Hello, Bright Sun

This one's short - I'm getting dressed to head to the Ren Fest this morning!

Next weekend, the Fair ends for the year, and while it's been a blast, I won't be sorry to see it end.

I woke this morning to the Sun, peeking through K's living room window. When I stay here, I sleep on a futon mattress on the floor behind the couch, which you might think would cripple me (touchy back, you know?), but doesn't, and I like it because it's a bit like sleeping in a cave or Gypsy wagon or...I dunno...but it's comfortable.

I've had too little sleep for too many nights, so when I sleep well, it's a blessing. Last night, when I finally went to bed, I slept wonderfully...if not long enough. I need months more. Or at least, a few hours.

So there was the Sun, peeping through the window, almost apologetic, "I beg your pardon, Daughter Mine, but it's time to wake up and get moving. Time to join the Dance of the Day, the Waltz of the Hours, to sing and laugh and Be..."

He touched my foot with a gentle ray, smiled softly, and waited. When I squinted up at him and made to roll over, I swear...he winked. I figured I'd get up before he escalated - in a rise-and-shine situation, it's best not to test the Sun.

Hello, bright sun...beautiful, bright sun...thanks for the kindly waking.

Say What?

Another fun post about what brought people to Shade and Sweetwater...and while I was looking at these stats I noted you've come and visited over ten-thousand times in my short eighteen months - which may not mean much to the big-time bloggers, but to me? Holy carp!! Right, on with the fun...

Renaissance kiss lips fair: so renaissance doesn't like to kiss red lips, then, or tan ones...

Shade for dogs: plant a tree - it not only provides shade, but a place for dogs to...erm...you know...

Metaphysical meaning inchworm: Wow...I'm not touching this one with a ten foot...erm...worm...

What not to wear kissing wench: umm...anything that chaffs??

Kidney bob dead: I'm so sorry...poor Kidney Bob...he was one of the "fun with anatomy" Muppets, but he was always a little bitter about how much attention Testes Pete got.

Centrifugal skidmarks: What the heck did I write that would bring a hit on that? Seriously?? I may never write again...

After

Last night, I stood outside while talking on the phone.

A storm had rolled in - they'd been coming and going all day - and hunkered down in our hills. Brief strobes of lightning turned the piled-up-cotton-clouds peach, blue, and white, and thunder rolled around and around, my ears sipping and savoring the sound like auditory wine with a fine bouquet, something subtle, yet powerful, with hints of peace, summer, and potential in the afterglow.

The rain began to fall, a few plinks at first, building to a crescendo of rushing, downward falling waters. I stood in it, listening to the voice on the other side while the rain washed me, blessed me, touched my face with searching fingers and tapped my arms, head, bare feet in a kind of cool, wet, Morse.

I stood in it and listened to the voice, that good voice, that was under another, yet same, sky, his with moon peeking shyly down, and felt myself in two places, present in both, while the rain washed me.

It didn't last long, the downpour, just enough to give everything a good wetting and please the trees, the morning glory vines, the green and growing things. The clouds cracked open and hatched out the deep, dark, star feathered sky above my head, and I stared up and breathed in the damp air, the night around me, the light and the dark and the thunder still bumbling along its way.

Today, it's is well after the storms, and if you look outside, take a breath, feel the lightness of the air as it places a friendly hand on your arm, brushing you with a tiny breeze, you can tell it's after.

After the rain, it's all clean. No pollen, no dust, no copper tang, no weighty matters lingering, just clean. The sky is the blue you know so well, the blue of movies and television and paintings, deep, deeper, deepest, three-dimensional blue. Sharp blue, savory, I want to drink deep of this sky and quench my thirst with it.

In the woods, the leaves flutter, excited, new washed and delighted to find themselves brilliant, sun-dappled, cleansed. The rustle and whisper, shimmy and sigh, turn this way and that, admiring the occasional glint of sun from an unshed droplet.

The hawk is calling out, keeya, keeya, keeya, telling her own tales of the woods, the storm, the wet, the blue. Keeya, keeya, keeya, she calls, come and see what I have found, come and listen to what I am saying, come and feel the blood pounding in your ears and the wind in your face, and the wild stirring in your soul, keeya, keeya, keeya, come and fly, fly, fly with me.

After the storm, everything is more itself, as though the watering down actually made a distillate of Life, the Universe, and Everything.

