it all comes down to..

..what's going to work right now.

to everything, turn turn turn.

It has been some time since I have had time or even the desire to write.
Granted, I am not a writer by trade. In fact, I suck at it it.
I also feel that writing in this place, under these circumstances dictates that I censor what I write.

I mool over the prospect of writing a memoir someday given the circumstances. Still, I suppose others' have had the same, if not more sordid tales to tell than my tame story.

Call it purging; call it grieving; call it exploiting; call it making peace with myself...it is a book that must be written some day.

Our stories all start out the same. The exposition and rising action follows...but it isn't until the climactic moment and the denouement that our stories diverge.

I have no ping.

10 pm. act 1 run.
After the torture talk on the way home, I decided to make matters worse by reviewing the past and reminding myself of why I am here in the present... staring the future in the face and wanting to change everything.

the tears flow. it has been awhile since I felt anything but exhaustion, rage, rejection, doubt so it is a welcome change.

oh, the holding pattern sucks. as does the disappointment of hope. I lack the skill, the monetary means, the time or drive to make a change.
But I need to. so much. I need to make a change.

I am a failure. I am unworthy. I am a place holder.

Still, I want to understand what about me is not good enough? Why do I remain a single seat in the front row for my favorite show?


I feel cheated and betrayed, lied to and pacified.

When do things start going my way?
How long must I live in this shadow?

"You Who Never Arrived"

You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don't even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of the next
moment. All the immense
images in me-- the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,
cities, towers, and bridges, and unsuspected
turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods-
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.

You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house--, and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me.
Streets that I chanced upon,--
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and, startled,
gave back my too-sudden image. Who knows?
perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, separate, in the evening...

Rainer Maria Rilke

the painful paradox

"She met him at a fireworks display..." Tobias Wolff starts off in his short story entitled "Face to Face" fm In The Garden of the North American Martyrs. Good reading on a cold winter's day.

I have been thinking.

How does it turn into the happy ending? What is the happy ending? How does my story go? So far, a tragedy--or is it more of a murder mystery? It could become a murder mystery. Is it better to live an uneventful, quiet life with regret or a complicated one where one lives the highs and the lows?

When posed the question, "Do you hope to settle down with someone?" my first reaction is, "And change my way of life as I know it? I don't think I am ready."

Am I willing to give up the freedom that I have at this moment? Or does love change all of that? And at what cost? What kinds of compromises would have to be made?

The idea of starting over with someone terrifies me. And not so much because of the aforementioned so much as considering investing in that kind of relationship again and then it not working out.

Leslie Feist writes, "the saddest part of a broken heart, isn't the ending so much as the start.." (fm. Let It Die)
I would have to agree with that. Still, the thrill, the hope and actual possibility that there is someone out there to fill in the void makes it worth the risk...until it ends. And it always ends badly.

I suppose having this talk with myself reminds me that I have a long way to go. I give too much too easily and to the wrong people. My timing is always off.

I hope you are out there. I am waiting for you.

Chill Factor

She’s getting older
Yeah, she’s getting wise
But a change has changed the girl
Gone’s the sparkle from her eyes

She wants to be a good mother
So she’ll do the best she can
But what about the other
What about the man

Well it’s cold to leave a woman
With family on her own
It’s chill factor
To the bone

Resignation
In her sighs
Is a sorry indication
Of how time
Can brutalise

Take away the hope
And the will will follow
Take away the faith
And goodbye tomorrow

Well it’s cold to leave a woman
With family on her own
It’s chill factor
To the bone

She had her dreams too
But how can she pursue
Her ambitions, be they great or small

You took her wings and flew
But remember when you’re through
Your rise was due
To somebody else’s fall

When the hard part’s over
And the kids are almost grown
You’ll be their big hero
Whenever you make it home
Shower them with presents
Things she could never buy
Delight them with your stories
About the great big, great big world outside
But dig -

It’s cold to leave a woman
With family on her own
It’s chill factor
Chill factor
To the bone

hold on hold on

The most tender place in my heart is for strangers
I know it's unkind but my own blood is much too dangerous
Hangin' round the ceiling half the time
Hangin' round the ceiling half the time

Compared to some I've been around
But I really tried so hard
That echo chorus lied to me with its
"Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on"

In the end I was the mean girl
Or somebody's in-between girl
Now it's the devil I love
And that's as funny as real love....

