A Twisted Phoenix

A glimpse into my mind, my emotions and my so called whiplash causing mood swings. Parts of blogs from the past few weeks that I never posted. Enjoy~

{Nov 11, 2009}
In a recent conversation with my soul friend, she said "leave it to me to find someone as broken as I am". That statement left me cold. It made me wonder all over again, can two broken people be okay together? Can our brokenness cause a bond stronger than that of love born of whole hearts? Or must my broken heart find someone unhurt, unbroken, unblemished by pain. Must that be the man who will love me? Even scarier was the thought that followed can anyone love me, a being utterly broken? I was not able to love one of the strongest men I have ever known. My heart was seeking a close companion one who I could share the deepest darkest parts of me; to know I wasn't alone. His heart however was looking for a heart without scars, one that could boost his strength even higher. Through this I had decided I would need to find someone equally broken, someone to appreciate my scars and to cry with me. But since that day I haven't shed a single honest tear. Tears of anger and tears of joy, but never a tear of pain. I have subconsciously held onto the hope of finding someone who could understand true brokenness. But in the here and now,

I have come to find out that my broken knight can't also be my savior.

~~~

Here in the relative silence of my room I have allowed myself to consider what I really want. In that alternate universe my hearts desire is love. Not the love of poems or songs. The love exchanged in a simple smile between a couple bound together in marriage for over 70 years. It's a simple touch. And it is completely indescribable. But it can be seen, and I saw it in fullest extent this past weekend. I saw couples in there 90's so passionately in love it emanated from them. There's was the kind of love that continues to grow every moment. It was that beautifully simplistic love that I craved only a few blogs ago. I also saw the pain that is the consequence of loving someone with all you are. A woman who had lost her husband a few years ago. She faked a smile as she stared off in the distance slowly twisting the simple gold wedding band she still wore. I met couples whose love made my heart soar. Their example of commitment and loyalty gave marriage a good name. And then an older woman shuffled in. I don't know how the topic came up, but in a quiet ashamed voice she told me that her husband won't come to church with her. They had been married over 50 years and he never has. I knew that like me that was a matter of great importance, great hurt and great embarrassment. Even though it caused her heart to break every Sunday and all the days in between she had remained committed to her husband. I don't know that I have the strength to be in that situation. To love someone across a rift of that proportion? If there is any aspect of me that needs to be shared it is my love of Christ. I can't be that 80 year old woman standing in church whispering to the photographers assistant that my husband doesn't share the core of who I am. In the past months I thought I could do it, I thought I could find a way to cross that rift no matter what it took. And then I met a sweet 80 year old woman. I'll never doubt that my commitment to Christ is what matters first.


{November 14, 2009}

Tonight I am being forced to face my greatest fear. Tonight I have to face the man who took a hammer and chisel to my already fragile heart. The results were disastrous. I healed mentally many months ago. My heart had only begun to heal recently due to a woman who dared me to dream again, and a man who taught my heart to sing a less bitter song. And only days ago I admitted to myself and the world that my broken heart still longed for love. For the first time in this eternal year I took shakey steps in the right direction. I had passed my crossroads and made the right decision. Now I feel that I may very well fall again. For him, or because of him. I don't know which. If only I could predict my reaction I could prepare for the fall that is to result.

~~~

I never realize how very few people understand me until I desperately need a hug. A listening ear. When I reveal that my walls of indifference are cracking I only get a "you'll be fine! Show him what he's missing! Just pretend he doesn't exist!" I can pretend he doesn't exist just as well as I'm able to pretend that my heart doesn't wail. This is one aspect of life where intentions don't matter. (the same as in horse-shoes and hand grenades)

{November 15,2009)

I learned a lesson in those tumultuous hours, being over someone and not being in love with someone is not the same.

{unknown date}

I caught a few minutes of the Wizard of Oz today. I thought at first I'm a Modern Day Dorothy. All I want is home. And then I realized unlike Dorothy I don't want reality. I want the land of Oz. I truly identify with the Scarecrow. I have the best of intentions but don't have the "brains" to make good on that intention.

