WRITING TRUTH


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Iโ€™m one of you. ย Adrift, without a direction, waiting on the shore for a wave to break and include us. It is not ho ho ho for us, it is whoa whoa whoa. Iโ€™ve learned my lesson; I will not repeat the dissonance, selfishness, and fear that prevent me from engagement with life. ย My cradle of friends is my family. They want everything to work out. For their patience and comfort, I will not let them down!

How much stronger must I be? Isnโ€™t five years of punishment enough? My smile is feigned, my heart is sliced in two, and my spirit is spoiled. Today, the darkness outside and within shatters what could be a day different. I could be outdoors, and brave the cold, work out in the gym, window shop on a whim, and fill someoneโ€™s frown with smiles.

I have the hours to transform; it is eleven am, but I havenโ€™t slept a night through in a week or more. I live a melodramatic life in my dreams; they are symbolic messages of my vulnerability, fragility, mistakes, and unrealistic expectations.  My former self lived with all I wanted and needed. I woke with enthusiasm, direction, confidence, and exhilaration. I loved and was loved in return. You ask what happened? Betrayal, and then gaslighting,  using callous actions, of destruction, emotionally, psychologically, and financially. What I cherished in him vanished, and a ghostly evil power, within another woman, chained him and locked me out.  

Now I wait for the final curtain to close so that he will be a memory instead of a menace. Almost there, but will that liberation convert my stagnation into stimulation?

Hope,  prayer, discipline, and forgiveness are the weights that build my strength. And of course writing. If I didnโ€™t have this way of expression, I couldnโ€™t have made it this far. My writing is my wand of magic, for me and I hope for you out there.  Iโ€™m one of you, an outsider, an introverted extrovert, a dreamer, a risk taker, and at the starting gate of my triple crown. To be continued.

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ON THE HOTEL ROAD OF TRAVEL THOUGHTS


The course we choose to study doesnโ€™t begin in school; it begins the moment we recognize that life is our teacher.  I chose the course of love between a man and a woman.  Yet all Iโ€™ve learned from Anais NinJoan Didion, and Lawrence Durrell about love isnโ€™t guiding me.  I have to start over and develop wisdom from my own experiences.

I checked into the third hotel, the previous one was tedious and murky. This morning in a larger room, on a crisp as iceberg lettuce, a day of clarity and stillness surrounds me. Outside my hotel room, the light is intermittent, a peak a boo stage window, the light illuminates portions of the crispy autumn leaves just before they drop. On my side of the glass, there are shadows and dissonance.ย  ย What events take place this week will be instrumental in my future and as piercing as the southwest sun when it shone in my eyes. ย ย 

This hotel’s staff is exceptionally friendly, conversant, and engaged in their jobs. Every time I pass by the guest check-in, Rose stops what sheโ€™s doing.

โ€œ Howโ€™s it going?โ€

โ€œToo early to tell.โ€ Iโ€™ve been here a week, and I unzipped my lawsuit story, so she is in the know. She is knowledgeable about the law, and living through times that are more threatening than usual.  

โ€œ Okay. What are you doing today?โ€™

โ€œ Researching moving companies. Critical thinking and planning. When I moved from Santa Fe to Los Angeles, I hired a broker, thinking it was the actual company. When the van arrived, half of my things were broken, boxes were opened, and some were stolen. So this time, no mistakes.  

โ€œ Mistakes are all about learning.โ€

โ€œ Yes, and I learned!โ€

โ€œ What did you do last night?โ€ She said with a curious smile.

