I do, what many people did just a minute ago: update my blog. Blogger shows me all the blogs that updated at 2:03 PM. I am going to be among those who updated just a little later.
I realized, what many have realized before me: It is not utterly inconceivable and idiotic to create a family with someone whom you only learn to love over time and whom you may never love the same way you loved your first and most passionate and intense love. In many ways it makes a lot of sense to build a family with someone who doesn't only gaze at you but also looks onward into the same direction as you do. Who meets you not only emotionally or physically but also spiritually.
A thunderstorm gathers upon the hills of my grandfathers land. He and my grandmother did that, they married just because. Later she left for his best friend and moved to Tennessee. In their case it was for the worse. They didn't really look into the same direction. They didn't really do.
And I think love is still worth it.
Still worse.
Still better.
Shhhh........
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
Rape
At dark night, and I am screaming. Like the woman in Edward Munch's painting. Without a sound. I wonder, what it takes. Slitting wrists? Letting go?
Sobbing I disappear in the bath tub, wrapped in towels, trying to weep myself into sleep. I always had a thing for bath tubs... The only place to hide at home, the only place to go when everything feels so wrong that laying in a bath tub is just the right thing to do. Righter than the rest.
A few eternities later I crawl back into his arms, they feel oh so good. His soul and his eyes, his smile, his love.
Hours later, thousand of miles away I sway back and forth, dancing with the wind, the grass as tall as me. The horses. The eagles. thinking back. It feels like rape in my mind. Like I raped myself, my soul. A violation of my integrity. Of my longing. Of my love. Violence shaking every inch of my body into pieces and shatter of dreams. Of who I were. And who to become. It is time to leave. Not him. But that.
Time to move on. But everything needs to be planned carefully. Like a secret. Read it here.... ;-)))
Sobbing I disappear in the bath tub, wrapped in towels, trying to weep myself into sleep. I always had a thing for bath tubs... The only place to hide at home, the only place to go when everything feels so wrong that laying in a bath tub is just the right thing to do. Righter than the rest.
A few eternities later I crawl back into his arms, they feel oh so good. His soul and his eyes, his smile, his love.
Hours later, thousand of miles away I sway back and forth, dancing with the wind, the grass as tall as me. The horses. The eagles. thinking back. It feels like rape in my mind. Like I raped myself, my soul. A violation of my integrity. Of my longing. Of my love. Violence shaking every inch of my body into pieces and shatter of dreams. Of who I were. And who to become. It is time to leave. Not him. But that.
Time to move on. But everything needs to be planned carefully. Like a secret. Read it here.... ;-)))
Silence
You know, he says, some things just really don't make any sense. Period. The end. NO sense whatsoever, utterly meaningless, horribly senseless. That's that! You don't always have to look for meaning in everything and all that. Sometimes, booom, it's just meaningless. And wrong in a way. You know? You don't have any idea how many things I fucked up. Gosh. I let so many doors and windows open and close and just let them go when I should have jumped right in. But I didn't. And you know, in a weird way, that's when there is freedom. You are there, in this place that you don't belong and weren't meant to be at, and there is freedom in that.
At what a price, Dad, I say and breathe a layer of ice right off my heart into Kachemak Bay. The glaciers lick the mountains across the water as if they were gigantic ice tongues and I feel a chilly breeze. The alders, the blue jays, the horses, the trees.
Pushki, Devils Club and wild roses.
Wild rasperries. Wild berries I don't the name of. Wild, wild clouds over wild wild land.
If you messed up twice, you will be all the more concentrated and ready when it comes around a third time, he says, and it always does. It always comes around again.
I hope you feel little, meaningless and small. It is good to know that. Screw the rich and the famous.
He never wanted that. Richness, fame. My mom more so than him, but she grew up on beautiful land and knows what it means to work it.
But i understand him more and more. Wealth, fame, property. I don't want that either. Money is good for food, to pay bills. And that's why you work.
work is beautiful he says. Woe those who don't have to work. There are only a few who can manage. It is what makes us human too.
When I told him about the surrogate mother, the c-section and all that he had to go for a walk. Just doesn't feel ready for this kind of world yet. I am right in it. Every day. Not for long though. Not for long.
As I get up and try to shake off the stress, the city, the airplane, the frustration at home and at work I look in the sky. I feel good. I know why.
At what a price, Dad, I say and breathe a layer of ice right off my heart into Kachemak Bay. The glaciers lick the mountains across the water as if they were gigantic ice tongues and I feel a chilly breeze. The alders, the blue jays, the horses, the trees.
Pushki, Devils Club and wild roses.
Wild rasperries. Wild berries I don't the name of. Wild, wild clouds over wild wild land.
If you messed up twice, you will be all the more concentrated and ready when it comes around a third time, he says, and it always does. It always comes around again.
I hope you feel little, meaningless and small. It is good to know that. Screw the rich and the famous.
He never wanted that. Richness, fame. My mom more so than him, but she grew up on beautiful land and knows what it means to work it.
