I am my words (version 2)

I want to explore without getting lost
And visit lone places without any cost

To love more freely and yet I do not
Fearing the pain I reject the whole lot

My mind swirls in time and though I’ve no say
My closet is full of more prayers for the day

Temptation is danger to people like me
Who laugh at their frailties, as foam of the sea?

Mysteries plague my end-less repentance
Tortured desires, the reverse of my senses

Life is much more yet I am here fighting
To be what I be; I am here for the writing.

My words will I give and not ask for them back
And I’m sure when I’m done, there won’t be a lack

I want to know people but fear what I’ll feel
When they know my past that makes me so ill.

Yet I share what I know, reveal what I’ve heard
Being true to myself because I am my words.

Stand in the rising sun

It’s another morning when the sun is blazing as its rising and I stand there in awe. I stand there in the rising sun.

The night has left me doubting and perplexed; am I making the right decision.

Rising sun speak to this confused one.

I wrote a friend-to-be but I cannot say what I fear.
I wrote an old friend but there’s no answer.
I wrote a new acquaintance, but feel afraid to reach out.
I wrote myself and we cried.

The night gets closer and I am tired and still I work on afraid to stop. I’ll set my clock. The hours drag as I wait for the rising sun.

Till it’s another morning when the sun is blazing as its rising and I stand there in awe. I stand there is the rising sun.

Rising sun speak to this confused one.

De-tales

Her house upon the hill was high above the massive rocks
The sand now packed in mounds kept richer soil in locks
The water held a mirror reflecting beauty fair
While ripples from the tide obeyed no one who lived near there

Out beyond the sea wall beyond the roaring waves
A large and awesome whale swam peacefully in its ways
She watched it from a distance and longed to join its side
In hopes of floating eagerly upon the rising tide

The beast was oh so beautiful and swam for quite a while
And then she saw the reason why, and offered up a smile
A cow with calf arrived to play and joined the larger one
The three would live within the bay and she would watch the fun

Her house upon the hill was high above the massive rocks
Though time would not be measured by the sound of ticking clocks
She’d hurry to sand and sea and sun to watch her whales
And when her friends did come to tea she offered all de-tales!

Tall Trees

I was eight years old when our babysitter blew her brains out. No, they couldn’t have imagined why she would do that? Didn’t everyone love her? On my lap lay my paper, and many pencils; pieces of charcoal and white conte were gifts from the babysitter.

It was the viewing of the body and though everyone was curious about the damaged side of her head, I focused on the side that had a slight smile. Sleep of the angels? Of course some adults wanted to stop me until I told this one man: “I want to remember her beauty and joy. You look at what you want to remember.” And my Mom almost made me leave after that, but our minister said “no, she will stay.”

Later I lay in the big field and the tall trees stood above me and though I felt so small, so insignificant, those trees had enough power to lift the bruising from my heart and bid me a rest. I had been seeking solace in this place of tall trees; here again I needed their reassurance that life might continue without a special friend.

The minister lay down too and looked up into the trees and spoke, “Hi dc, your Mom called and said you wanted to meet me. Okay, I’m here, what would you like to talk about?”

“Oh, nothing really; I just wanted you to help me listen in case there’s something said and I don’t understand it. I’m almost nine, but I’m still a kid.”

“Why here, in this place?”

“The babysitter and I were here last Saturday… lying right here on these leaves. She told me that if things weren’t better when she got home she was going to blow her brains out.” I was shaking and barely holding back eight, almost nine year old sobs.

“I’m so sorry, dc… but”.

“I didn’t know what she meant or I could have told my Mom!” Now the dam was broken.

“Bless your heart.”

“No, bless my ears so I can understand from now on. I didn’t know, I didn’t know.”

It was a strange wind that stayed with the trees all through winter. I’d park my bike and walk into the circle and call her name. But no one answered. On her birthday I took a balloon and let it go up through the trees; pink, her favorite color.

Spring came and my mind left. My parents refused therapy for me, it was a no-no. All I know is that one day when I was twelve I looked in the mirror and saw myself and not “Barbara” staring back at me. I knew I was free, and so was she.

A Prisoner in Time

You captured me

because I let you

hear that,

I let you

capture me

now I'm going

and you

will not cry

why because

I was a good prisoner

a prisoner in time

why you spoke less

no sweetness

music stopped

no song

just carried on

in the new time

a low time

and I can go

I can let you go

my prison time

and you said

I was a good word

you captured me

because I let you

hear me,

I let you

capture me

Switched Teams

I hail from the “Carolinas” in the States; born and raised here. Don’t know why I keep coming back. It’s mostly the coast that holds me; holds me with all its wonder and my secrets. I used to be a basic Carolina girl who loved football. Got tired of all the negative and destructive behavior of sports professionals in our area; enough was enough.

