i've discovered the most genuine and compassionate manner in which i can effect change in my surroundings. it involves effecting change in my self first and foremost - challenging my self to compassionate and hostile-free exchanges. i choose a course that involves altering my reaction to the thoughts, feelings and expressions of others.

i've discovered some energies exist against which i seem innately unable to shield my self: (1) fear philosphy, hostility and obscuring, belief-driven ideology; (2) inflammation and rhetoric; (3) labels, accusations and the blame game.

i choose a path that involves stepping outside the box. i choose challenge - choose to push the envelope. i acknowledge dynamism, and the inevitability of change. i choose to make thoughtful and determined choices as to the energy with which i surround myself (read: company i choose to keep).

i choose. i choose. it starts with me.

image originally uploaded by simon herb

energies, auras, and my muse

2006-10-03T22:30:00.000-07:00

well its been almost a week, i guess. since going solo here, and in those few other places. wordpress for blogging about politics, sociology and intellectual musings. livejournal for inspection of my relationship with my religion, catholicism. and if you check this profile you will see yet another blog - one for musing about this very radical change in life direction i have embarked upon recently. i'm organized, it seems. all facets of my writing muse fufilled, explored. and i haven't forgotten my commitment to myself thru joie de vivre. its not an oppressive obligation, this joie de vivre, and its never any effort to try to find subjects for new posts.

i don't miss the heavily ideologically and faith-driven bantering that characterized the group in recents weeks, maybe even months. that even drove a couple of favourite bloggers away. a few months ago when a third, somewhat extreme-thinking blogger called a favourite blogger of mine 'stupid' for expounding an opinion that conflicted with her own, i felt instant repulsion. but, i must admit, i failed to feel it on deeply personal level. my anger at this comment blinded me, so to speak, to that vision.

i look back and i recall how restless and floundering i felt. changing frequently. unable to find a homeostasis. sensing unrest. discomfort. a churning. one of those intuitive feelings ... that almost, not quite feels like knowledge of foretelling. the uneasy feelings that rattled my heart and psyche felt that powerful. i felt it. did my awareness fall away in complacency? or did my desperate craving for belonging to a group strangle my awareness? and the hostility grew. and the opinions grew more extreme. and inflammatory. and rhetorical. and pointless. and then it did not feel like connectedness or belonging anymore. valuable, rational discussions became few and far between. i found myself on the defense. why?

i wondered. and then i felt the striking blow of veiled hostility couched in a cynical character attack. really felt it. naturally, i retaliated. reactive. fear-based. hostile, enraged. burning for retribution. i shocked myself. at my violent and vitriolic kneejerk reaction. and then felt very sad. for i knew what i must do. to reverse the transformation which loomed. i had become that oppressive force against which i railed so fiercely. the fear philosophy and hostility. it had begun to seep into my chest. i could feel it. it stifled my muse. poisoned me. and it hurt. and ... i could not find any strength inside myself with which to shield. and so, wounded, i withdrew.

removing myself from the group liberated me. a lonely liberation, perhaps? perhaps. but i have learned a valuable lesson on humanity. on its psyche. on groups dynamics. and so in some miniscule way, my existence improved. now that i have broken out of the shackles of fear and hostility i can sit with myself and my muse once more. and remind myself that i seek connectedness not for the sake of competition and comparison - ie. so-and-so has more profile hits and comments than i do - but for the opportunity to engage in the rational logical exchange of ideas and experiences.

and i have realized, in all this, that its no longer about seeking connectedness to others. its now become about seeking connectedness to my self. and all its facets. and to my muse. who dominates me at all times of consciousness. to think. analyse. organize. articulate. formulate. and write. write write.

welcome ... to my world. welcome ... to me.

image originally uploaded by jpstanley

frozen?

2006-10-02T11:03:00.000-07:00

still in my happy bunny 'kiss my ass' pyjamas. wondering. wondering. wondering. why? its 1300 hours. shouldn't i do something? shouldn't i think about wandering somewhere? and ... why do i wait ...? i think ... i'm hoping ... his snoring will stop. hoping he will awaken. and ... what if he doesn't?

suspended. here. in this void.
wondering. wandering. waiting. frozen. in time. space.