Worth enduring, these storms, for the After.

Reaching Beyond

When I was a child, truly a child, I was deeply hurt by...events in my life. I won't go into what, or who, or why here, because that isn't the point. The point is, like any child, I reached into my resilience, bounced as best I could, and continued on with the business of life.

I've know heartache since those first deep wounds to the soul. I've known what it is to be infatuated and rebuffed, to think I loved and be denied, to long, to yearn for, something more than my solitary existence. I had to learn to look beyond, to reach beyond, what I knew. I had to find Faith, to find Hope, and cleave to them.

I always thought I would be married forever - that, although I carefully wrote my vows to say "...as long as love lasts..." and not "...as long as you both shall live...", I would not have to remind myself of that...clause. I thought...I hoped...that love would see us through the difficulties I knew were ours to face...if only because I have known depression, deep and abiding, for so long, I know what it throws at a relationship.

I have had to reach beyond the darkness, strive for the light, even if it was only the grey, uncertain light of level days and not the brightness of joy.

I've never broken my word - not once. I so rarely give it, and only when I am certain it can be kept. I do not take vows, oaths, lightly. I have had to reach beyond endurance to keep from becoming an oathbreaker, but I have managed...and I'm alive because of it.

I do not lie unless it is for the greater good. I won't lie to save myself a little grief...it stings my honor. I have had to reach deep into trust and love, hoping that they would help soften truth when I could not bring myself to speak untrue.

Tonight...technically, last night, I found another beyond. I found the place beyond love that is cold, dead, and unyielding. I went beyond endurance to a place where I cannot bring myself to care that my actions, my words, may wound and wound deeply, because my need for solace was greater than my need to be compassionate, forgiving, loving.

I am beyond tired of defending my honor at every turn because of a suspicious mind. I am beyond tired of defending my honor as I am called (direct or intimated, makes no difference to me) liar, cold-hearted, uncaring.

I am beyond tired of being blamed for what my heartfelt words have become, have engendered, have inspired.

Weary to the bone, to the heart of my soul, weary beyond all endurance, weary of T lashing out at me because he misread, misunderstood, misinterpreted...I reached beyond my here and now and asked for...contact.

Asked for and received.

I asked a friend to call, to speak, to reassure and give me an anchor point. Without hesitation, he answered, spoke, reassured, anchored - reached beyond his own needs and answered mine.

And now?

Now, I am reaching beyond reason, feeling my way blindly down roads never travelled, cloaked in darkness...reaching beyond guilt, blame, recriminations, anger, sorrow, and regret. I am done. I am reaching beyond, and believing...believing that I will find what I am reaching for.

The Hammer Struck Three Blows

Last week, I was in Mass, at Camp Hi-Rock (oh, my goodness, it's a beautiful place!!), with a few hundred other pagans. The event was awesome, in so many ways thought provoking and uplifting. It was hilly, required a lot of walking, a lot of awareness of surroundings, gave plenty of opportunity for introspection.

Introspection and interaction.

Can't be in a remote campground for five days with several hundred people and not interact...even if it is huge site.

I had quite a few conversations, most of them light, desultory chit-chat, but three of them struck me to the core.

The first was with a woman who mentioned that her life was good, now, in part because she loved and was loved in equal measure for the first time in her life. Out of the blue, she mentioned this. It was a hammer blow to the heart. I had to follow her back to her booth and talk to her about...well...what was churning in my mind, in my gut. I told her my story, and she smiled so sweetly, so gently, and told me I was telling her once-upon-a-time...and now she's happy...so very happy...

The second was with a woman who was on the other side of the coin - she loved her husband, but he stopped loving her. It was a hammer blow to the heart. I had to speak to her, to learn her story. It hurt, she said, to know she loved him and he did not reciprocate, but she knew it wasn't any way to model a marriage, to model love, for her child. She is with a man who loves her, now. She's happy - happier than she'd thought she could ever be. So is he. They raise their daughter together, make decisions together, and are happy.

The third was with a man who shared our cabin. We talked about how differently people receive love, and how some people don't believe they deserve to be loved, to be happy, can't accept it. It was a hammer blow to the heart. He said everyone deserves love, even when they don't believe it. If only they could learn to accept the loving, they could know what it is to be joyful. I couldn't speak to him, only listen as my poor organ, the center of loving, shattered and fell in pieces before me.

