Pieces.

Everyone, no matter in what capacity, has a past that precedes the current venture in which they are finding themselves partaking in. May that venture be a relationship, a new career, or just new path in life? Which ever that may be, the past before it creates blocks, curves, and twists in which we base our reactions to the new path that lies before us. Some of us pick up these pieces, one at a time, hoping that by the time we reach the end, we will have slowly but surely put them back together in the way they were meant to be laid out. Others just head strong their way through it, hoping without hope that eventually that end of the line is a hell of a lot brighter than the start of it. Either of us right, no one knows but we all must try out our own way of coping and prodding through. It’s the only way to survive this crazy world. It is never easy, finding out where we belong. Maybe we just can’t “belong” anywhere. Maybe we weren’t meant to just stay in “one” place. Maybe that is just a cynics way of verbally making her life seem better by stating what her life is what is supposed to be, rather than making what could be the path that should be.

Moments

You float along, listening to life whistle around you like a gale force wind thinking that it will never slow down. Then for one moment, a moment you never thought would happen in your crazy, messed up existence time stands still. People around you are still moving, breathing but in your circle time is stopped. The motion around you is still, your so caught up in the moment of what is happening to you that the air is heavy, motionless. Almost like you are meant never to forget the memory that is being created right then, that is it to be forever ingrained in time. It is perfect, perfect for you. For no one or no thing is perfect except for what you see in your mind as perfect for you.

More Than Words

As you browse the books at your local bookstore, you notice numerous titles on “how to”, everything from fixing your computer to fixing yourself. The question we really have to ask is, can you really rely on a book to fix it all? Can we rely on words to heal, fix, or wash away the past, present, or future? It is something that I sat and pondered for a bit, trying to find words to express certain emotions or feelings that I just could not express. Words can only be the frosting of the whole cake if you will, the top of entire project. It is the actions and physical work that you put into something that makes it worth anything. The intricate details of the work in progress are so much more important that the words you can use to express how you’re going about it, or how you have gotten to where you are. It is showing how you got there that is the great reward. Sometimes, we all forget that we have to put a little “humph” behind our words, behind the speeches, behind the “I love you”, behind the past. It is easy to get lost or caught up in words, some of us find it hard to believe in words, some of us chose our words carefully and only say things that we truly feel. Talking is a wonderful form of expression, however, so is physical emotion or actual hard work. For some, that is more meaningful then a colorful phrase or a beautifully turned verse

Damn the Radio

You sit in your room, quiet and small. The silence is deafening, you reach for the radio and turn the dial to on. Suddenly you are thrown from deafening silence to obliterating emotions with every station change. You are swiftly catapulted onto a roller coaster of thoughts, fears,and dreams that you were trying to hide from in the dark silence of your room. You have no where to run; it all follows you like a dark shadow in the alley-way that you were always told not to turn down. There is no silence, for silence is louder than sound and words are tortuous to the soul. Too much is said, too little is said. It is a never ending cycle that will not stop unless the world stops. Is that a choice or an inclination? For some, for others it is just a fleeting thought for we must endure the world with our responsibilities, crosses to bear, and our never ending “have to’s.

Save the Last Dance?