โ€œ I was at the bar, Lizzie was there rousing all of us up with puzzles, a brouhaha like the old days, you know, not one of us looked at our phones.โ€

โ€œ Please, donโ€™t even start. So annoying when youโ€™re talking to someone and they are staring down at their phones.โ€

โ€œ When I was living in LA, at huge four-way intersections in the middle of traffic, pedestrians crossed without even looking up. It was the same everywhere, restaurants, shops, it struck me as a way of looking very significant.โ€

โ€œ Youโ€™re so right!โ€

โ€œ That reminds me, I need to go write a column.โ€

โ€œ Write about your lawsuit.โ€

โ€œ No! Iโ€™m in witness protection writing.โ€

โ€œ They may read it right?โ€

โ€œ You New Yorkers are always on the right key.โ€

โ€œ Gotta be, itโ€™s New York.โ€

” I’m California”.

” That’s okay, I still love you, and your day is coming, and so is a new man.”

CHANGE IS COMING


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Some of us are not rushing to wave the I made it flag. Some favor holding back until the other elements of our character life are solid; ย our fear, pettiness, falsity, greed, so many steps to climb. I have to trust in the pattern of our lives; the invisible thread that taunts us, teases us, and even torments us. I am discovering the shame and greed, the absolute indifference to my security, and finances.

Gravity has dropped, and so has my sense of structure, health, and self-discipline. Making a bed was too tedious, and grocery shopping was needless because I didnโ€™t care about food; I like tuna sandwiches with avocado and bananas for breakfast. The comfort comes from writing, cloud watching, and phone calls with friends. ย ย 

The loss of direction and ambiguity lurking in the future is a place any person can find themselves in, especially those sensitive and artistic, without a map, familiar signs, and a plan. You have to ride it all the way to a new horizon.

It is a day later; the sky is unchanged, and the cloud cover is still nailed to the sky.ย  In random conversations, I have heard of peopleโ€™s hardships, sacrifices, and compromises. ย I tell myself not to be too sentimental , but it’s a useless force, I am sentiment. Donโ€™tย open those links to real estate values, how much money you need to retire. Openย the link to redesign my interior life using new colors, textures, and backgrounds.

WINTER’S SERMON ON SOLITUDE


SOLITUDE will always be a puzzle because our lives, solo or mated, are mystified by either too much or not enough solitude.

ย I contest what seems endless solitude with my Irish Russian temper, condemning irritants like: street noise, absence of friends, short-tempered customer service reps, world news, and mindless tasks. The fever dulled after the first ice, rain, and snow, and mindfulness triumphed. I imagined my basement of survival would sink. It did not. There is an inner exploration happening, unfolding like spreading new sheets on my bed, that solitude has befriended me all my life. In the best of times and the tedious. I have to find the frolic and follies in the world that I created. I have to laugh alone so I watch screwball comedies, seek humor of my irregularities; wearing a sweater inside out, pouring coffee into a wine glass for a cocktail, and chuckling up and down the staircase, because I keep forgetting where I left my phone. My head is elsewhere daydreaming.
Iโ€™ve learned how to repair house calamities; unscrew windows, seal up cracks, fix clogged drains, replace air vents, read the meters, and rejuvenate every wood board, handle, chair, and table with Old English Oil. As one pal commented on a visit to the house, ‘ It’s a perfect day for Old English! The winter forecast is blizzardy and full of warnings I havenโ€™t experienced here; and how can I complain when half of Upstate New York is buried in ten feet of snow. The end of the day pleasure comes in the kitchen; my heart and spirit melt while stirring my weekly gumbo, stew, or casserole while listening to Tony Bennett, Nat King Cole, and swing music.
Winter is a funnel that strips the trees and branches and lets us see through the forest and ourselves.

WHY LIE


When do we begin to lie about our life our feelings, our fears, our everything? I ask this because of simple observation, knowing when someone is not telling me their truth and I remain silent, it’s not my way to ask, why do you lie to me? My friends are not lying, it’s more like a social cultural mask. My wise father once told me ‘Tell them your sister or father just died, and they’ll respond, excellent because they do not want to hear your problems.’ But I do, I’ve always wanted to know the truth. Why should we shield our traumas and hardship, more than our triumphs and accomplishments? Do you know who does not lie? ART and SPORTS. That is why we listen to music, read books, go to galleries and museums, films, the theater, and ballet or other dance performances. I cannot comment on sports because I’m not a spectator although I do love basketball.