The hammer struck three blows, and my stone heart was turned to dust.

What do you do?

I am home. Home. There's a word full of meaning.

Here at Casa de Crazy, we have been experiencing a full load of chaos, stress, and distress. I haven't written about most of it, because...why?

I teach a communications class at the track. The first thing I tell novice communicators is "Remember to breathe, oxygen is your friend." and then "Don't call the incident in until it's finished. Then, take a breath and key the microphone. You won't lose anything by doing that, and you'll be able to make a full report."

Good advice for life, too, it seems. Let things finish...breath...then key the mic, write the post.

So.

What's been going on here?

A marriage has been disintegrating.

It's nobody's fault, really. Or ever one's. I don't know. Mostly I think it's my fault, really.

For the last five years, I've struggled to hold onto it...to be a good wife, a good mother, to ride out what felt like some very rough, very lonely seas, hope for smoother sailing. I can't any more.

I am physically, emotionally, and spiritually exhausted.

I don't love my husband. Not romantically. Not the way a wife should. Something inside me broke, a while back, and I can't fix it.

Goddess knows, I've tried...

But you can't force love. I care deeply for him, although I think I may have given him cause to doubt that. I don't want him to go away, although I think he doubts that, too. I want him to be here for our son...but I can't pretend, any more, that I'm fine, that we're fine, that everything is fine.

I have no idea where to go from "I can't be your wife any more..."

What do you do when you wake up one morning and realize that you don't want to be married any more? What do you do when you realize that you don't have a choice, that love or no love, there's a child who needs his family to be whole? You suck it up and try very hard not to let the cracks show. You try to carry on, make repairs, fix it without letting on that it's broke.

Maybe you carry on for years. You try and try, and blame yourself, and hate yourself because you can't be the wife a good man deserves. You swallow your angry words, your disappointment, grip them in your teeth, chew them into fine powder and swallow them down. You wonder what the Hell is wrong with you, that you can't reciprocate. You don't tell him all the little things that drive you buggy, that help the erosion along. You try very hard to see the good, the beautiful, the joyful, and stuff the rest into your closet.

And maybe you manage, for a while, to keep it going.

But then...

What do you do when you wake up one day, years later, and realize that you've been deeply unhappy for a long time? What do you do when you realize that you are missing something you need ? Something at the root, something necessary? And it's...gone...

What do you do when you've told your husband this, and he asks if there's someone else? Accuses you of it, in fact...and calls you a liar...when all you've done is keep your word despite your pain, and been honest with him (if only lately) about that missing something?

And then...and then you DO meet someone...who makes you think...and wonder...and hope...

What do you do when you won't break your word, your vows, not matter that it costs you your own happiness?

Apparently...you break your marriage instead...all the while cursing yourself for a fool for not forcing yourself to love the man who loves you...or faking it, because if you're the only one who's unhappy, what does it matter?

What do you do?

Autopilot

I'm headed home.

I'm on auto-pilot, because long drives do that to me - if I'm driving, my mind unhitches itself from everything but my reflexes and begins to wander. I feel like I'm gliding along, floating just above the surface and flowing with the Great Traffic Current along the Tarmac River.

If I'm riding, I am trying not to doze, drift, fall into a deep, hypnotic trance and finally abandon the driver to their own thoughts while I sleep an odd, dreamless sleep that will cling to me long after waking.

Tomorrow, catching up, unpacking, cleaning, posting, reading e-mail, reconnecting to Mundania.

I've missed you.

Remembering

Photo found here and copied entirely without permission but not without respect.

I don't know if anyone I knew and loved fell in battle, but many of my family have served their country in the various branches. My brother was in the Army, but thankfully got out when yet another gopher hole tried to eat his ankle. Don't ask. My Uncle was in the Air Force, even flying Air Force Two for a while. My Grandfather was in the Coast Guard during World War II. I have a cousin in the Air Force. I have a friend who was in the Army during the Vietnam War (conflict, my ass!) - I never once resented the calls at three-o'clock in the morning; nightmares shy away from friendly voices, from reason and reassurance. Another friend was in the Army until it broke his back - literally. He survived, but not his plans for a lifetime in the military - they don't want broken people, no matter how useful or clever they are.