I point left, I point right. I point both ways. I nod my head. I shake my head. I see the yellow brick road stretching before all of us and I give the best of advice.

But when a dear friend simply asks "Why?" I honestly can't tell you.

{November 16, 2009}
There are a lot of little things in life that give me inexpressible joy. The feel of a horse warming up my fingertips in the dead of winter. A mug of hot apple cider on a chilly fall morning. A hoody that has the right size hood (no Goldilocks hoody's for me!) Fleur de lis anywhere and everywhere. My old worn out cowboy boots and new stilettos. The smell of rain and the feel of it running down my skin. Paintings of fairy's and unicorns. The smell of an old musty book. The crack of a new binding. Ball gowns and converse. Reading Sherlock Holmes and solving the mystery in the first few paragraphs (ok. so that happened once and was a total fluke). Trotting my gray horse through the snow.

There aren't as many "big" things, but are important all the same. I love when a song comes on that completely describes what I'm feeling. I may have heard it a 1000 times. Or it may be the same but nevertheless; it is powerful and humbling. All at the same time. Powerful in that

music confronts my emotions head on. Music makes me be honest.

Humbling in that I can no longer say no one understands, because at least one other person in the world does.

For a small space of time that songwriter and I are one and the same. Together we have a bond of understanding.

~~~

All of my big moments end in understanding. That's all I really want in life. To understand and to be understood. Or is it?

{unknown date}

I self sabotage. It's my ugly truth. When people get close I fly off the handle. I subconsciously hurt them. I run. I give them a glimpse of just how screwed up I really am. People say I can change. They offer their help. And I just give another scathing reply. You know why? I don't want to change. I don't want help. I like my brier patch of a heart. I like being numb in my anger. Most of all? I like being in control.

I like being a tease who has no intention of ever putting out. Emotionally. Physically. Underneath this cool and confident exterior is a raging soul. I'll show you a foretaste of the "real me". Then before you know it, I snatch it back.

I'll always give a second chance. But never a third. A narcissist? Yes. So deal with it.

Fool me once shame on you. Fool me twice shame on me. But you'll never get the chance to fool me thrice.

The truth? The real me isn't worth knowing. The real me isn't worth loving. You can love me with all you have. You can try to help. You can wish with all you have that I will change. But my brier patch of a heart will never love you back like you deserve.

She thinks I'm attached? She has no idea how unattached I really am. I've known attachment. I've known love. On that warm August night, my lovers heart died. I don't attach. Not anymore.

Instead I'll sit in the background. I'll tease or taunt. You decide. Send me a signal and I'll be whatever girl you want for the night. I can be a drunken bar skank, or a pristine Virgin Mary. It's all up to you. Take what you want and leave what you don't want. But keep this in mind, you'll never know the real me. I have so much to offer, if you would have only asked for more. I can guarantee I'm more than you ever bargained for. And that's why you will never know anymore. But no worries, I'm not giving up. I'll still be whatever girl you want me to be. I'll be the best or worst thing that ever happened to you. I'll teach you all there is to know about hating and loving. Sometimes in that order. Sometimes not. Just ask me how I can play this part so well. I've experienced both to the fullest extent. I'll be your favorite lover or your greatest enemy. It's your choice. Just tell me what part I'm to play today.

Don't even try to predict me. I've always said that I'm a combination of everyone I have ever known. All you have to do is look at who I have been talking to recently. Stagnant. Deep. Afraid. There is no need to try to understand me when all you have to do is mold me into your personal Barbie.

So tell me. Whats it going to be? I'm tired of you changing your mind. Of you backpedaling. I'm done chasing down your heart. I can be your friend. I can be your crutch. I can be your love. I can even be your soul mate. But I can't be all four at once. At least not tonight.

And now... in this moment. I'm done. I'm back to running. I can find a new part to play. But I can't keep going on.

In the end I'm only a tease or a taunt.

You decide.

And that in a few paragraphs is the depth of me. My ugly truth. My absolute. And potentially, my greatest regret.

So I'm shutting those doors
I'm running away
Without a goodbye
And I'll never wonder why.

I'm opening my mind to my next persona.

{November 21,2009}

So many people disapprove of my emotions. I cry to hard. I laugh to loud. I scream to much. For years I've been told to just be quiet. To hide it. And now I have succeeded. Now those same people and some new; worry that I'm not the same. I have tried so desperately to not worry about peer pressure regarding my outward appearance; that I willingly opened the door to peer pressure regarding my heart. I listened to those voices. I stopped crying. My laughter rang hollow in my ears. And now my screams have taken up all the slack. I tried to be friendly and bubbly like Tori. I tried to be cold, calculating, unfeeling like Jared. And as of late I've become shallow and stagnant like him. At times I'm all three combined. Those are the days I watch my robot go and wonder who had it right.


