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September 28, 2008

red clay

I don't think I was present for most of my childhood. I always seem to believe that I have a good memory. Except for that I can barely remember anything.

Christine remembered that I like red clay. Its true. I'd never think of having a preference, it was weird to have it acknowledge; truer than I knew. I was telling her about trying to find a place to live and how I don't feel like I've ever had a place to live. I was thinking about all my stuff in boxes, or somewhere other than where I am, or in a pile, or being thrown around. And I said, "my things are always being thrown around". I was thinking about Mollie and how she said I'd be better off if I took care of my things. And--in a flash--I remembered that I used to like blown glass.

I would beg for blown glass at Disneyland, or whatever, or buy it at the glass show. I was running on the tredmill nest to Christine, seeing the tacky purple and clear of the 80's and the waxy opaque of the 40's, and having the visceral memory of having "my stuff thown around". And maybe I don't remember collecting, because, what wasn't broken, mostly was chipped. And I didn't want it broken. so I threw it away. And I also remember the heaviness of my bedroom furniture. the too thick and too dark wood. And that is why I have always been mad at Mollie. Yes---If only I took better care of my things....

It could also be true that I learned to not respect my things in that way. To not care, because it eventually will go. But mostly the response was just to keep going with whatever is still standing. And I truly believed that was normal. I remember the first time mollie bitched me out. She was criticizing my driving. She had directed me to turn down an ally to get to her place sooner. From her direction, I understood where I was trying to get, so I went around the block. The ally was too dark for me. She criticized me for wasting time, but we weren't even in a hurry. I told her it didnt matter, and she said my driving was always poor. I'm sure this is true. We took a driving trip once through the desert and she didnt bring her glasses so she couldnt do any of the driving. but she told me where to go.

Im starting to wonder that maybe my stuff gets broken--not because I need to take better care of it--but because someone threw it against the wall. That maybe my actions need to be more about getting my stuff my heart, whatever, away from people who don't hold it right.

I woke up this morning somehow shifted. For the first time in a while, not angry. Softened to Camilla and Ashley. Understanding something somehow and somehow compassion. There is somehow compassion in the ability to chose. the right to leave what doesnt feel good and find what does. I think so many people think that's impossible. something feeling good. So they try to control people who are unapologetically what they are. Stupid, blind, Imperfect and still going. Mollie never seemed comfortable with my emotions. and that's okay. We all choose the size of the world we live in and its rules.

Today, I somehow woke up to the mist I used to wake to. And memory of smells. and it just was. And to the anger so gently spread in little bits that it is no one's fault to hold it all; not even mine. And a softness that could be so easily smashed by any of those I softened to. So I need to stay away.

A few weeks ago, Jodi said she wondered what happened to all the money people owed. where is it floating? where does it go? That was after and Christian finally succeeded in taking so much, and all there was to do was let go. I know the same question has been asked a million times before in regard to socks. And I wondered it today in terms of people. Where does that love go? The love I had for Aaron--was it an illusion all along? did it disappear? Or Ashley; I listened to a song she used to play in class. Or the last time I was in New York and it was good, or watching movies on a laptop in mollies twin bed. where does it go.

Im sure you remember many places that no longer exist as though you could go there now. My mom's house. My grandma's house. Somehow Marisa's particular rooms stick in my mind, my grand aunts house in idaho that my uncle built. and its built basement and the smell of the room where I read the myth book when I was four. Stacy's car. As though you could just go back there now. And everything would be in place and everyone would be there. These places certainly exist somewhere.

And what about the things I dont remember? where do they go, till they come back in pieces? A lot has come up lately. I watched a movie about rape and how it scares away your spirit animal and how you have to show the village the heart of the predator in order for your animal to come back. And I cried because I knew the feeling of losing my spirit animal and losing the village and not being able to bring back the heart.

These things live somewhere that we can accidentally step back into. in invisible rivers or cycles that come back around. Where all the sudden you remember you get told you clay preference has been that way since you were 8 and you used to collect glass. and that some people where not what they seemed, and some people were more what they seemed than you could let yourself look at.

September 07, 2008


The last few times I've been asked my name, I had the impulse to answer something else.