For a history of this day, go here. Or here. Or here. In a nutshell, Memorial Day is for remembering the fallen. Veteran's Day is for honoring the living. That's why they get two days, and so they should. Men and women stand up and make targets of themselves to maintain our freedoms every day of the year, so the least we can do is take two days to tell them "Thanks. Thanks for acting against human nature and protecting me and mine. Thanks for losing an arm, a leg, a life so that I don't have to."

It's not about the politics. I'm non-violent. I don't think war is ever a reasonable response to conflict. I won't forget, though, that people have laid down their lives so that I may stand on a street corner protesting (I never would) them, or denigrating (never, ever!) them for their service.

Perhaps one day, we won't have any new graves to decorate. Until then, I remember and (as best I can) I honor.

Father Fill Me

One of the somewhat new songs the band has been performing is called "Father Fill Me", and it's a song for/about the God. I wrote it in '07 and we began singing it last year. It's got a pounding, driving beat and it's becoming one of my favorites.

Since I'm at an event celebrating Spring/Summer, times more dedicated to the sun, heat, passion, the God, I thought it appropriate to post it here this week.

Sorry I don't have audio for this - just the words...for now...

Chorus:
Father fill me with your light
Heat, and power, joy and wisdom
Father fill me with your light
Burn in me, burn in me

Stag in the wood, king of the forest
Powerful, proud and strong
Mighty lord, with horns crowned
Spirit thund’ring through the trees

Chorus

Hawk in the sky, king on the wind
Keen eyed, swift, and sure
Graceful lord, feather crowned
Spirit soaring through the clouds

Chorus

Phoenix in the fire, king of the flame
Flick’ring, flaring, and glowing
Smold’ring lord, with fire crowned
Spirit burning in the night

Chorus

Salmon in the river, king of the water
Graceful, gentle, and wise
Shining lord, with scales crowned
Spirit glinting through the depths

Chorus

What Say You?

What Say You?

How Does Her Garden Grow?

Not at all, to be honest.

I had the best of intentions - I was going to plant cucumbers, if nothing else, but Spring got away from me.

It's probably all for the best, though - with all the travelling I've been doing, the poor things wouldn't have stood a chance.

When spent the summers on Martha's Vineyard with Dad, Stepmum, and Stepmum's family, we had a huge garden. Well, her father did, anyway. I miss those days, but I had it easy - all I had to do was harvest veggies and remember to bring the compost over in the evening.

I would head down to the shore with a pig's foot and some string, fish up some blue crabs, dig 'taties from the garden, maybe cut some asparagus, gather salad greens, and dinner was on. It doesn't get any fresher than that, folks.

I believe in fresh, whole, as close to source as one can get foods. I believe in them...but I don't eat them as often as I could. Last year taught me one thing - I'm not ready for a full-on garden and its attendant issues yet, but I hope to be, soon.

There's something wonderful about growing one's own food. I don't know that I'll ever butcher my own meat again, but fruits and veg? I can do that...eventually.

How wonderful it would be to can my own jams and jellies, preserves, vegetables, relishes, see the jars lined up on shelves, glass pillars filled with beautiful jewels from the earth...

Oh, well...some day...

What Say You?

Rites of Spring

Off we go, K and me, to the wilds of Massachusetts, for Rites of Spring. We've loaded her van to the gills, fired up the iPods, and gotten nowhere near enough sleep the night before a day-long drive. Yep, we're set.

I am a tad concerned about one thing, though - no Internet for a week. Yes, a whole week. I know! How will I survive?? How can I make it through the day without knowing what's going on in the Blue Nowhere, Blogopolis, my little alleyway of weirdness in Cyber Space??

Y'all are part of my daily life - I start my day with you, kind of like a giant, wordy, electronic cup of coffee, only better.

Also, I will have a ton of reading to catch up on when I get home - unless it's a slow blog week, but I read upwards of two-dozen blogs a day, so even a slow week means a huge lot of posts to enjoy...which is a good thing, because I will be going through serious withdrawal on this trip!

Still - I'll be among fellow pagans, in the woods, doing...well...honestly, I bet I sleep, read, and crochet a lot, but between times I'll be in the woods being a witch, feeding my spirit and probably wondering how I can get away more often and also how to genetically modify trees to provide Internet service.

Meanwhile, I think I need to win the lottery and buy and air card, or suffer through Internet Deprivation Syndrome until I get home.