image originally uploaded by arab queen

i saw you: about my 2nd son

2006-09-30T12:22:00.000-07:00

i saw you today. and my heart impaled itself on the searing, serrated tip of my own guilt. guilt over you. and, tendrils of shame stroked my raw and bleeding soul. shame. the shame of a fallen angel. shame. self loathing. it beats down on my chest. sucks the oxygen from the my lungs. whips the serenity out of my heart. pierces the tiniest capillaries of hope and light that nurture my ugly self. shattered light. and leaking darkness. leaking. darkness.

i saw you today. from afar. oh, distant fruit of mine. i felt you there. sitting. crouched. on the front steps. shielding yourself from the world outside your head. from the invasion of sensory information you do not have the capacity to filter. i touched that place in my chest where you used to lay your head. and i felt a stirring. my body remembers you, my child. and aches for what could have been. for what should have been.

i saw you today. i knew instantly. even before my brain took awareness from my senses. i felt you. in that part of my heart and soul which i've locked away. locked away from myself. that part of my heart and soul that got crumpled and torn on that day we gave you away. crumpled and torn - i'm crumpled and torn. and you, my damaged child. you hold such beauty and light in your essence. such beauty for which i do not feel worthy.

i saw you today. you did not see me. i glimpsed you from afar. your special, glimmering light cast a shadow on my dark heart. godspeed my child. godspeed. i wish for you much love. love that's as fierce and abundant as this aching darkness in my chest.

image originally uploaded by demagistris

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a note to my readers - this is the sort of stuff that i need to write. that i have longed to write for so long. that i have feared to write at the old blog, for fear of cruel or snarky judgement from the self righteous few who feel obliged to judge anything that does not reflect their small window on the world. thank you, if you have read this, for witnessing this darkest part of my humanity. i feel like if its on the page, its not inside, infecting me.

the phone call

2006-09-28T22:59:00.000-07:00

she called. this evening. and her whiney, pathetic self pity gushed. thru the receiver. and flooded my psyche with more and more mind-FUCK. good at FUCKING. that's it. fucking men. and then mind-fucking all the children that fucking produced. and then fucking them over. time and time again. for her own ego.

she called. she spared me the broken wing syndrome this time. but nonetheless sounded pathetic and desperate. a remorseful tone. and a monologue filled with denial. and untruths. she deludes herself that, because she did not leave me like she left the others, she did not abandon me. i wondered silently - as she poured all this verbiage into the phone - where was she all those nights? all those nights when he should have been fucking her instead of his daughters. where was she?

she called. gently reminding me they appreciate calls from me sometimes. i silently wondered, why ever would i want to call them? she perfunctorily asked me about work. i lied. could not bring myself to tell her yet. her pathetic grovelling i have little energy to absorb. its all about her. she's never capable of taking any other POV. but her own. and ... her needs always came first. at the expense of her children most often.

and now she wonders where they have gone?
they have gone to that dark place of anguish.
and they wonder - where was she?

was she ever here at all?

image originally uploaded by the louks

emergence

2006-09-28T19:23:00.000-07:00

we emerged from the dimly lit chambers of our souls today, he and i. our solitary, dimly lit soul chambers. where we had entombed ourselves in ourselves. a primordial retreat?

a sudden change of life's navigation path tends to suck one dry, so to speak, of essence. of strength. of momentum. change wildly casts its shadow. and each time i look, its slightly different. engrossing. frightening.

i told him in my way that i felt deserted yesterday. that, in my search for his reassuring wisdom yesterday, i felt sort of dashed away into the uncertainty void. yesterday, i silently floundered in my doubt. perception governs action. funny, that. and i felt ... unsure. un-valid. frightened, gawping out at the massive swelling sea of possibility that lies before me. and i felt a fleeting pinch of sadness, for relinquishing a noble vocation.

today the sun rose. we emerged from our searing solitude. we converged. my soul sighed in contentment when i felt him wrap his gentle and reassuring wisdom around me. and his eyes, once again, sparkle with hope and happiness. and positive energy burgeons. our cup, it brims over with love, light, hope and strength to forge ahead.

i have my one-way ticket in hand.

images originally uploaded by dleroy and cwhatuc

in the wake of death, and life

2006-09-28T09:21:00.000-07:00

bleary-eyed, i watched that sherrif in colorado silently pull the steely strength out of himself. he desperately needed it to carry forward. to discharge his duties. i wondered. how do the strong and steely dispel their fear, grief and despair? he thought he hid it, i guess. thought that he swallowed it, right before he froze the grief on his face in a twisted contortion. but i could feel it. oozing thru the photons that sprayed from the flat screened beacon in this lair's living room. oozing. trickling. a gentle deluge. silent. unseen.

