My dreams don’t match yours; do they have to? Can you take the lead for your own needs? I can’t fulfill yours and you can’t fulfill mine, but I can give you love and listen to your dogged determination as you assemble your quest. Engage me. Pull from the depths of your being and expunge all of your desires; I won’t run or hide. Don’t make me guess at who you really are, what you really want or what frightens you. Simplicity can be so contrite. I don’t want to dance around my own nature; I must be, must BE, must be, ME. To hold on to you is not to let go of me; to believe in myself does not mean I do not believe in you. Trust my defiance, my arrogance and faults, for they too, are the truth of me. I am not your leader, so please do not follow. I am not compliant so please don’t beg me to change. I fall in your love and swim around and then struggle to breathe. I need US and I need me. Loosening the reigns won’t cost you my devotion, likely it will bring me closer to you as I fly. I am bored with repetitive notions, convaluted emotions, chatter and morning talk. Let us be two and one. One love we share. Another we spare.
Life in my experience is not linear, predictable or predestined. The only thing we are certain of is, at sometime along our journey in this human form, we will cease to navigate in this world. We will leave others we love and discover something more perhaps, a new type of love, all knowing and gentle. I am not a religious person yet very spiritually inclined, linking arms with Nature, I feel the easiness of being when immersed in the depths of the forest or on a black stormy night with whipping winds and falling trees. I know I am not in control of anything and especially like that I am not directly responsible for how life is. I may die old old. Middle old, I am now young old. I’ve watched my animals throughout the sixty years I’ve lived bring me joy and sorrow as their tiny souls wrap around me with only one request, acceptance. Be it a dog, cat, bird, fish, rabbit or mouse they deliver us a message. Live in the present. Mice don’t lay around all day hoping someone will do the work for them! Carpe Diem! Seize the cheese. We all have inner work to do and most folks I know would much rather fix me or you than work on themselves. If you want to live drop the poison. Don’t gossip, find a way to see beauty in yourself and others and share your light. Never be afraid to love being you. Death is an end only if you allow it to be. As far as I know, I know nothing at all. Blessed Be
Quietly sleeping with both eyes open, wakening in the morning dew; carefully spying from where she’s hiding to spot her next move. Twinkle, twinkle little one, life is swift and just begun. Never certain if you’re safe, constant guardian of your space. Take a chance, make a move, forward we go with nothing to prove. Surrender yesterday and last year’s worries for the year of the rabbit brings us bountiful stories. Look around, sniff the air, feel the sunlight on you hare? In the moment, be and thrive rejoice for each day that you survive. Tiny steps or grand leaps and bounds the year ahead is still unfound. Year of the Rabbit, year of Hope, unwind your minds mental ropes. Listen more, and be present for those you love or meet whether in your home or on the street. Silence can be the best coach, mindfully change your approach. Hop along with grace not fear, embrace the morning of this new year.
I don’t want to be awake. It’s been a perfect night for sleep, rain in Stockholm. Tin roof, comfy bed, the whole kit and caboodle. Real as can be, exhausted by additional pain from flying while disabled, I lie here wondering how will the special chronic repetitive pain syndrome diagnosis is going to play out. Later today I check into Uppsala universitet sjukhuset smartkliniken, that is Uppsala University’s pain clinic for a one week assessment. From this poking and prodding of both my mind and body it will be determined if a team of specialists will have me back for a month long stay. How does one rehabilitate chronic pain? I am too far gone to think about the entirety of it but will say, from what I have read, my brain is scrambled, the coding has been buried or tiny mice in my head have chewed through the wires. I am never free from pain, rested and refreshed or in the slightest comfortable. Hope is on the table and I want to be that kind of human who believes, ” change is gonna come, yes it is.” Lm attempts to move forward and cry the entire few hours and minutes I have left with fear and angst using the “why me spiel”. Rock is in place, ready for whatever comes next and has tucked Lm into a safe space for the time being. Real as it gets has taken center stage and I, the woman almost sixty years old will wrestle with fervor to let the rainy, dark morning give me some time for my eyelids to grow heavy, for my own purring snore to begin and perhaps I’ll be gifted a dream where I am unchained from my physical limitations and run a muck carefree.