See this Carolina Panther sitting on a granite wall? Well on that wall my name is engraved as one of the first seat license owners in the, then, “Erickson Stadium”. Imagine a small town girl cut into the wall. It was expensive but I was told it would make a great investment… gee I wish somebody had told “The Carolina Panthers” that.

Sold my ticket to family and went off to invest in people in other ways. I’ve had a lot more scoring on the board and lots of happy people getting needs met. So if you want to really invest your time, talent, and finances… invest in peoples’ lives. Your contribution becomes engraved on your heart. Please and thank you.

Another Fall

Its fall and the leaves are taking their time now to come down to the ground, to cover me with their jewel tones.

Its fall and the wind is dancing and prancing and my hair is blowing around and covers my eyes and I strain to see the path.

Its fall and short walks become longer, easier breathing, cool restful wind, and a nice chill prevented by a light jacket.

Its fall and my sweet Canadian geese strut from the lake down to Mrs. Nix’s and a group will take flight out soon.

Its fall and the last spotted monarch left two weeks ago and we are sad but know she will send new troops this coming spring.

Its fall, my Mom’s favorite time of year and I’m glad she passed on in spring because I love the fall too, and this was always our play season.

Its fall and as I wait for those leaves to accumulate so I can rake and jump in them, I wonder why I feel so alive in the dying time of the year? Or was that the answer.

Circled In Fear ~painting by dcrelief~

Circled in fear
Boxed in as bought
Heartaches as layered mats
Framed up for leer

This was my here
This was my here

Small very small
World was my yard
Shadows to run from
Drunks not on call

They were my all
They were my all

Neighbor hates men
This one cruel and crazy
She liked to drink
But hid me, her friend

Till lost in her gin
Till lost in her gin

Then he entered in
Then he entered in

Her one, only friend
Her one, only friend

navigating destiny

I made a wrong decision just like the pilot in the airplane. Veer right, did he say veer right? At what point did he say, veer right? Where was I? Veering left? Was I veering left? No?

In the blog world, (for me at least), there’s the chance that I may not understand what you’re “saying” to me. I don’t know if it’s my ears or the words or the long sentence, but I suspect I read so fast I just miss the whole point… sometimes. No!

In the blog world it could be you and you’re not getting the fact that I’m “really a slow thinker” and just because I can write a lot in a short amount of time, you think I’m smart. No?

Mentally my giant brain has been bashed a few too many times and I’ve lost the best part of me that ever composed a word. Arrogant, yes, and I’m sorry I ever took that path, and maybe “bad Karma” paid me a few visits and said, “Look there’s other stuff you need more than composition and oh, yeah, we’ve got “spell check” now!! So wham, wham, wham, and now you need to “remember how to speak” so that one day you’ll write something that sounds “like you just said it out loud” for everyone to hear. What was so important that I had to experience such trauma to tell you?

In this blog world post, the answer is “stop”.

Well, fine and dandy, but what was the question? We need the question. Do you have it? Where did you put it this time? If I turn right will I find it; if I turn left is it hiding there? Well? No? I give up.

There, perfect; and now that you have “given up” the question truly reveals the answer to be true! The pilot above could have stopped. He could have applied the brakes on the big bad boy and stopped, but he didn’t. He kept thinking that there was a last point where he could turn off and avoid the highway. It was such a big plane that the pilot couldn’t see where the turn off WAS; he had already missed it by the time he asked the tower. VEER WHERE?

My life is like that some days. I hit the wall of mental anxiety without a thought of asking: “Is there a veering off point? Or is there a stopping point?” Read that again.

A friend of mine used to say, “DC, you don’t have to continually hit the wall. As soon as you know you’re headed for a wall, STOP, or turn right, or turn left. STOP! Don’t keep hitting the wall.”

I still struggle but each event brings more challenge to the “wall theory” and STOP HITTING THE WALL has had advantages. Veering right or left can work well too but sometimes it just puts off a decision that I know will eventually end with “STOP.”

I'm just a copy, Right?

I used to envy the cartoon world; their ability to make an icon that people could love. My number one choices were: “Marvin the Martian”, “Tweedy Bird”, and “Bugs Bunny”. All three exhibited quick wit and a cut to the chase mindset… or playful mayhem! Writing in cyber land has been a great deal like being in a cartoon. Everyone has the choice to use a photograph or an icon to represent “self”. You are “seen” as your choice.

I went to guest write on a blog that I did not own. I had no experience of what this meant, I was simply grateful to be asked to join a “writers’ group.” I planned on learning a lot. On this blog I had no icon; I am known by my real name. It wasn’t scary because I thought I was invisibly practicing writing. I had no idea that I could be viewed by anyone. Only when a comment came through one day, did I realize I was being seen! The comment was not from my blog host. I was terrified, but my terror was dismissed.