We, and I mean this in only a visceral sense, do not believe the politicians, news, social media, or advertisements. We want to, but deep in our inner truth, we know it is the manipulation of our individual thoughts. And that my friends is why I trust art to deepen my understanding of the human condition. Thank you to all the artists and athletes who share their pain and glory.

FOUND ON THE INTERNET

THE PHILADELPHIA PHILHARMONIC

MAXFIELD PARRISH

PHILIP TOWNSEND

THE THINKER & THE PUPPET


After Iย  published this last story,ย  I spoke with White Zen, my palgal in Santa Fe.ย  She said the last paragraph of the story made her cry.ย  Juxtaposed between the writers Zen of exporting such feeling, and the sadness we both shared. White Zen had a Thinker too. I guess there are more of them than I knew.

Having had six true loves in my life, who impregnated me with knowledge generosity, and loyalty is what made me so unprepared for the Thinker.ย  He does resemble Macedonio;ย  the first man to peel off the woman in me. They both have charisma, mystery, and good dark looks,ย  Macedonio is dead now, and the memories of him still glisten;ย  like the day in Golden Gate Park under the cherry blossom tree.

What I miss most, is the giggling, dancing, folly-maker that the Thinker pulled out of me as If I were a puppet. He called me Puppet because that’s how he saw me.ย  I’ve got to get my Jojo by tomorrow. I love Thanksgiving as a day with admissions of selfishness and greed. I need to be washed away into thanks that I am here with a mouthful full of food, and a napkin.

SURREALISM OR MOVEMENT


ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย  Iโ€˜ve been stalked by a sensation and image of Loulou, scrambled up in whistles blowing, each one commanding me in a different direction. The annoyance of conflicting orders robs me of my Aladdin ( magic moments), DICE LOGO

sURREALISM 2
sURREALISM 2 (Photo credit: Nesster)

ย AS I CLEAR OUT THE FEAR OF NEW FEELINGS .ย  I feel like time isย  belted with interior stop lights, instructions, and preparation for a new passage to go through.ย  What happens is subtle, but when so much time is placed in introspection,ย  life looses itโ€™s Aladdin. It is time to polish my gold lamp and follow anย  unknown light. Do you know what I mean?

REVERSE THE ORDER


There are themes to our lives. Sometimes a year, sometimes one single day launches the theme, or it may just tumble into our path unexpected and replace whatever we were holding on to dearly. The sensations leading up to my theme, reverse the order, peeked through the quagmire of disillusionment, frustration and mud heavy quibbling in my head. Reverse the order, blew into the quibbling, and straightened my piles of projects. Writing,editing, not believing in my word, leasing the house, getting into a relationship, deferred maintenance on myself and property I own, and sweeping leaves etc.
โ€œ Stop writing as a means of self-gratification and start submitting what you have written. Leave the leaves to fall.

AUTUMN AWESOME SANTA FE, NM
AUTUMN AWESOME SANTA FE, NM

ARTIST’S DON’T SHOOT


When did an artist take out a rifle and shoot innocent people? You should pay more attention to artist’s and expression, the very soul of human nature.

MENTAL HEALTH MURDER AND , SUICIDE,


SANTA FE PLAZAMENTAL HEALTH, When will we take notice that THIS SICKNESS KILLS, I could rage in the streets right now. My eyes are filled with tears, my heart is too heavy to lift me up.

 

SANTA FE PLAZA

THE NOTEBOOK


I heard yesterday, James sent a notebook forewarning a psychiatrist at the University- of his murder plan. My arms were filled with laundry, I couldn’t leave the television, my body froze, the words in my head, ‘he asked to be recognized.’

UNMENTIONABLE MENTAL HEALTH