i felt it. raining down on me. and i let it. i thought of the girl he killed. 16. it made me think of my own. the one i gave up. 17 he will turn in 3 weeks. somewhere. he's lost to me. loss. i know that pain. but not really. these parents must also feel the outrage of innocence. i could not, only outrage at myself. and ... it reminded me that losing a loved one to death is not necessarily the most painful way to lose someone. what of the survivors? the ones who were 'sexually traumatized?' i think of connie francis, that 60s songstress who survived a brutal rape and basically lost herself in its traumatic aftermath. she lives, but her soul and her essence do not. and i wonder ... what of the survivors?

and then i see the mind ripping grief pressed into the lines of terri irwin's face. her steely, square jaw seemed to melt right there, before barbara walters, as she spoke of the moment she found out about steve's death. and the sobs. gutteral. primordial. soul eviscerating. as she spoke of her children. she wanted to suspend that moment when she knew. and her children did not yet. bindy, skipping. contented, like any well adjusted child. unware that her world is about to crash, with her in it. it chills me thinking of this. of this moment right before death touches you. for the first time. surreal.

image originally uploaded by melanosis

crushed creation

2006-09-27T23:46:00.000-07:00

crushed. how i felt. this afternoon on the bus. on my way to see my drug dealer. and watching the humans around me, swirling like lemmings on a fly wheel. the feelings slid from my heart and sat in the pit of my stomach like a rotten meal.

crushed, i felt. and sick with sadness. thinking to self 'no lonelier have i felt in this adulthood than right now.' thinking to self 'now what?' pondering recent losses. the loss of truth. the loss of community. the loss of vocation. loss of dearest canine friend imaginable. does that spell the loss of purpose? for, i still ask myself, 'now what?' and, my psyche's teeming with questions and postulations and pondering the potential.

a swirling mass of unstable isotopes dancing in my head. and ... no one with which to reflect to reflect upon this confused tangle of life. but me. and, sometimes it just isn't enough. and, the love of my life? well, he's gone awol. gone awol into his cases of beer. gone awol into his hang over. gone awol into his hours of deep snoring slumber. hours. spent alone. with myself. and ... no one. why? how? how can a soul so deeply attached and committed to another feel such utter desolation?

the cusp of change. its barbed. and it hurts. and we're there - me and him. i feel it. i see it. its all around us. each moment burgeons with the future's possibilities. stunning. plethoric. unfathomably mammoth. like ... standing at the edge of the solar system. our solar system. looking into the blinding light of darkness. the blinding light of unknown. what lies ahead.

what lies ahead?

image originally uploaded by theronin

naked beginnings

2006-09-27T17:59:00.000-07:00

welcome, me, to myself. i had a blog. the blog had followers. it seemed nice. only, i forgot somewhere along the way that the followers belonged to the blog. and not to me. egos seem steely and savage, even, when faced with the piquish sensation of external scrutiny. but when subjected to the sudden impact of rejection's brute force? egos shatter. into miniscule shards of seething loneliness. and these shards crumble. into nothingness. the nothingness of me.

and then followers bandy words like 'friend' about. it starts to feel exhilarating. and frightening. 'friend.' that's a threatening word. because it rarely lives up to itself. sort of like santa claus and the tooth fairy. and that god concept. does anyone really know 'friend' ... i mean, really? i wonder, y'know? and so ... the followers encroach. encroach. and it feels good. and it feels hurtful. and it puts me in a box. in a way. as followers seek to define me. label me. judge my moral certitude. while completely ignoring the message embedded in my carefully crafted posts.

ignore. ignore my message. ignore. ignore what i say. and then judge how i say it. ignore. and leave me feeling so desperately, nakedly invisible. ignore my message. and plump droplets of despair crash into my heart. with such a force of anguish. stunning anguish. it travels the circuitry of my bruised heart like some posionous spark. and the spark. its intensity grows as my body absorbs it. swallows it. dissolves it. my spirit feels dirty ... ugly ... infected. stained. in comparison. to yours. i feel. the old stains. mine. rising. to the surface. of my emotions. and, in that radiant shaft of glinting sunlight, i behold. myself. boldly. i behold myself.