"And Because Love Battles"

I decided that I have been moving too fast and doing too much.
I opted out of the workout to write a little, because I feel if I don't put it someplace, I will literally self-destruct.

If you wish to read something uplifting or happy, go find another entry, because it won't be this one. My group would tell me I am feeling sorry for myself; that I should look at all the blessing in my life. OR, if I don't like the way things are going, change them. It could be worse, you may not have a job--or a leg.

I suppose all that unsolicited advice has its place. I am sure I have divvied out my pearls of wisdom from time to time--falling on deaf ear as well. Still, here I am again.

Lately I have had a hard time.
Call it dumb luck, carelessness, the usual bad timing, Mother Nature, fate, bad karma, Mercury Retrograde, the season, the day.. I feel that I have been cursed.

Things have shifted. I have shifted.

For a time I was feeling ok with myself--grounded, or at least working through my stuff. Then situations arise where I go back to self-doubt, beating oneself up, and asking myself, "What is wrong with me?"

I consider my family for a moment-- wishing that I had some kind of relationship with them that resembled normal. It would be nice to have someone to hold me and say it was going to be ok. I suppose that is what spouses are for. Or friends.

But I want something for myself. I want something pure and true-- and impossible.
I understand the eastern philosophy that you have to let things come to you. You must be open and receptive for those things to come. I have tried to be open and willing. And things have come...and gone.
And after 4 1/2 years I can't help but wonder what must change? What must I do?
How can be anything but who I am? How much longer must one wait? For life, for real companionship? For love? And at those moments--when my expectations are too high, when I am let down due to my own shortcomings, I feel myself turning wintry. Detached. I let go just a little more. Retreat into myself further. I insulate the wall even more.

To the outside world I will put on the face. Be as productive as I can and throw myself into my work. But inside, I am little more than a pulse with legs.


Here's to a warmer season...

And because love battles
not only in its burning agricultures
but also in the mouth of men and women,
I will finish off by taking the path away
to those who between my chest and your fragrance
want to interpose their obscure plant.

About me, nothing worse
they will tell you, my love,
than what I told you.

I lived in the prairies
before I got to know you
and I did not wait love but I was
laying in wait for and I jumped on the rose.

What more can they tell you?
I am neither good nor bad but a man,
and they will then associate the danger
of my life, which you know
and which with your passion you shared.

And good, this danger
is danger of love, of complete love
for all life,
for all lives,
and if this love brings us
the death and the prisons,
I am sure that your big eyes,
as when I kiss them,
will then close with pride,
into double pride, love,
with your pride and my pride.

But to my ears they will come before
to wear down the tour
of the sweet and hard love which binds us,
and they will say: “The one
you love,
is not a woman for you,
Why do you love her? I think
you could find one more beautiful,
more serious, more deep,
more other, you understand me, look how she’s light,
and what a head she has,
and look at how she dresses,
and etcetera and etcetera”.

And I in these lines say:
Like this I want you, love,
love, Like this I love you,
as you dress
and how your hair lifts up
and how your mouth smiles,
light as the water
of the spring upon the pure stones,
Like this I love you, beloved.

To bread I do not ask to teach me
but only not to lack during every day of life.
I don’t know anything about light, from where
it comes nor where it goes,
I only want the light to light up,
I do not ask to the night
explanations,
I wait for it and it envelops me,
And so you, bread and light
And shadow are.

You came to my life
with what you were bringing,
made
of light and bread and shadow I expected you,
and Like this I need you,
Like this I love you,
and to those who want to hear tomorrow
that which I will not tell them, let them read it here,
and let them back off today because it is early
for these arguments.