What Say You?

The sign reads "If ye think my berries are big, wait 'til you see my banana!"

Home, Home of the Strange

Back home we go.

Home, where the giant ants scurry across the Pergo, intent upon their business and probably wondering where all the giant, thundering, ant-smashing feet have gone. Or, you know, not, because they're ants.

Home to three cats who have probably been sleeping in the middle of the bed thinking "This is the life!" Although, I bet they miss curling up against their humans when we sleep.

Home to a mad rush of laundry, cooking, grocery shopping, pre-blogging, and generally prepping for my trip to Mass (yes, this time I mean the state) and some serious down time.

But first, we have to survive the return trip...

Mad About...

...heh...well, when it comes to crazy, I believe we've got the variety plate covered.

I adore this song...



Heading home...long weekend, long week coming...but life is beautiful, the Music is pulling me this way and that, and I feel a Song a-comin'. I hope it's a good one.

Mass, Turtles, and Ice Cream, in One Post

We survived the mass. It was...erm...Catholic. Really, really Catholic. And I got a little peeved at the priest, truth be told, because he intimated several times that Aunt D wouldn't make it to heaven without prayers of intercession...and I loved her and considered her a wonderful person who more than answered the criteria for a pass through the gate. I actually thought "How dare he!"

Also, for some reason, when he mentioned that whole "I am the resurrection and the life..." part where Christ said people would never die? Yeah, umm...I thought "epic fail!" and nearly giggled. I managed not to, but it was a close one.

It was even harder when I noticed that the Christ on the crucifix was doing the Nixon peace-fingers thing while hanging up there...good grief...

I got a real workout, all that stand and sit and stand and sing and sit and pray and kneel and stand and sing and stand some more...whew.

We went to Uncle T's house after, met a number of folks, talked about Aunt D and how she could piss off my grandmother like a champ, and hold her own with my grandfather, and her time as a Brannif (sp?) stewardess, and her life and how well she lived it. It was nice.

After a while, I felt like it was time to go...probably because Bird wanted to swim in the pool and I didn't want him in there with no adults, sooo...we hugged and good-byed and promised to keep in touch...and maybe we will. I know I'll e-mail Uncle T, anyway.

We changed into casual things and headed to a turtle rehab center nearby with Aunt A (Mum's sister) and Cousin K (Aunt A's daughter). It was cool - they had a sort of museum room with shells, fossils, and turtle lore, and then outside were tanks with recovering turtles. Some of them were up for adoptions. We adopted one:

His name's Carlisle - isn't he cute? He's freakin' huge - the picture doesn't do him justice...I have a ton of photos of different turtles, but that's a post for another time.

We drove back towards the hotel, but decided to stop for ice cream. When I was a kid and we lived down here, we'd spend the whole day at the beach, out in the sun, in the water...and on the way home we'd get ice cream, and try to eat it before it melted all over us. The car windows were open because we didn't have A/C, and we'd get splattered by the droplets of melt-off as we rode and licked like mad.

This time, we ate inside the shop. It was Bird's first real cone, so of course I took pictures! This one was my favorite:

But I have many more, and...again...it's a post for another time.

Interspersed with all this hilarity are thoughts of my Uncle and cousins, of their loss and sorrow. I wish I could tell them what I know - that she made it through the gate and is raising hell up there, joking with Papa (my grandfather) and grinning like a fiend (she had a marvelous smile). I know she misses my Uncle - you could tell how much they loved each other when you looked at the pictures. Any time she was near him in a photo, she was grinning like a Cheshire Cat. I am worried about how he will miss her...and I hope that he'll look to the people still here, still loving him, when he feels low...

Meanwhile, life goes on, we honor the dead by living, and I intend to figure out what I need to do to smile like Aunt D did, love life like she did, and get on with it.

Mass Panic

Can't talk, going to mass.

Yep.

The witch is going to mass.

I can hear you laughing from here.

I'll let you know if I make it out alive.

Meanwhile...



G'bye, Aunt D...may you come swift 'round the spiral and return to we who loved you in this life and will love you in the next as well.

Music That Speaks

I know you know a song or three that speaks, either to or for you.

Yeah, me too.

I first heard this song on the Batman Forever sound track (by Eddi Reader), and found it lovely and poignant.

What songs give voice to your inner workings?