~~~

I miss crying. There was something healing about those tears rushing down my face. A physical manifestation, a theophany of sorts, of the pain, the anguish, the anger and the deceit. Whatever the reason I learned something about myself and who I was through the tears. Perhaps that's why I don't know who I am anymore. I stopped learning even though I kept growing. My body and mind have grown past my heart. I've become the statue I've accused him of being. A stone cold reminder of sins and triumphs. As I write this I have this vision of a statue exploding and a bright real me arising from the rubble.

A twisted phoenix.

Signs, Wonders and Perfect Snowflakes

Symbolism, it's all around me. He jokes about my signs. But it is no joke to me. I believe in signs, wonders and miracles. I'm not talking about reading tea leaves or using my favorite number (7) to play the lottery. No, I believe there are signs that point to love hope and trust. On the converse I think that there are signs that warn of fear mistakes and pain. Furthermore I believe you can choose to see the signs before you or you can choose to ignore them and go on your way.

There is something magical about new fallen snow in the fall. It smells different, it looks different and most of all it feels different than any other snow.. I don't see winter in the negative light most do. It's not a death but a time of rest. So tonight when I walked outside to get wood and saw that light dusting of snow all the worries dissipated into the air that fairly crackled with energy. The worry over him, over horses and money. Over school and jobs. Over my health and my struggling faith; was all simply gone. It was just me and the snow. I stood with my arms stretched out beside me as I slowly twirled in circles gazing at the brilliant light of the winter moonlight. As the stars twinkled, without warning my eyes began to twinkle in reflection. I soaked in the healing power of those few snowflakes as I laughed at the simple eloquence of the sign around me. The stars are still twinkling, the moon (though smaller now) is still shining. There is so much more going on than me making the deans list, my next tank of gas, or becoming an athlete again. I have a life to live beyond all of those things. Exceedingly. Abundantly. Above all that I could ask or think.

I have gotten so bogged down in the emphasis I have placed on my everyday life, that I couldn't see the big picture. What is that big picture? I haven't the faintest idea. For now the signs point toward a time of preparation, a time of healing, a time of relaxation. A time for me to be honest with myself. Now as I sit out on my balcony shivering in the crisp fall-almost-winter air my path seems so clear.

It's a time to live, a time to grow, and a time to live without regrets.

As I gaze wistfully out at the stars, and watch them fall, I realize, I have forgotten to wish. One to many wishes on falling stars didn't come true. Somewhere along the way, I just stopped wishing. As the shock of that revelation wears off I see how my mindset has changed. And I'm determined to change my mindset again. I may not have the faith to wish on them anymore, but I can reach out and draw them close to my heart. Instead of the symbol of vanquished dreams they have become, falling stars are now a symbol of everlasting hope. Hope that I cannot put a name to, but hope that I can see. And for once, if I run far enough; even on the cloudiest night, I'll catch that glimpse of hope.

I'm slowly coming to realize, hope isn't inherent and it isn't given. It is taken, it is recognized and you have to find it yourself. A few days ago as I struggled in the gym a man walked by, his shirt said "be inspired". And I was. I finished up my reps and pushed past my point of comfort. I found inspiration, I found hope. This afternoon I took off my earrings and tossed them onto my bed. They formed a perfect heart upon my "thought" book. For the first time in years my writing has had meaning and has had hope. That heart pushed me to write again tonight to try and create something as beautiful as that heart framed by wings. Maybe my words have no meaning to anyone but me. I would hope to inspire and instill hope in others. Whatever you decide is fine. It is up to you. But me? I'll just keep looking for falling stars and perfect snowflakes. They won't lead me astray.

