Unlocked for Hope

When I started this tiny blog I wanted a place to uplift to speak only those things that improve the world around me through the sharing. It did not, does not, matter if any of those words are ever read by another; just that they are out there, can be read, can offer a balance to all the ugly-meaningless-hurtful-selfish words that are dumped into the world on a daily basis.

In my desire to be that voice I have strived to only write, to share, that which is uplifting and positive as much as possible. Sadly that means I do not write often. As life grows harder, grows complicated, becomes oppressive, my silence grows equally.  I realized that perhaps I don’t have to be uplifting, I don’t have to feel joy to write; I need only have the desire to lift another from shadows.

I have somehow always believed all things for a reason; I know that it can sound worn and trite but it does not feel that way. I find that I keep trying to be brave: I keep failing to be brave. I want to write, to share, to see light in the darkness. Yet I do not write, I continue to close myself off, I do not turn lights on as the shadows are easier on my eyes most days. Then I realize I am not the solution I am just another tiny dusty brick on the brink of tottering of the edge of a worn path. But an old cobblestone with cracks can better play host to a sudden flower growth than a paved highway.

Perhaps wanting to feel contentment, desiring to share radiance, failing to do so, and still saying, “I am here if you need to cry, my shoulder is soft” is enough.

I am not joyous, but I am hopeful.

I am quiet, but I listen well.

I do not like bright light, but the calm still shadow of the woods hold many wondrous secrets to be explored.

I am lonesome and sad, I am quiet and withdrawn, but I still believe in a better world. I believe that the majority of humanity cares and will improve the world even if it is one small step at a time. Every lock has a key it just takes a bit of time to locate in the jumble sometimes.

Dawdle-Walking

When I was young my brother and I had the blessing of a mother gifted with joy and imagination; we lived in a park for a few weeks, in neighborhoods with cement and bullets, below drug riddled prostitutes. We never knew any of that until we were old enough to filter the world ourselves. 

Whenever she felt overwhelmed by life we took dawdle-walks together. She would let my brother and I take turns just meandering wherever we felt inspired to wander. She always managed to find secrets to delight and inspire us. We saw the wonder in the world around us long before it could be filtered through its inherent darkness.

Every low rent subsidized apartment we found ourselves in was somehow miraculously transformed by a single mother on very limited funds. Every hole patched, color on every wall, handmade curtains at the windows, and somehow flowers outside of every door with grass whenever even two yards of dirt could be found. When she was waiting for the police to respond to her call for help when the woman upstairs was being beaten by an angry John she turned on the dryer and wrote us a lullaby to drown out the sounds of misery above us. 

Though I have always been influenced by the enchantment she brought to my heart and do find secrets and joy in random places, I have to remind myself quite often to look past the clutter of anger and suffering to see the vibrant life pulsing underneath. In those moments that inspiration can be captured for posterity I celebrate the ability to share the vision my mother’s eyes inspire.

When walking today look down, peer through the haze, let your mind and gaze wander to the delightful around you. I promise it is there.

An Un-Fading Existence

In 2003 I met the love of my life; we were together through trails and joy, made promises, raised children, and in 2012 he left us all too early from sudden electrical heart failure. His first wife worked with her long-time boyfriend/lawyer to prove that her divorce in 2002 was never finalized; I allowed myself to occasionally wallow in self-pity that I had somehow been robbed.

But I wasn’t, I had him. I had his laughter and sometimes tears. I had his love and friendship. There was more wealth in the time we had together and what we shared than any retirement. My mother joked once that ultimately we both got what we wanted as he wanted us to get married and I struggled with the idea of marriage preferring to live together. Ultimately I decided that I believed in him enough to try marriage.

It has been said that true immortality is obtained in what those we leave behind remember of us. His laughter alone will keep many of us going, I still hear it when I do something particularly stupid, like wondering why biscuits are not cooking in an oven that is not on.

One of the things he and I enjoyed together was the fine art of skin-ink. Each anniversary we would get a new tattoo together. One of the first was kanji in red down our left arms that said, “I will never give up on you.” The meaning was important enough that we went to our Chinese cultural center and had the Manager brush them out for us after discussing the intent of the phrase to us. About two years ago I noticed that one of the symbols is fading and since I had the joy of working with someone from Hong Kong I asked her what it stood for; it became a sign and mantra for times to come. What it now reads is “I will never give up.” He is fading from my arm as his pull has faded in my life; what has not left is the strength he helped me build in my own sense of value.

Today even more than two years ago I needed that reminder, I will never give up. I read an old posting and cried that my “Frank” will not be here to get me toast or strawberries. The long-time dream of driving an RV around the country in our joint-memory depraved dotage will never happen without the driver-for-life. The only one who steals my blankets now is the dog he gave me weeks before passing away.