Thoughts jumbled, mind racing. You cannot even start to wrap your mind around what in the hell is happening to you. You pick up the phone twenty times just to put it back down again, shaking your head that you even picked it up. You stop yourself by screaming into the mirror, asking what it is that you think you are doing. You look yourself dead in the eyes, asking the ultimate question- Can you do this? Is this actually something you can accomplish? You leave a trail of mass destruction behind you farther and wider than any hurricane or Tsunami ever recorded. You know you are incapable of bullshit, intolerable of closeness, yet you stand here completely vulnerable because you, the iron wall of emotions and strength have been completely obliterated. You have no idea who the person there in mirror is staring back at you, this person who has this incessant need to touch, feel, and speak to another human being. You’re the one who goes home at night to the house of chaos and closes themselves in, not to be bothered with the rest of the world. A closed book who does not need friends nor lovers, but only those who have to be involved in the life on a necessary basis. Oh unfathomable it is that you are realizing that someone has cracked that shell, that shell of harden life that has been there for so very long, as long as you can remember. You do not let people in, for that is your protection. You allow them only so far, as to keep your pieces whole and your mind intact. You do not say the words that mean so much for you do not mean them when you say them. However, you have said them and it scared the living hell out of you. Do they know that you meant it? Do they know that you do not want to take those words back, that you want them to be out there, to resonate with them, to stay with them so they know that they mean the world to at least one soul on this earth? Do they know that the insides of you are twisted in this complete and utter state of turmoil because they know that it is a such a risk loving them, for you know that it could come crashing down at any moment. That they, as you, are a complete free spirit not to be tamed, and your heart knows that at any moment the “we need to talk” conversation is right around the corner. Never have you fallen, never have you fallen for someone. You have cared, you have tripped. However, in your lifetime you have kept your balance only teetering a few times. You’re in a tail-spin of epic proportions, only holding on to the notion of “ 80”. Your heart and mind knowing what a struggle, but realizing that the wait you have had has been harder then the dance you must endure now. For now you must only hope that their dance card is not full, and that they do save the last dance for you.

My Grandmother.

Sitting on the end of the bed, watching in silence as I see the years ravage my grandmother, I seem to be humbled. This once vibrant, vivacious woman turned into a small child in such a short amount of time. How life can go from bliss to cruelty in such a swift and seemlingless movement is like watching a tornado as it skips across the plain picking and choosing its targets as if it were aiming for one in particular. Misty eyed, I talk with her hoping that some glimmer of the past or the present will rekindle some spark, some flame of hope that is buried deep within her. That somewhere the fighter that I have come to base my entire existence around will surface and once again my life will be whole. There are flickers, quick glimpses of “Wahty” there in the eyes of woman before me. I know that life is life, and this woman-this lady of grandeur has had one hell of a ride. She has seen depression, love lost-love gained and lost again. She had a marriage like no other. My grandfather, bless his soul, was not a man that many would have been able to take. A strong-willed, quick tempered Irishman who knew exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it and that was that. He was a homebody, not one to travel. However, what he did do was love my grandmother with his entire soul. There was not one shred of doubt that my grandfather loved my grandmother, for that was the ultimate romance. War-driven love, hard-working man, it was classic. Sometimes I think I see her fading into memories as I watch her eyes glass over and we lose her for a day. She has faded into the bliss of what was, and I really cannot blame her. For, how many of us can say we had the honor or the privilege to love or to be loved in such a manor, even if it was for just a short amount of time. For when we are frail and ailing, how many of us will be able to lose ourselves in the memories to escape from the hell of getting old? I can only hope that someday, when I sit in the place of my “Wahty”, that maybe, just maybe…I can hold onto the few memories I do have of little rooms and late afternoons and fade away to that far off place where nothing hurts and your always loved. My grandmother, no matter how she is or will be become, will always be “Wahty” and I thank God everyday that I was lucky enough to have her.

Can it be?

We get out of bed, turn on the water and start the motions of the day. We take our actions for granted each and ever day it seems, realizing that there is never going to be a time where we stop and say “ enough is enough” and try to recapture the essence of what it was that we thought we were or could have been. Or, is there? Is there going to come a point that we all just throw up our hands and figure out that it is going to be enough, that we are going to get to stand along that fence line with the smile that we seemed to have misplaced so very long ago? I can say that I have found that smile escaping from my lips as of late. How, it seems to be a miracle, and still a bit perplexing. However, even in its peculiarity, it is escaping. Is it the new adventure that I have started, possibly? Could it be that I have finally ended where I started somewhere in the vicinity of thirteen years ago, probably. Or, is it just the fact that life is just life and I have come to terms with the fact that I am my mother’s daughter and that I better just sit back and make some damn good lemonade with that bundle of lemons that I have been thrown?