Briar Patches, Ballads and Hope.

What do I want? I've made my lists. The Perfect Man. Where I Want To Be In Ten Years. The Steps To Get There. The Perfect Horse. The Perfect Job. The Perfect Life. etc etc. Circumstances have changed some of those things. And I've been okay with most of them. And I've grown to accept the rest of them. So why do I suddenly find myself desiring something more? Why did it hurt so badly to find you so dead set against kids? I knew that, and I respected that. Until now. Why can't I get the image of that couple married for over 70 years out of my mind? Is my mind changing? Why? Why don't things stay the same? Why can't my heart stand by the decision my mind makes?

Why is the boundary between heart and mind so often blurred?

I desire that ten year plan to come to fruition. But lately, I've forgotten bits and pieces of that plan; and now I'm left with only the distant memory of a plan. All of this causes me to ask the question, what do I really have in life?

An ever-changing mind, a briar patch of a heart, and some semblance of a soul.

And that is me, the entirety of me.. in a nutshell. And I don't know if I'm okay with that anymore.. For the first time in an eternal year I want myself to be more.

I want to be strong
I want to be important to people
I want to be someone worth knowing.
I want to be someone's best friend.
I want to be wise.
I want to be the girl who understands.
I want to be regarded as a person of great insight.
I want. I want. I want.

The question is. What do I need? To loved and to be loved? Nay that was the thing of my dreams as a young girl. It's not the reality I have come to know. My reality is one of simply living. Waking up everyday, putting one foot in front of the other, walking the road allotted to me. Most days, I'm okay with that. Those are the days when hope is more than a flame upon a distant hill. It is as real as I, as the air I breathe. It is a fire lighting up my soul. That is my definition of hope.

To have hope is to illuminate a darkened soul.

And then the fire dies... and I exist, but that's all. I follow my day to day routine. But somehow... I view it not from my own eyes, but as a silent, tortured soul floating in a state of being. This is the things of dreams you say. No. This is only life.

I've come to the conclusion that I have hope it changes its form day to day just as love does. Perhaps the lesson I'm slowly coming to learn is that I must strive after hope, I must run to that distant hill, and when I reach hope, I must lock it inside my soul. But if I imprison hope what good is it? No this is not the lesson to be learned. Hope must continue to live as the things of dreams. It must reside freely with unicorns and fairies, in the land of Camelot, Narnia, or Neverland. Secretly believed in by all with old souls, however rarely seen. I'm not afraid to admit that;

I still believe in Santa Claus, in Unicorns, in Narnia, and lastly in hope.

I see hope in that music still speaks to my soul, it still changes my world. In that I've come to love writing again after nine long years.And as much as I deny it;

I still believe in love at first sight, in soul mates, and I too have my own King Arthur.

It's an interesting story you know, no matter which account you read, whether it be T.H. White or Disney; King Arthur always has an air of tragedy. But to me it is the greatest Romance. No matter in a movie or a ballad, the tales of Lancelot, King Arthur and his Queen Guienvere, and The Lady of Shalott, it brings tears to my eyes and hope to my heart. Why?

Because they failed.

All of them, in some form or another, and even in their failures that led to their ultimate downfalls they still knew love and how to love. That is the basis of my greatest desire. For some King Arthur out there to see past my faults and failures and love me not because of them or the woman I've become; but for his love to be so rich and so deep that he doesn't see them. Odd, perhaps.

Love in its truest form magnifies someone's greatest attributes and diminishes their shortcomings.

I want that love, in the quiet of my room, I can admit that. That love, is the love I'm willing to fight for. So I will wait for my King Arthur. One mistake I will not make is that I will not be distracted by Lancelot's along the way. No matter how rich the love they promise, because as in the tales of old, it is not my lot in life to love a Lancelot. Nay, my destiny is to love someone only as broken as I. I have always identified with Guinevere. The barren queen in a foreign land. I will continue to learn from her mistakes and I will love as she did, with all the love that my briar patch of a heart is capable of.

