meandering

An interesting essay that I read yesterday:
www.commondreams.org/archive/2007/03/27/105/

posted by: behindtheblink at 17:11 | link | comments (1) |

After beginning with Skydaughter, I took a short leave and then created my second blog Maelstrom.  Along with Maelstrom I made an incognito blog known only to one friend.  Both are now gone with the wind and now I'm back Meandering in mo'time.  I have an ongoing debate with myself as to why I chose to disappear and delete everything on my blogs of the past. 

I entertain two theories:  1) I like to travel light, don't want the weight of my words on my back and don't want to leave a trail of stuff in my wake.  Years ago, I concluded that a journal just made me feel too egocentric and tended to inflate issues beyond their true size and scope, or  2) I am indeed a flaky person who doesn't do well with going the distance.  Meaning I like to run away sometimes.   Since creating this latest blog, I decided I would not delete any more blogs.  You can start over only so many times before you must ask yourself WTF you're doing here. 

It's not one of life's burning issues, but probably says a lot about me if only I could figure out what that is.  It's not as though I said anything more embarrassing on the previous blogs than I've said here.

A third theory could be considered based on the fact that I questioned myself from time to time about the usefulness of owning and operating a blog.  How much does it contribute to the quality of my life and mind?  Does it give me an all too easy mode of escape from other parts of my life?  Do I expect too much satisfaction from blogging?  Can I learn to blog in the right spirit?  What is the right spirit?  How much do I give away, how much do I keep hidden?  Can I successfully bite my tongue when I ought to?  This I slipped up on yesterday . . . but I won't crucify myself for it.

I will keep this blog.  If I need to get away, I can get away without killing the blog.

posted by: behindtheblink at 15:10 | link | comments (3) |

Re-reading that last post, I didn't like the nice spin I tried to attach to our forced time together.  Yeah, some good comes out of it, but at a heavy price.  Rather than edit it, I prefer to say "yecch!"   It's not nearly so sanitized and neat as I made it sound. 

posted by: behindtheblink at 14:28 | link | comments (2) |

welcome to the blaaaahhhg...

There is no lack of emotional and real happenings in my life right now but rather a lack of inclination to splatter my guts about just now.  In the midst of this upheaval and momentous shift, I've yet to arrive at the time when I can grasp its full import, begin to grieve, and most importantly start to heal and rest.  Practical concerns compel me to stay put in what feels like suspended animation or suspended frustration.   On  the other hand, I see things of value rising from the ashes that could not have done so had I been free to flee this painful situation when I felt like it.   There is time together to come to terms, to accept, to understand more, to vent a little, to love in a changed way, to share our individual and separate hopes and plans for the future.   Nevertheless, this is difficult and heavy shit.  

Last night I dreamt of rolling, green hills.  I was in a car with him and he was driving.  In our dream conversation, I stole longing glances at the green, rolling hills dotted with trees while listening to him talk, not wanting him to notice that my heart and mind were somewhere else.  This pretty much sums up my situation:  enclosed together in a small space, moving but not going where I want to go, trying to attend to his voice but longing to leave the car and race across the hills to some safe and restful place.  Forever.

posted by: behindtheblink at 11:56 | link | comments (4) |

Do not speak - unless it improves on silence.
(a Buddhist saying)

posted by: behindtheblink at 13:20 | link | comments (5) |

posted by: behindtheblink at 15:19 | link | comments (2) |

I try to write but can't put anything together without deleting it.  I can't read these days.  Ending this, this way, is not a funeral, not a wake, not a memorial service.  An odd, mad play played by two to an empty house.  Seventeen years and we are finished.  I tell you for the umpteenth time, something died in the last act.   Yes, it died and I buried the poor bloody thing.  Okay, once more let's go over it again and I'll tell you again.  No, don't go dig it up.  It's not alive.  It can no longer laugh, dance, dream or hope.  Let it be. 

For a moment there's calm.  I take deep breaths to gather strength for the coming scene where you ask again the same questions.   I watch your turns on the stage in weird and shifting light.  Pained by the contortions of your face, I sigh and look away.  Props, props, makeup, scenery.  Compelled to stay onstage until all the props are gone, no more makeup, scenery vanished.  We are responsible.  The show must not go on but the story must be wrapped up, trimmed of loose ends, the stage cleared away and left clean as though nothing had ever happened here. 

posted by: behindtheblink at 05:03 | link | comments (4) |

posted by: behindtheblink at 09:32 | link | comments (3) |

what can compare with a roomy house hugged by a wraparound porch nestled in the woods awaiting spring?  many things, i'm sure . . . but this sounds good to me right now.

posted by: behindtheblink at 04:39 | link | comments (2) |

went to bear cave saw the bones.  fifteen thousand years ago after the earthquake -  trapped in the cave they started eating each other.  trapped in the darkness drip drip drip statues of golden hued stalagmites stood coldly by unaware unconcerned.  the rear guide took me aside and gave me a sample of the stalagtite pipe tones.  he used something to strike it struck it with care. i can't recall  what he used but it was a nice extra as the group was well ahead.  bone litter tells a tale was it 146?  brothers mothers mates children rivals trapped and forced to eat to live to live in the darkness and wait for the end.  how long did their unnatural end drag out?  noxious fear spread filling all the great halls the slippery inclines tight passages sleeping alcoves hidden places.  did some of them return to the mouth now blocked and make desperate attempts to find the way out?  hunger and fear.  will to live.  the uncontrollable will to live.

posted by: behindtheblink at 11:25 | link | comments (2) |