The air here is stagnant. Although temperatures have been in the 90s, I think it’s lack of movement that makes it feel stuffy and stale. Not so much the heat. On days like this, I ask, “Why am I still here?” Asked of Whoever Is Listening. No response. I’ve outlived my mother’s lifespan by several years. And my bio-father’s by even more. It’s not moroseness spurring the question, but curiosity, prompted by an experience from long ago.
That long-ago day probably started as most of my days did back then. I’ve no recollection of the morning. Morning wasn’t the memorable…
Truth needs to be served up, raw and cold and clear, whether it is about racism or the dark side of modern economics or the environment or any of another host of issues. And this is not only “a helpful suggestion.” Due to the laws of synchronicity, it is a command from the universe. Truth is saying, “Ready or not, I’m coming.”
In the midst of most lost,
I feel myself found.
Quelling fears for my cost,
I let go of the ground.
“Take me,” I say,
And unchained, float away. …
The phrase “adding insult to injury” has been much on my mind of late. It’s one I’ve heard as long as I can recall. But never gave much thought to.
Recent thoughts began with the death of one of our cats. The younger, Potter, barely 2-years-old, didn’t come home one night. She was an indoor-outdoor cat. During warm months, mostly the latter. But had never before stayed out all night.
At first, we didn’t know what had happened. People responded to posted flyers, saying they had spotted a cat, late night, lying curbside. We went to look; but by that…
I was cast as Miss Amelia, the lead in Edward Albee’s adaptation of Carson McCullers’ The Ballad of the Sad Café. To be performed environmentally in a local pub-with-food place. Actors and audience would be seated elbow-to-elbow, sharing small tables. And Miss Amelia would barely exit, throughout.
About a week before opening I got sick. So ill, I dared not drive. A cast-mate had to pick me up for rehearsals. Then maybe three days before opening, he drove me to the doctor. “Flu,” was the verdict. Doc prescribed an antibiotic. Oddly. I’d always heard they couldn’t help with flu. But…
Whenever I’m faced with a choice, one question guides me: Which of my options gives me something to work with?
My hope is that there is some underlying purpose to all that is transpiring. Some purpose to our national nightmare. And within that hope is where I choose to live. It’s not a matter of believing, “This is so.” I don’t know what is, or isn’t, so. It’s a matter of how I choose to live: In despair or in hope.
Despair throws up its hands and says, “What’s the point? Give it all up.” I can’t work with that…
If you wonder, as many do, how we got to this place in the U.S., here’s how I see it:
Probably in that order.
I once moved into a house I’d be sharing with two others. Karla, already in residence. Charles, set to move in a couple months later. Karla, whose name was on the lease, was mostly in charge.
Prior to my move-in, she told me: I’m set up in this downstairs bedroom. I figure you can take the room across from mine. And since Charles keeps different hours than we do, he…
In each of us is another whom we do not know. He speaks to us in dreams and tells us how differently he sees us from the way we see ourselves.
~~ Carl Jung ~~
The Outlaw Cummins picks up a tiny tarnished object from the ground and places it in my hand. “Cummins’ Coin” reads the inscription.
“Have you ever read The Sword of Sulu?” asks the outlaw.
“No,” I answer, deciding not to add, “I barely read.”
“It says that, in a dream, when you call an actor by his character name, it signifies a role you’re playing…
It’s said that a person’s nose and ears keep growing throughout their lifetime. I haven’t noticed that. But one continuously growing thing I have noticed: Eyebrows. Mine are becoming prehensile. Soon, they’ll be able to swing me through trees. I’m not Andy Rooney. Yet. Not inspiration for a Halloween costume, as his brows were in 2011. Or a love song on Broadway (in 2015). But give me time. Plus, mine are dark. Ergo, less likely to fade out of dimly-lit sight.
My brows have grown wild, with a mind … and purpose … of their own. And dammit, I like…
Feet on the ground. Head in the clouds. The world dances around us. We, focused on other matters, see not.