This is my hope.

Calling Bluffs, The Laws of Physics, and Moonlight.

A weekend of calling bluffs, working out and working things out. All oddly related.

When we were young (no killers reference intended... I think) Halloween was about staying up late, eating candy and dressing up. It's a time for young kids to dress up as firemen and disney princesse's. It's a time for college girl's to dress up as slutty french maids; college boys to dress up as gladiators. And then as one gets older it becomes another excuse to drink. It's simply one night in a year of reality where you can be someone you can never really be.

And then there are some of us who don't even have to dress up; we wear a costume every day of our lives. We always pretend to be someone we're not. Somewhere in the midst of many Halloween's and thousands of other days we loose who we once were. We become that costume.
Yet, we still complain that no one really knows us, or understand us. When in truth everyone knows us better than we know our "new" selves.

It's lost in the harsh reality that somewhere along the way you let someone know you better than you have ever known yourself.

At least that's what I thought. But indulge me if you will, what if Halloween is the chance for you to show who you are. And every other day of the year you are hiding behind a mask and a cheap costume. What if you really are that fireman or that slut?

Life is the true masquerade.

And so, I call his bluff, or he calls mine, or she called ours. It was enough for me to want to run for my very life. That wasn't how I had orchestrated things. I thought I had protected myself against that. Sometime in that long conversation in the moonlight, I learned something about him.. about me.. about people.


We all have writers block.

Albeit in a different form; we all have it. We block our creativity. It can be through our emotions, our trust, our reality. All in the name of guarding ourselves. From what I ask you? From doing the only thing in life worth doing? From being yourself, the only person in life worth being? I'll stand up as the the hypocrite I am to say:

It's not worth it.

If you can only do one thing in your otherwise meager lifetime, let it be your personal masterpiece. Be a composer of music, of words, of a simple smile; unlike anything this world has ever seen. Be passionate. Fall in love. Trust someone. Anyone. Show your scars. Wear your very heart on your sleeve. Put down the bottle of gin and let your soul shine forth. Sign offline and go outside your personal bubble without fear. Be open to the chance that you will get hurt, and see it for the glimpse of a blessing it is. Because great love can only be fully appreciated after knowing great anguish. Be that person you dressed up as for Halloween, show your wildest desires in your everyday reality. Recognize what you really want and go for it. Don't view a costume as another opportunity to hide; but instead a chance for your soul to bloom in a tangible way. Be a fireman. Be a princess. Be a gladiator. Be a slut. Whatever it is, be it in the fullest, the most real sense you can imagine. Don't hide. Don't run when someone calls your bluff. Or you might miss the chance for your wildest dreams to become your most ecstatic reality.

Now if only I could see past my own mask to take my own advice.

The other day my old soul friend (yes, that is truly the only way I can describe her) and I talked about poetry and the common aspects of it. The moon and stars, love and loss, passion and trust. Her poem ( read it here ) caused me to realize something I've always taken for granted. The moon always goes through its orbit. The stars always shine. Clouds may come and blanket the stars. The man in the moon may hide. But here's the deal kids.

Just because we can't see it doesn't mean it doesn't exist.

Is it not the same with love? Its light is always there, its face stays the same. But clouds come, its orbit turns its face from us. But it never truly leaves. Whether it be your first love, your last love, passionate love, fatherly love or pitying love; it is as much a commanding force in the universe as the stars. At times I too want to rope the moon (come on y'all, It's A Wonderful Life reference) to draw that symbol of undying love closer to my heart. But I know, I must have just as much faith in love staying true, as I can in the moon continuing to orbit, and the stars holding their shine. For now, I have a tangible reminder every time I look at the moon in the sky, as the stars twinkling light reflects in my hopeful eyes. Through this I know, without the shadow of a doubt,

I can not create love, nor can I destroy love. But I can change it's form.