The beat of Christmas is thumping from within her breast. Glossy flashes of overdone fun, stupored guest’s belongings trusted in Lm’s care remind her of unwanted overtures. Slurring, “Where’s my coat gorgeous?”. The squeezed cheeks, vile hugs from men twice her age who smelled of aged cheese and scotch. “That’s your daughter?”; oh, BadDad was proud then. Lm adored him still. He was all knowing, and she did not care what people said, he was her everything and no one could tell her otherwise. Rock is shoving a big fir tree down the stairwell, it’s walls now likely full of black mold. “What the hell! We can barely breathe in here as it is!”. Lm does her Scarlett O’Hara impression and falls as if fainting when Rock sets up the full Scottish pine. “Shall I drape myself in red velvet curtains, hang mistletoe and pluck a goose?”; Ah, Rock has a reaction from her finally. “Tell me about good times Lm! Must we roll in the stench of unbearable times always?”. Then Lm speaks, “FINE! BadDad is like gumbo, a bit of this, a tad of that and somehow he always made his fuck up’s better. He knew he could lie to others in front of me and I would never cross him. I miss him. I miss his daydreams, his enthusiasm, his blue eyes that could cry so dramatically, the same eyes that broke me still have a family, MY family. I had to forsake them to save us. Five of my seven half-siblings believe in him, celebrate Christmas right now with him and it’s painful. Three are strong women who would never take what I did from him. How am I to feel when he lied to their mother’s, cheated on them and even though my first little sister from Elle knows enough to stand up for me, she retreats. Why? It’s a hell of a lot easier to have the abused one far away in another country.” “Do you want to change it somehow?” asks Rock. Lm smells the fresh scent of the forest greenery and looks lost. She then starts to make popcorn and finds a needle and thread to sew a traditional cranberry popcorn chain. “I know one thing Rock. Thanks to you. TRUTH is the dystopian playground for the likes of us. We can no longer play with the others but at least we have one another.” Rock the protector, the foreman of all that is rightuous is wrong. Wrong in his predictions that is; Lm’s strength and courage surprises him yet he is thankful that Lm may just be able to go on with her life, with him on her shoulder and together they can burn the secret files from her past. Or can they? To cut the ties is a frightening thought. Can Lm stand up for herself and can Rock help her to heal? There is not much time left and God knows something must change permanently soon. Her physical pain, her cptsd and feelings of being erased tower over her. In the shadows of the well meant Christmas tree from Rock she feels her Daddy’s hand, his old love and wonders if he will ever tell her siblings, his wife, or even himself the Truth. Christmas is lost in old songs, unrequited love and Rock knows, “Pa Rumpa Pum Pum” fills Lm’s heavy heart with the kind of memories that creep upon many lost souls whether they summons them or not this time of year. Lm blurts out, “So you want a good memory Rock? Will that make you feel better? It sure as hell won’t help me but I’ll do it for you because it is Christmas Eve.” Lm stands and shares the memory of caroling with BadDad’s mother whom she adored. “My cousins and I went to neighbors and sang Jingle Bells, The Little Drummer Boy and more. That’s a good memory. Why? Because BadDad wasn’t there.” Lm tries to straighten the tree and carefully adorns it with her popcorn and cranberry chain. “To bad you can’t eat, Rock. I’m craving rice pudding. The door to Lm and Rock is slightly open and she feels the cold, frosty air. Integrating with Rock is a far off dream; whether it’s due to the spirit of hope and love that Christmas brings or her secret fantasy, Lm wants to feel whole again.