Yet, I am still here.  I feel alone too often, despite people trying to remind me I am not. I close myself off, I do not share, do not open, do not weep without the door closed and water running. That is my doing though, my choice; perhaps simply my way of trying to lessen the coming pain. The last tattoo I allowed myself is seven white cranes on my arm, one for each of those I have lost too soon.

Life has purpose. It may not always bring joy, but there is always opportunity for connectedness. Do not avoid those life brings you in the hustle of daily burdens. Do not draw away from potential joy to lessen the pain when the connection is gone. People are often surprised at the amount of ink I have on me; why? What does an inked individual look like? Are they different, less, younger, fiercer?

Who are any of us?

We are the accumulation of those we have allowed to impact us, and those pieces left behind when we share ourselves with others.

Maxine Hong-Kingston was the inspiration for my first tattoo. In her book Warrior Woman she writes of how Fa Mulan’s father carved the history of her people into her back so that when she faced her enemy at dawn the history of her people would shine through like lace. I was so drawn by the symbolism of that. What do we allow to be carved into us? Who does the light of dawn reveal, what is the image of our lace? We determine each moment who we are, how we respond to what happens not only to us but around us.

I may not ever be a social person, I do not know that I ever was; I do not like to leave my house. But I do care deeply for a great many people and I do not have to leave these four walls to let them know I care. Perhaps more importantly I do not have to lie or try to hide who I am. I am fearful and reluctant and withdrawn. I enjoy solitude and quiet. I prefer email and text messages over phone calls; but written words are lasting, can be thought through, should be thought through, can be looked back on.

I believe in mankind. I am frightened and saddened by many things in the world today. I am overwhelmed with joy each time I see small gestures of kindness not done for cameras or praise, just done from the heart of decency. I have faith that those willing to improve the world are blessed with an un-fading existence by all of us willing to build on their example.

Stride Forward, Shake off the Mud

In 2016 the brain damage that was first thought, in 2008 to be stroke related, then maybe MS, then maybe, then maybe, then maybe... was finally diagnosed as Binswanger's Syndrome which has no cure but mental deterioration can be slowed. According to wikipedia, "Symptoms include mental deterioration, language disorder, transient ischemic attack, muscle ataxia, and impaired movements including change of walk, slowness of movements, and change in posture. These symptoms usually coincide with multiple falls, epilepsy, fainting, and uncontrollable bladder."

I have no difficulty believing this as I had to look up how to spell Deterioration, but I could remember to look up alternatives for decay so I am still in here. I will admit because it feels it should be said, that yes I have difficulty controlling my bladder, but I am grateful that I more often than not make it to the bathroom at this point; I am oddly relieved to know there is a solid medical reason. Now I know why I have difficulty walking and why I fall so often.

In January 2017 I lost my job because side effects were beginning to affect my work and attendance. After six months of review I was determined to be disabled by the retirement board for my previous employer and now am fortunate enough to receive disability retirement; like most retirements that is less than half of what I made while working so allows about $120-150 after rent is paid for me to feed myself, my dog and pay gas, lights, and internet. I am working on alternatives and know that they will take time.

Because I lost my job, in February 2017 I lost my house. When you have no income you cannot make mortgage payments.

The last three months I have had more days than I care to admit where I did not want to get out of bed; it was so hard to move past the fear and sorrow and anxiety that fills my head.

Many things have struck me recently though including the fact that I claim to want to be a writer yet I do not write. Soon enough I will lose the ability to write. This cannot be faced without rage or I was never really a writer to begin with.

So there will be no more curling up and to binge Sherlock Holmes while fiddling with Sims until I have written. If I can get on my computer to play then I can write first.

I have had some realizations:

• Today I have a place to live; many in the world and even in the US are homeless.

• Today I have electricity; my brother has been without power for over a week in Florida.

• Today I can write a word of encouragement even if no one reads it; there are those that have no words of hope within them.

 For no reason other than divine intervention today I read through blogs poems and short stories I have written and or posted in the past. I started a blog called OnionLogic with a friend a couple years ago, I do not remeber how to get on and edit or post to it. All I could do at the moment is post what I had shared there on this blog. 

Edmund Burke was a wise man. Among a great many amazing things, he said, “Nobody made a greater mistake than he who did nothing because he could do little.”

I realized that I am guilty. Guilty of believing it is my right to give up. Guilty of not trying to be even a small difference in a sad and lonely world. Guilty of believing that whatever joy or little wisdoms I have been given need not be shared. Guilty of refusing to make this world a better place.

