no matter how you slice it, a sandwich is as a sandwich does

this morning ...manure manicured finger sandwiches are being constructed as we speak in my kitchen.

can't hide and can't deodorize their stink.

gotta dig quickly and deeply into mommy-roots and pull up the strongest ones

and wrap those suckers around my head until the words of positivity and strength and self idealization emerge,

encrusted and slimy and damp and ugly

almost forgotten

almost buried treasure, unexplored.

family trees are the hardest to see through.

the forest may run for miles and be transparent as the lace worn on my wedding day

not THE tree

ghosts of unknown relatives line branches, adding weight

separated, thin saplings reach out for extra light and the girth widens

difficult to prune

impossibly unmanageable

connections and origins and budding confusion

dry and cracked, brittle by years of wind storms and lightening strikes, and fallen beneath the forest's canopy

 farther away from belonging and hope,

remembrance and pride,

respect and delight;

or hang precariously and alone 

awaiting the boy to visit and randomly choose his newest fishing implement.

Read below an earlier post, written years ago, when I opened my heart, opened my soul, and shit sandwiches were served on platters to the ones I loved.  I'm perfecting my recipe, just in case you want it...

can barely see through the tears

must write to feel

must write to sort and think and see through

reality tears

acceptance of what i declared

and what responses followed

will follow

more to come

sure thing

reality

admitting purpose has price

to pay

in real time

with real people

real feelings to hurt

real intentions make real consequences

rather throw this keyboard through that window

rather hide

i'm good at it

hiding from reality

and bites

incompatibility of self with you

fit into one and not the other

help and hurt together

wishing i learned this already

might be easier

might not

reality bites

hard

"my heart can't wait to meet you on the other side"~mmj

to have and to hold

I'm not gonna stand and wait

I'm nothing on my own

~Coldplay

what feels right,
right here,
next to, in front, and around every corner
the one who knows,
knows
who I am
why I am here
what I need to work on
and working
together

talk and tell and teach,

feel what I feel 

listen, learn, like me

best

not when I'm holding the conch shell

not when I'm falling asleep while you read

not the minute I walk in the door

you understand

you just forgot

so did I

happenstance has changed our plans...






we share
we hear
we feel
we know
we are together

everlasting

everything

where's that confounded bridge?

monday

“You don’t have to yell!”

…after I exuberantly say hello to the creature clutching the computer in the corner of the couch.  Nice greeting.  Status quo for sure.  Sarcastically disrespectful and full of fire.  Spoiled brat mumbles under breath, believing his diatribe represents respect.  I squeeze together threads of patience and talk my gut out of stirring and convince my eyes to stay dry.  Home.

wednesday

Three nights alone.  Three days silent.  Invitation to dinner accepted.  Uncomfortable sighs and intentional body language received.  Excuse me as I remove my ego from the table.   Breathe deeply  the pseudo self confidence and quickly compose my mind’s mixed messages into an appropriate rendition of restraint.  Serenity now.  Serenity now.

Night four begins.

thursday

No line on the horizon this morning.  Only the familiar muddled shades of grey shuffled between green needles of pine.  Step out.  Look from behind the north face and over the rising moon.  Enjoy the thrill of the meet, the hunt for understanding.

Visualize your view.   Only yours.  Keep it simple and kiss it hello. 

Allow today to enter through your mind’s eye, ahead of the unconscious scrum of ancient messages.  Intend.  Intentionally push suspicions away.  Useless to imagine thoughts, feelings and expectations unstated.  Observe your ego.  Talk yourself up.  Use reminders.  Conquer triggers.  Stomp stigma.  Hope. 

Step onto the tightrope, the one parallel to your horizon.  Your line.  Your walk.  Your decisions.  Balance or hit the net.  Then mulligan if necessary.

peace

namaste

shalom

~L