Tomorrow we will only give them
a leaf of the tree of our love, a leaf
which will fall on the earth
like if it had been made by our lips
like a kiss which falls
from our invincible heights
to show the fire and the tenderness
of a true love.

Pablo Neruda

synchronicity

When I have a series of setbacks, or potential ones, I have to stop before things spiral out of hand.
There are things that are out of my control. Like the weather, for instance. Who would have expected a foot of snow to fall in less than 2 days?
Still, it has thrown my whole work schedule out of whack, contributed to a cracked windshield and a three day hiatus from tech rehearsals and the start of the choreography for the musical. Not to mention throwing my workout schedule completely off. I live by schedules and bells...

The idle time has been good in other areas; for it has forced me to slow down. I guess one could compare the paralysis to an injury of some kind, where the surgeon orders you to stay off your knee for six weeks until the wound heals.
I guess this is nature's way of healing me.

Lately I have noticed my anger has started to rise to the surface and with very little provoking. I hate the way I handle situations where I should be more rational and cool. Instead, I resort back to defense mode and shut down, or "slice and dice" the person towards which the anger is directed. I feel ashamed and embarrassed. And instead of just saying that, I act out.

Show is in 1 week. I have been known to perform miracles before--but this one I am not so sure.
Lots on my mind today. Hopefully a long run with my new (old) Michael Jackson as well as The Police Synchronicity will get the levels down to a more manageable place.


"..With one breath,
with one flow,
you will know:
Synchronicity.

A sweet trance,
a dream dance,
a shared romance:
Synchronicity..."

"your laughter"

Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.
fm. 'your laughter" by Pablo Nerudo

Here in the depths of winter, I find myself longing for the warmth of spring days. Usually with them comes the promise of new life or rebirth, and new beginnings.
For me, it starts with the scent of earth. She has a musky odor that saturates. I could breathe March air long into September.

The birds are another tell-tale sign for me. Their song changes to reflect the mating time and celebration of life...
(will write more later)

a week of strange overtones

"Together they had overcome the daily incomprehension, the instantaneous hatred, the reciprocal nastiness, and fabulous flashes of glory in the conjugal conspiracy. It was time when they both loved each other best, without hurry or excess, when both were most conscious of and grateful for their incredible victories over adversity. Life would still present them with other moral trials, of course, but that no longer mattered: they were on the other shore."
- Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Love in the Time of Cholera

for you...

your bird can sing

my longstanding love affair

It is 45 degrees and rainy outside on a gloomy Sunday in December.
Most folks would be starting a fire in their main rooms, curling up to a good book, their significant other or football game...

But days like these make me restless. Depressed even.
So I find my most devoted friend.
We have been through much together--listened to my rantings and sobs; my pity parties and my personal triumphs.
Still, battered from a year of daily abuse, I reach for them.
We know each other intimately. The miles we have covered, the hours of road and cinder and YMCA trauma...



I am talking about my favorite pair of running shoes.
Sure, I got a new pair, but they just don't feel the same. If you are a runner maybe you can relate to my story:

So, today I fished the old pair out of my closet (My Achilles Heel: I cannot throw out running shoes or bathing suits), put on the running garb, and made a 3-mile trek across the usual trails. Ahhh..the soggy, puddle laden track. I curse having to side step the mess and lose my stride in the process...It's not the same as summer. I usually retire my outside routine until Mid March-or early April. But today I HAD to go.

There has been too much crap recently that the only way I find absolute clarity is to do a road run. It's a lot like confession, honestly. And as I move along, the only thing I feel present is my mind. Putting Thoreau (or was it Emerson who spoke of the head?) aside, The body below is long gone--the legs, feet, arms, chest...I feel nothing but what I am currently working through at the time. I am a talking head.

When I stop moving, I am light headed (and still am 20 minutes later) and slightly frost burned. My throat is raw and my knees scream at me.

But the time was well worth it. I love my old running shoes.
They help me through even the worst of times.