I have often read another’s post and thought: “my goodness, I’ve experienced that emotion.” But then I didn’t leave a comment to show empathy. So it was that the terror I felt stayed with me. I could not let it go. I could not get out of self to help another ‘let go’.

Needing my questions answered, I sought help, in what I thought was defeat, and went to see my doctor to talk about fears, expectations and acceptances. I thought I’d left the fears behind in the real world. How did they translate into the cyber land world?

The first thing he wanted to know was: “What icons did you choose to represent you?” This was interesting; maybe I’ll write the answers some time. He nailed me; I’m just a copy, Right!

We're all alike?

Maybe, and I’ve heard it debated plenty of times. But one area in particular messes with me repeatedly. How do some of us experience traumatic issues and find a way to survive? I’ve met people whose lives have one continuous boo-boo and I am amazed that they still choose to get up in the morning.

My own super-craziness began in 1997 when my Mom passed and I had to suddenly cut a symbiotic cord I did not realize existed. Granted I had already been physically ill for a year prior but this was the straw… the last nerve broke.

There are avenues to try and are available, but we may not be well enough to know that they exist. We need friends with experience and doctors that will listen, not just medicate! In my case medication pushed the healing out by about ten years. That’s a long time to go with any relief over a subject of pain.

Yes and I am ‘dcrelief’ so what does that tell you? Hopefully you’ll understand that I must try to be a better person for myself. I did not say righteous, good, and perfect, without sin, non-submissive or any other religious conditions and or expectations. When I stop judging myself by these terms I stop judging others. I begin building a bridge. If you feel differently then that is perfectly fine too. There is one statement I have found to be among all religions, creeds, etc: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” All of them have this!

Can I do this? Can you do this? We’re all alike regarding this challenge. From the people I have met who have survived terrific pain, this is what they seek. They seek to share their experience with those who would accept it.

There are only four emotions in the world! Mad, sad, glad, and scared; you may have hundreds of words to describe the level of madness or sadness that you feel. Hundreds of words could describe your joy, utter delight, and horrific devastation… but there are still only four emotions. Do you ever seek to understand something you’re going through? Of course you do. You are human, and in that respect, we’re all alike.

what do you long for?

What would give you great satisfaction to receive? Please don’t tell me that winning the lottery is your best dream. Give me things of the heart and soul. Tell me that swinging in a glider on a Saturday afternoon with your children is precious. Tell me that every Tuesday you help out at the clothing closet. Tell me you’re doing something that allows someone else to live a better life. Why?

I have been traveling through the internet for five months. During that time it has moved so fast that, years are felt to be passing, rather than days. I get in a hurry to post another article not realizing I just popped one into my blog a day back. Many Fridays afternoons find me wondering, ‘where did Monday go?”

It’s a fast-lived life and I often think that I’m living too much of life in here. But I want to write and here is one of the best places because I get to set my own hours and most subjects. So it is that I have returned so many times and people have been very gracious to let me be a small part of the picture.

In no time at all, I have met different people, shared a few stories, and moved on to another fine blog. But oh, I have lots of favorites after five months and I need to fix a schedule and a site list so I won’t miss reading favorite blogs. So this fast-lived life has benefits.

One of the hardest things for me to accept was that real people existed behind the screen images and shadows. My thinking was, “You can be whoever you want to be and I would never be the wiser.” It scared me often. Sometimes I grossly misunderstood a message or e-mail. My perception of the incoming fast-livers was devoid of joy and peace, though no one threatened me ever.

Then one day I had a revelation: I could be whoever I wanted to be in this screened world. I could maintain an attitude of pleasantness as I had observed in others. Be gracious and kind in my comments. Most of all: be sincere in my sharing, and thankfulness for fellow bloggers, not just for the readers. Because the ones I chose to imitate were happy and that’s what I wanted. I wanted to be happy; there are days now when I feel happy. And now I long to pass that onto others... all things in their time.

always alone

I’m here all alone
Every day in my home
And I wonder, oh well
Am I living in hell?

Is there some other place
With thoughts that replace
The ones in my face
That mess with the grace?

I can’t see what’s ahead
And stop all this dread
From circling my head
As I lay on my bed

My pleas are so few
For what I should do
To settle my dues
And heal ones I choose

And here all alone
As the days greet my home
I still wonder why
But no longer cry

For love of self

It is good to take time out to do the things we love. I love the water, so sailing, fishing, swimming and other related activities are fun. Fresh air and sunshine are great for my health, even when I don’t want to go out the door. I take my kitchen clock timer and force myself to sit quietly for 15 minutes and breathe deeply. Invariably I find that once that first fifteen minutes passes, then I’m into another 15 without thinking. But this has taken me some time to do.