But i understand him more and more. Wealth, fame, property. I don't want that either. Money is good for food, to pay bills. And that's why you work.
work is beautiful he says. Woe those who don't have to work. There are only a few who can manage. It is what makes us human too.
When I told him about the surrogate mother, the c-section and all that he had to go for a walk. Just doesn't feel ready for this kind of world yet. I am right in it. Every day. Not for long though. Not for long.
As I get up and try to shake off the stress, the city, the airplane, the frustration at home and at work I look in the sky. I feel good. I know why.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
the fall
I definitely lost some innocence and I can't blame him for losing all his respect for me. Indeed, if it was me ten years ago I probably would have crucified myself in a rageful storm of tears and disappointment. We both moved on after that year and don't talk anymore. Funny how life meanders. How we fall. How we lose touch. How we lose ground. How we lose ourselves. How we hope to be found.
Days go by and by and some morning bring the bad news: I can't do this anymore! Nah, says the other voice, trying to balance out, trying to relativize, trying to make it grey, nah, it's just your period. Period. Or the wheather or your emotional condition.
Courage? Rage? Coeur? Heart? Love? Life? Breaking away? Rageful courage? Action versus passivity? All those people who went on adventures up the Kunam Punur, down the waterfalls. Up the mount everest. Through deserts, cultures, lives, loves. Story telling for the sake of it. Nah, I don't want to be in business. Maybe a field researcher for human rights issues. Maybe this maybe that but the days stretch on and on, only sometimes a little kid's smile breaks through like a crack in the ice. Melt it away, tears, melt it away. Melt it away. Melt it away.
He is fragile, and trying, and we are bouncing off each other. He wants to be heppy I want to make him heppy. I want to be heppy. We all want to be heppy. He, she, it.
He, she, it. I, you, we, them they us.
And I know that nothing else matters.
The fall. From innocence to confusion. Trying to break through. While doing so, breaking my wings. While doing so, falling hard on concrete. Falling, not on soft green pastures. No, no. Lost and found, somewhere in the desert, a lost and found station, shattered and grey - for all who are looking for something or someone.
Theresa, where are you now.
Days go by and by and some morning bring the bad news: I can't do this anymore! Nah, says the other voice, trying to balance out, trying to relativize, trying to make it grey, nah, it's just your period. Period. Or the wheather or your emotional condition.
Courage? Rage? Coeur? Heart? Love? Life? Breaking away? Rageful courage? Action versus passivity? All those people who went on adventures up the Kunam Punur, down the waterfalls. Up the mount everest. Through deserts, cultures, lives, loves. Story telling for the sake of it. Nah, I don't want to be in business. Maybe a field researcher for human rights issues. Maybe this maybe that but the days stretch on and on, only sometimes a little kid's smile breaks through like a crack in the ice. Melt it away, tears, melt it away. Melt it away. Melt it away.
He is fragile, and trying, and we are bouncing off each other. He wants to be heppy I want to make him heppy. I want to be heppy. We all want to be heppy. He, she, it.
He, she, it. I, you, we, them they us.
And I know that nothing else matters.
The fall. From innocence to confusion. Trying to break through. While doing so, breaking my wings. While doing so, falling hard on concrete. Falling, not on soft green pastures. No, no. Lost and found, somewhere in the desert, a lost and found station, shattered and grey - for all who are looking for something or someone.
Theresa, where are you now.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
You are sleeping, still, warm and fuzzy. Hard to leave your arms, they are golden, they are warm, they hold me. Sometimes I think of L.Cohen's 'Marianne' and how she made him forget to pray for the angels. And then they forget to pray for us....
I leave you good bye, just for a second. Finding myself in the clouds. When I come back you still will be sleeping, we'll make breakfast and go to work. Art is breathing under the carpet, tears are saved for the rain. Smiles break through me when I am angry, worries in vain.
'Hey that's no way to say good bye' (L. Cohen)
I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm,
your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm,
yes, many loved before us, I know that we are not new,
in city and in forest they smiled like me and you,
but now it's come to distances and both of us must try,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I'm not looking for another as I wander in my time,
walk me to the corner, our steps will always rhyme
you know my love goes with you as your love stays with me,
it's just the way it changes, like the shoreline and the sea,
but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm,
your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm,
yes many loved before us, I know that we are not new,
in city and in forest they smiled like me and you,
but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I leave you good bye, just for a second. Finding myself in the clouds. When I come back you still will be sleeping, we'll make breakfast and go to work. Art is breathing under the carpet, tears are saved for the rain. Smiles break through me when I am angry, worries in vain.
'Hey that's no way to say good bye' (L. Cohen)
I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm,
your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm,
yes, many loved before us, I know that we are not new,
in city and in forest they smiled like me and you,
but now it's come to distances and both of us must try,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I'm not looking for another as I wander in my time,
walk me to the corner, our steps will always rhyme
you know my love goes with you as your love stays with me,
it's just the way it changes, like the shoreline and the sea,
but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm,
your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm,
yes many loved before us, I know that we are not new,
in city and in forest they smiled like me and you,
but let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie,
your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)