“It’s that TIME of year, the gruelling, catastrophic melancholy jingles of good tidings deepen Lm’s bastard of a headache.” Rock reminds Lm it’s not her “JOB” to be jolly. Lm thought last year was tough with her mother visiting; fibromyalgia, brain fog and her severe spinal pain made being merry impossible; polite and engaging was a morose daily event. Lm’s mother still does not get it even though she says she does. Her mother wakes at seventy-nine years old in good health, fully dresses, puts on her jewellery and lipstick then the giant elephant, PAIN in the ass, Lm woke slovenly, unrested, clad in in her night clothes, needing the toilet and wishing her mother to be quiet. “Good morning!” “How do you feel today?” Blah, blah, blah would ensue, and Lm would use the bathroom then excuse herself to her room again. She had wanted to shout and completely lose her fucking cool and say, ” I don’t know what a good morning is!” “I feel like shit”. What a tiring memory; simply recounting it drives steel bars through Lm’s ears, clanging, banging, whistling to the point of insanity, “Tinnitus”, Rock recalls. Lm glares at Rock, “Shut up, you don’t have ears.” Now, after having covid last March 2022 Lm has made a steady decline, like a little steam engine riding it’s breaks she slowly took each turn, believed she was in control and would not careen into the mountain sides and land in a big heap culminating into a pile of unsalvageable parts. Yet, she did. She is a heap of bitter moments, throbbing bones, more and more fatigued each minute as she lies entangled within her dreadful blob of perpetual turmoil. Dreams are cruel and vivid now. Christmas music isn’t cutting it for her and Rock pushing her to wash her hair, take more pain meds only irritates her. An unwelcomed mouse gnaws in the ceiling above her bed and her eyes burn from lack of rest. Sleeping is her game now. Fa la la la la. Rock is not as strong now. He has always carried her with crushing will and managed her weaknesses; it’s obvious he is vulnerable, too. She has clung to his ability to push through the physical pain, the abuse, the sickness, the past, the failures and smile. He can’t do it alone now and is scared. Who will help Lm? Who will see she is too weak to fight much longer? She does have two promising doctors now and soon will fly off to a special hospital for chronic repetitive pain patients. What about her CPTSD, BadDad, unresolved “Black Sheep” night terrors? What about suicidal ideation? No one wants to hear this part. Amsterdam is sounding like a good place to depart this goddamn nightmare. Laying on sofas, forgetting words, sleeping for hours now while it seemed like a romp in the snow wasn’t so long ago, a wintery walk through the forest, cooking masterfully with passion, playing a game of cards with the kids, being the “I got this” kind of mother. Lm knows she doesn’t have this now. She won’t climb a mountain, canoe or see Botswana nor make it back to her favourite old haunts with her husband. She dreams of parties and dancing, remembers her youthful beauty and laugh. She can’t take care of her surroundings and just wants out. Rock can’t console her more. He has run out of ideas. There are no good surprises coming. She will sleep through the holidays, check out her last shot at being “better” at the special pain rehabilitation centre and then come back, just the same, turn sixty in January in an uneventful way and wonder no more “why me?”. She will let go of Rock, stop dreaming and stop trying to make friends stay. No MORE existing through this shit, she will give in. She doesn’t want to be felt sorry for, sympathy and prayers. She wants OUT! Because NOBODY truly knows what it takes for her to live. The anxiety, lying in a pool of regrets, wrong turns, and basically her dumbass MINDFULNESS journey leading her right back to what she really is, useless. A total drag. Someone who holds everyone she loves back. Pride has left on the last ship out of here. Divided. Lm is now a thing. An “it”. Rock stumbles and TRUTH agrees, the two of them are in for a big last fight before the bell rings and the winner is declared. Honestly, in the boxing ring of life, he doubts either will rise again.
“I really thought I’d lost my grip on you Lm!” Rock doesn’t sweat; he has kept a solid eye on Lm. “You’ve been out cold; this was your first setback in years.” Lm scoots close to Rock, leaning her weak frame against his rawness, his realness and stares blankly. Lm was triggered by chronic pain, severe non-stop agony, her attempts to keep herself together crumbled. She ran away from herself which is when the hauntings of BaDDaD and a feeling of distrust take control of her persona. She is edgy, frightened by her own meltdown. Rock pulls her up the dank stairwell and let’s fresh air in through the doorway to her soul. She inhales and shivers with small tears of disappointment. “I’ve been doing so well Rock, you are supposed to keep me safe! It’s your fault you asshole. You are an ugly piece of old cement, all dried up into the most pathetic piece of whatever. Who cares? Not me. Why do you scowl at me? Why can’t I lose you or better yet throw you into the sea where you belong. Stupid Rock! “I am part of you Lm, in fact I am you.” “Holy crap, now I’ve heard everything, you are me?” Rock is still and listens as Lm curses, throws handfuls of small pebbles at him and she pushes him down the stairwell. Rock is not hurt. He lies there in the dark while she rants and raves about what a fool he is. Finally she slams the door shut and bolts it herself then one step at a time she carefully goes to the dark, sad place where Rock is lying patiently. She lifts him up and stares at him. It’s a lonely place without him, the all knowing piece of her, the one that takes over the helm when she is wrought with pain, physical, mental or emotional. She wants to thank him but chews on her fingers instead. Her hair is a tangled mess, just like her heart. Under her breath she whispers, “I love you Rock.”