Misty disappeared and may have been a spirit cat. but that would be weird because other people saw her too. Angela thought she might have to put her to sleep, but didn't know quite what to do. Maybe the cat had come to her so that she could...do what needed to be done. Son shouldn't be around a sick cat. We talked about it and I made tomato sauce. Son played with the plastic lid of a water bottle for 2 hours. I left and came back and he was still playing with it. I said, "oh, to be a cat...endlessly amused with a water bottle cap" and angela said she was thinking that also. but then I realized that we are like that. Only with a more complicated and abstract water bottle cap. We had been batting around angst for hours.

Alexithymia is when you don't have words for feelings. I felt that way for a long time. so I just stopped talking. Some people think it has to do with pre-verbal trauma. That powerful events that shaped your matrix for feeling happened before you had words. If nothing else, birth trauma---so, everyone has some. And probably death trauma as well. Under the surface, or floating above: the sense of unspeakable unknown. Our existence and non-existence. Some people get stuck there--in everything that doesnt have words.

After Alexithymia comes sublimation and projection...that is, if we are not simply paralyzed. we function by finding reasons for the feelings on the tips of our tongue. An explaination. A container for a fear that would be there anyways, but everyone has a symbol they then can avoid.And smaller---even minute to minute: Am I stressed out because I have all this stuff to do...or do I have all this stuff to do because I am stressed out?

maybe I *manifested* stressful things because I was tuned in to a stressful vibration. Or that my stressed out nervous system is looking for resolution from a long past stressful event: amp up again, fall apart, get hurtwhatever. maybe this time will be different.

regardless where it comes from, the feeling is real.... and even when we think we know the reason for what we feel, we are mistaken, or its just a piece. I gave angela permission to yell at aaron, because when I walked in, he was eating my honey with a spoon from a jar and there was avocado peel in the trash. Later, I discovered that it wasn't my avocado....there were others...so I wrote a note apologizing. Really I was angry because the other stuff he had let me down on. That we were probably going to lose the garden and for the bag of eggplants I gave him and he let rot. And for Christian who disrespected me everyday and had no way to understand what it was or how it hurt. It came down to a feeling of violation and no power. But it wasn't my avocado, so I shouldn't have accused him, but then I saw that he had eaten my cheese. Raw cheese, that he probably couldnt even tell the difference from other cheese. That would have lasted me two weeks, and he probably didn't even chew. And it was true: it seems that things are often taken by people who cannot understand the value of what it was.

But it didn't even matter, two days later, that whole world went away. But I keep asking it for justice. Such betrayal and loss again and again it seemed, but this time actually realized, NO its not me. That's fucked up. But why even bother. they cant hear. maybe I used to lose my voice, it was because I wouldnt stop talking to people who couldn't hear. So I told my mom I was angry, and brushed hard past Ashley. no safety and no home.

And all this present history came after I noticed that time was real. That time is not an illusion or a construct, it is a line right now, between everything that happened before and everything that hasn't happened yet. And that presence is standing at the edge of a cliff and truly seeing the void.

I heard that the decision to become a healer changes your chart. But probably any choice that is believed in and heard. Stepping out of karma, not in the sense of "no action". but in the uncoupling of past and future, the most important action of
the conscious choice
that now is not then.

In April, I saw a well renown psychic. He gave me what I needed to hear in order to run up a mountain and find yellow flowers, and finally be hungry again. He told me to leave Camilla and we wouldn't be friends. But most else he said has been wrong.

Like everything he said, he was my karma. Projections forced upon me by that moment, sure to change. Telling the future is actually just telling the present. A description of the current lens. That's the thing---the observer. As soon as you look upon the blue print, it is changed. I saw it. it changed me. and I changed it.

So, the battle at the brink. Can I stay empty. stand there and see nothing? or do I see what I have seen so many times before. Again with only a couple of things and no place to put them, or too many things in a mess. again angry at people who could never give justice? or something else?

not determined. as soon as I saw it. it changed. ....so, what does that do to *universal law*? it means the only law is choice. and it may take a million choices to slowly choose different. But now I meditate to a blackness in front of me. not thinking that the blackness is there to conceal. letting it be
simply black. imagining my choices to be free.

But still,
there are other people playing here, too
there are calls and warnings and a now to unwind
and sometimes:
I wonder why things are so heavy. The things that I should have the strength to move:
a door,
a computer,
my legs up the stairs.