No more. I have heard the siren call of Sara B., “Don't run, Stop holding your tongue, Maybe there's a way out of the cage where you live, Maybe one of these days you can let the light in, Show me how big your brave is.”

This is my chance to practice what I preach, I have always said smile at everyone you meet and use duct tape if your words cannot be kind or supportive. I am not gone yet and I will not be silent any longer. I may not post every day, but once a year or two is not acceptable any longer, enough wallowing.

Time to shake off the mud and stride forward.

The Noble Path

JANUARY 6, 2015

I was getting ready to leave to run to the corner store tonight because I wanted to go and be back before the hour grew later and the cold set in any more than it had. I as grabbed a sweater and slid into warm fuzzy shoes I noticed a new message come up on Skype. Thinking I would just see who it was from so I knew if I should respond tonight or in the morning I found a dear friend struggling against those foul minions we all face too often.

In trying to help him hold his head above water and continue walking down that often difficult path I found myself inspired by the strength and compassion we shared. Though I could edit and build and pretty it up, I realized that it wasn’t needed. Life is not pretty, any more than it is fair, any more than it is predictable; but it is life! It is our life the only one we get this go around, and it is ours to embrace, to share, to change where we can and accept where we cannot change. So I thought instead just offer up what inspired me with no names no times and hope that some of you find hope and inspiration in the exchange like I did.

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him

I know the path doesn’t have to be the one…..but I’ve never had this rage, this hurt, this emotional distress before‏

me

but trying to inflict the pain that was inflicted on you wouldn’t solve anything and it would allow that darkness to take you‏

him

I know….it’s just….not f***g fair…..nothing in this god forsaken land is fair….nothings just nothing nothing nothing…..‏

me

no one ever said life was fair‏

I know that sounds harsh but its true‏

life is not fair‏, it is messy and unjust and desperate and exhilarating and beautiful‏

him

I always believed that…..but I always hoped for humility….honor and respect….faithfulness and friendships….‏

me

 “Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away”‏ (Vicki Corona)

 all the moments in between have the potential to be dark or empty or mundane or painful‏ but the moments that leave us breathless‏, that touch us that move us that make us better‏. Those are what we must cling to in the darkness‏

“We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;

In feelings, not in figures on a dial.

We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives

Who thinks most—feels the noblest—acts the best.‏”  (Philip James Bailey)

 You are a noble young man. You believe in and hope for the best in humanity, and though it may be hard when facing the demons, you must continue to believe that they are not of you they are only the darkness in the world manifested to thwart you‏ do not give in‏

him

…thanks….*huggles you close*‏

me

I love you for the hope that you retain, do not lose that part of you‏

him

 “It may be a noble endeavor to try to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders; but it will eventually bring you to your knees and you will struggle to get back up. It won’t be because you are tired, but because of the shame and guilt of failing everybody. You desperately wanted to save everybody you loved but you couldn’t, and now you can’t save even yourself from the bitterness. But you were brave. You were courageous and you did it with love, and you’ll tell yourself that maybe that was enough.”

— Adam Zucconi (via wnq-writers)‏

me

nice!!!!‏ See you get it!!!

him

why can’t the world be just….simple?‏

me

because the greatest beauty is not always simple‏

sometimes it is the simple amidst the mess and complex, the single flame in the darkness‏

And that very thought is why you get no attempt at eloquence here, just a very human, honest, simply beautiful flame.

Willing to Try

MARCH 31, 2015

Yesterday my 18 year-old Step-Daughter made a move that touched my heart to depths that still evoke an emotional response from me in quiet moments today.
She is in transition from an bug infested apartment and her Mother is watching her dog for her while she searches for another apartment. With her beloved friend cared for she was left with 50 lbs of dog food getting stale. Her solution? Pack it all into gallon size zip lock bags and pass it out to anyone who wants to distribute it to homeless individuals with dogs. Her Facebook post garnered many positive comments and likes quickly, so you can imagine my confusion when she was irritated by the responses. When I asked her why, she simply said she didn’t want pats on the back and likes, she wanted people willing to distribute the food to those with hungry animals.

One friend told her, “You make the world a better place.” Her reply humbled us all. “We can all help those in need. We just have to be willing to try.

I know we all have days that it just seems so insurmountable to make any difference in a world so full of pain and suffering, I do. But I have decided that this is a wake up call, at least for me. Maybe I cannot end world hunger, or find shelter for everyone. But one kind word, one meal for dog or man, the cost of one cup of coffee a week…
I can be open and attentive to the world around me.

I can be WILLING to try.
I can change the world.
One person at a time,
starting with me.