I get overwhelmed by a problem and cannot think of how to deal with it; how do I resolve an issue that earlier in my life would have been nothing to be concerned about? When did I trade in my peace of mine for paranoia? Or have I always been this way and only now that I’m sick is it so openly visible? I’m not sure.

My current step is talking with a doctor and people who seem to have experienced things like I experience. I also have friends who are not like me but enjoy similar subjects, such as poetry, economics, and politics, mud wrestling (!). And I have this urge to go horseback riding in the snow. What is that about?

So whatever adventure I’m on, on the day you visit, take time to look at the photo or painting because I’m probably focusing on that. Should you see yourself, feel free to let me know. Comments are welcome.

Fly

I longed to fly and needed wings
I searched for plumage, leather strings.
My eagerness was rather great
For heaven’s height I could not wait.

My friends aloft were soaring high
I longed to touch that sacred sky.
My body ached from working out
The muscle tone became quite stout.

I climbed a mount and stretched my wings
This flexed my arms and tightened strings
One step I took, but backed away
The wind was rough; wait one more day.

I stripped of clothes at morning’s light
Climbed that same hill to take my flight
When at the top I offered prayer
To one eternal that waited there:

“Oh let me fly and see your face
Guide my flight with heaven’s grace
And should I die before I land?
Please catch me in your loving hand.”

a beach I do not know

A beach I do not know
Is beckoning me to call
It has the strangest rocks
Not like a beach at all

The wind whips round
My shoulders chill
And I am found
Without much will

I leave to find a sweater
The fire inside is warm
The cabin keeps the weather
Outside, I am not harmed

Many come to heal here
Some just come to play
Others bring their fear near
And find a peaceful way

My head rest on my pillow
I’m thankful that I came
No more the weeping willow
Because they’ve soothed my pain

Harmony

I am more than what you see
I am more than simply me
I am one you used to love
I am one who is the dove

You were precious in my eyes
You were kind, I was not wise
You loved me, but I was blind
Then you left our world behind

I did not know that I was weak
And to admit I could not speak
I only knew I had to seek
The life that kept me from the deep

You are still precious in my heart
The times I thought we could restart
Are gone and though it is a lark
I’ll always see your glowing spark

I am more than what you see
I am more than simply me
There’s no stigma, look, you’ll see
My life is lived in harmony

My home

My home close to the sea and the mighty wind brings me clouds to watch the day. I watch them and watch the sea oats as they sway back and forth. The softness of the oats as they rustle each other then suddenly stops. The wind dies down and I take in deep breaths at water’s edge. I feel… I feel so… glad to feel at all.

My home has a small play of sunlight peeking through so I’ll be warm against the winds that preclude the storm. Large billowy and large pillars of clouds push across the water and throw ocean spray around me. I taste… it taste… the saltiness that I am made of.

Yet I Continue (2)

There are times when I’m not sure why I’m headed in “this direction”, or “that direction”; I only know that I don’t go alone. Many times I sit down to write and have no idea what will be presented or brought to the forefront of this “pop corn” like brain. Some posts surprise me more than they might surprise you. At times it’s like I’ve stepped out of a cave into a reality that bids me to just think and write whatever I’m feeling. Oh my, do I have feelings… and some might appear detrimental to my health. Indeed there is fear that what I write will be futile in its attempt to share life as I experience it. Yet I continue.

When it’s time to chose a photo I really note what elements ‘speak’ to the theme I’m attempting. This ocean looks pretty calm with nice small rolling waves. The foam rushes to shore with a bit of force cutting lines into the sand. Overall the photo exhibits a peaceful color soothing the nerves, advocating rest while the foam steadily flows. Yet I continue.

Strangely this photo is only for right now; this moment. My struggle to maintain an evenness of life is still affected by pain recently experienced. Yet I continue.

My walk is steadier, my goal ever true, and my hands write of the healing I feel from those of you… who continue.

Do I have a writer's block?

I’m not finding anything I want to write about so I’ll write about that. And blank.

I have goals that I’m afraid to reach toward. My current situation allows me to continue hiding from myself and those goals. And blank.

I have some very supportive people and resources and life is getting better, but I am not yet willing to hear reality. Yet my reality is what I make of it, taking into account the universal boo-boos that are planned for me.

I found this photo and it looks to be an old aqueduct/bridge thing that seems to parallel my issues. The old is crumbling and being washed away. But since I cannot see the new I run scared, and running is too familiar… it doesn’t work. And blank.

“And blank” is the emptiness that sits at the end of a sentence where another sentence might have joined had I had another thought to add. Another sentence would deliver me, possibly, to a paragraph? That’s the way compositions used to work but this is blogging; an informal rendering of heart and mine to cyber page.

I long to find the indwelling stirring that I feel and use to pen my pages; it’s not gone… it just seems to be on a break. Maybe I’m forcing issues I’m not ready for. Maybe I need some rest. I won’t know until I get ‘there’: End and blank.