I began looking as soon as one could seefor BusesFull of Kids just like littleme Unloading Children Black as the night sea Eyes lookin' down at the dry, cracked, dirt white kids peeked from behind teacher's skirts Desks rearranged RULES Changed No Playdates, Same food, different plates Separate for lunches Same Lines Different Bunches Too small to understand? Naw,WE KNEW Madness was made by ole men who wore red, white and blue Theytold white people lies while we watched the news Vietnam live, TV trays an' little pot pies Little children listen to whispers and cries On the playground we mingled, We met on the swings, we touched hands, skin and learned to sing "You pretty, your hair is the color of sand, you're so nice little "ma'am" "Don't say that, never again! I am like you, always your friend!" Wanderer,Wander,wanderer still Life's a climb Up a downward hill Where are you girls,from the merry-go-round,where are the people who let us all down? Across the room I was pulled away, told to wait inside as you parted that day End of school, Nashville sun,oh mammy, what have you done? I never knew I wouldn't see you again We were puppets of fools who built up the scam DE-Segregation, a word we could not spell YOU'RE still fighting your daily hell I live in a faraway life; I'd still risk anything to be by your side. Causes now, were causes then, oh my what I'd give to bring this to an end Shootings, Shouting, Dying Alone Black America is still my HOME. My skin doesn't match but I was there when we hugged one another, "we're best friends" we touched each other's hair and shared from the start, pulled off the labels cause we were smart It was supposed to be better! Will it ever be, that we can find each other and write long letters? Stupid southern haters, baiters that catered to leaders, make believers, nothing was real then or now we were not IN-TE-GRATED we were used, smoked and baited put together like N'awlean's blues Ole mammy, mammy blue little us, little you in grade three,cutting out snowflakes for the Christmas tree It was a sham, just like pot pies an' Vietnam I say your names in case you find me, Antoinnette, Joyce and tiny Sam May where you are be good to you My little friends, I still love you
Each word in your brain has rolled through someone else’s also; mathematically it all adds up to who decides to believe in their own thoughts or who dismisses them not deeming their ideas worthy of following through with. Issaac Newton, Alfred Einstein, even THE Ben and Jerry who gave us our first taste of Chunky Monkey weren’t all knowing. What they were is quite simple, they were determined. None of them were afraid of being wrong or failing. There is still room for enlightenment as Marcus Aurelius would argue, God is all knowing, and we can’t possibly meet that Fantasia like phenomenon without having Faith. Faith is basically, hope. Hope is what we have when we are lost and need to be found, tired and need a hand, and Belief is when we truly think that Ben and Jerry, Newton, Einstein and God have one thing we lack. What is that thing? The dark and unanswered thoughts that rumble through our brains before bed, the tears we shed in silence, the fear of being dead or living fully as we are meant to live? What makes people need to hear from another repetition of old adages, religious philosophies, scientific explorations uncovered and more on phenomenal happenings? No two snowflakes are alike, but each snowflake has one thing in common, it’s a snowflake! No two brains or humans are alike, yet we are all part of an extraordinary experiment called life. Share your thoughts, the ego can fear rejection however the soul needs exceptions, the brain needs to question and solve. Our hands need to be held as we go through the same yucky crud that thousands upon hundreds of thousands have also gone through. Roll out those emotions through ArT, through words, through meanderings in the desert or forests, talk to your neighbour, run what’s in your head by another and there will be the likelihood of finding someone who believes in you just as much as I believe in Ben and Jerry’s.
RealStuff by RealMe 
You must be logged in to post a comment.