myself. alone. alive. aberrant. a blinding helix of inherent instability. breathtaking to behold. noxious to inhale. corrosive to touch. myself. so many times crumpled up and tossed away. now, flinching from touch. refusing to surrender self. to trusting. anything. or anyone. cold to, but longing for, connection. some sort of outside connection. struggling to demystify this deep-seated need to belong. belonging drowns me. traps me. defines me. strangles me. rejects me. belonging rejects me. me - reject.

if i belong then i am vulnerable. if i belong i have surrendered my trust. bared the softest portion of my soul. to such undeserving creatures - homosapiens. i know you smell the weakness there. the blood, which boils and shrinks simultaneously around its lesions and disfiguring bruises. you smell it. you feel it. you taste it, as sheets of my hyperbolic anguish sweep across the battered pages of my soul. i know you. like all the rest. homosapien. just lusting for the blood of another weak soul. my soul. raped. by rejection.

image originally uploaded by melanie photo art

i plucked you away

2006-09-19T12:46:00.000-07:00

originally uploaded by daniel morris

searing …soul crushing …relentless pain
smothering me
the fruit of my mothering …
plucked away from me …
by me ... by us
and reduced to a large plastic bag

he came to collect your belongings today
the man walked out with everything … you …
casually, like a bag of garbage

the door closes behind the man with the bag
leaving me imprisoned in my sorrow
an image of you, etched in my heart
elfin child - soft ivory skin, long chestnut lashes
intoxicating squeals of laughter

each day that passes
without you
the deeper and more palpable my loss becomes
my respirates
i do not feel alive

crumbling grace and scoured petals - (repost)

2006-09-12T02:17:00.000-07:00

i awoke to the sensation of something slimy touching me. touching me. first my hand. this pulsing, hardened thing. pulsing and slimy. and then ... then other places. i felt that slimy pulsing hard thing rub against my tummy, my chest, and .... i have this image of the thing in my mouth. gagging. quietly gagging. and i carry this image of the thing in my head. and my body remembers that i saw the thing alot. alot. and my body remembers that it hurt. that it felt ugly. made me feel ugly. inside. and out. and flawed.

i remember you sitting on me once on the toilet. you would take it upon yourself to invade my privacy every chance you got and touch me. touch me. coz you couldn't keep your fucking hands off me. and your fucking dick in your pants and away from me. were you wearing pants? i don't remember seeing them. did you visit kay's room too? (before she died, she said you did things.) was that before or after your visits to my room? do you think mum bought that 'checking on the girls' excuse all along? or is that why you liked to stay up later than mum?

i know you spied on me ... lurked about ... (among other things) while i slept, or pretented to sleep. did you know? that sometimes i pretended? i know you did things. ugly things. things involving your penis. i remember having bladder infections. severely. all the time. i remember the way of our household. doting, touchy-feely, controlling father and emotionally absent mother. and, i remember what mother said to us girls: 'i don't love you or you' ... 'i'm gonna kill myself and it'll be all your fault' ... is this why? is this why she said those things? because she knew?

i remember your rules and control. of us, your girls. YOUR baubles ... existing solely for your pleasure. i remember how your forbade us from going to sleepovers. and from having any of our own. i remember the visits. flashes. bits. shards. and the way you owned me. invaded me. violated me. my body remembers. remembers the sensation of you, violating me. scouring my tender, frail flower. scouring my insides. imagine steel wool scouring an orchid. that's what it felt like. SCOUR. pieces of me flaked away with each thrust. you erased me ... eroded me. with your slimy sandpaper thing. with your sandpaper lust.

pieces of my heart flaked away.

to nothingness.
again. and again. and again.
my heart flaked away to nothingness.
painful. searing. desolate.
you reduced me to nothingness.

i hold no grudge. i feel no desire for revenge. but i have closed my heart to you. and i feel repulsed by your touch. and your desperate, silent pleas for mercy. i hold no grudge. i feel no desire for revenge. but i do not surrender forgiveness. and i never will. your grace grotesquely crumbles. and i feel pangs of sadness. for you. for me. for what could have been. if only. if only. and now? what do you expect? how dare you expect anything! that's what my bruised raven heart cries out, in the dark of night, when my body cannot sleep. you took a gentle dove in your hands. and you pressed. suffocated. choked the life from it. and your grace grotesquely crumbled.

and flakes ... of you ... of me ... fall, piercing, sinking. gashing at my sanity.

eviscerating my pysche.

images: 1. ghostbones , flickr, 2. artist unknown 3. fernando graphicos, flickr

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this is a repost from the old place - originally posted 12.09.06