The storm can be calm one minute. The next has gale force winds.
The tree and I share life. I bend the same as it.
A loss of a branch. The loss of parts of my identity.
We bend and twist. Adapting to the world around us.
We each heave a deep sigh as we grow. Not always knowing what is happening.
Taller and stronger. We both become.
Losing and gaining parts of ourselves. The seasons change us.
We bend. We do not break.
2020
(My apologies for being so damn quiet all these months. I got burned out hardcore and just felt as if I’d given so much of myself and needed a break. Not sure how steady I’ll post, but this piece hit me and I needed to share it.)
This week has been tough for me. And tonight is the anniversary of losing JoJo. Two years ago, one week after my eviction hearing, I rushed her to Dove Lewis. She wouldn’t have made it to dawn. She hid her congestive heart failure all too well.
She was my soul. We both had the same food issues (hers was an allergy to wheat and I have Celiacs). She was right there, in my face, when I wasn’t feeling well to provide me with some purr therapy to help me feel better.
She chose me in such a clear and obvious way. I was her only human for 14 years. She was 11 months old. I adopted her February 2003, and she passed away February 2017, a month shy of turning 15.
She was a ginger force to be reckoned with. Opinionated, loving, sassy cat. My first indoor cat.
The path in the woods
Meanders
Between brush and grass.
Lorded over by ancient trees.
Protected from the glare of the sun.
Slow, cautious steps lead down.
The edge of the woods clears.
The ground becomes soft.
Rounded pebbles replace
The sharp edges of boulders.
The rock is not far.
It has flattened with time and water.
Long ago, one had to climb its side to stand on top.
It is no longer the mighty throne of dreams.
The lake laps gently against it.
The others scurry down the shore.
Leaving me alone with the rock of my ancestors.
I stand alone, looking out at the ancient lake that has been part of our generations .
I remove my shoes and let my cloak fall to the ground behind me.
One step up and I take my place.
The hem of my dress barely reaches my ankles.
The layers of white and grey moved by the breeze.
It also questions the placement of the circlet on my head
By way of rearranging my hair.
My companions are beyond my hearing.
I hum a little melody my mother taught me as a small child.
Closed eyes, I hear the wind.
My friends off in the distance drowned out.
I listen to the trees. The water.
They tell me of those who came before.
Eyes open, I take in the serenity of the steep mountains surrounding the lake.
Ancient land, ancient water.
It laps gently against the rock.
Small splashes reach my bare toes.
The water, it is cold.
The sky above is calm, deceiving those below it.
I know its tricks, as the water has own.
The secrets bestowed upon me.
I am one of the
Chosen.
~A
This is a fantasy variant of my “happy place” when I get a panic attack. I imagine myself on the rock.
I’ve made no secret that I have a deep connection and love of music. I’m classically trained in voice and piano, even though I no longer sing in public due to my health and I haven’t actively played piano in 20 years. All that aside, I have always been involved with music to some degree. When I danced, obviously it was to music. I sang, I danced, I played, I listened, I promoted, I listened… I loved. I still do some of those. Dancing not so much anymore with my back and all.
When listening, I tend to gravitate toward songs that do something. Something to me specifically. They make me think, laugh, move, or cry. Inspire me. And even some that make me sing.
Sometimes it’s the artist, sometimes it’s just one song that pulls me in. I have artists in my music collection where I have greatest hits collections as well as some of the individual albums. Some I’ve seen in concert, but most I have not.
My collection is vast and varied. I listen to damn near anything. My collection mirrors that. I listen to different things based on what I want the music to help me do. If it’s drown out the world while on transit, I listen to rock and grunge. If I want to get worked up at home to clean or be inspired, I play other things.
Some of my favorite songs to get me inspired.
Music has kept me going when life has knocked me off my feet. The above video playlist (which may get added to later) is a handful of songs that are more recent but get me singing. More importantly, with everything I’ve been through, they’ve kept me in a fighting spirit. To not give up. To heal my past. That I’m strong enough to beat the things that hold me back.
Music is a true Universal Language. You may not always be able to understand the words of a song in another language, but the emotion is there. The soul of the song speaks clearly.
Music got me through being homeless (along with Portia as my ESA). It saved me from crossing the point of no return with suicide over the years. Music has saved my ass more times than I could count. I’m still here. Mostly because of music.
Becoming the Dragon: I have evolved, personality wise, to even more of a dragon. Hear me out.
Sure, all the other stuff I mentioned yesterday, like collecting “shiny” things and disliking humans, is part of it, but there’s more. See, in folklore around the world, dragons are fire-breathing people-eating monsters. No, I don’t think of myself as a monster. I’ve dated a few, though.
If anything, I was more like a super-mild version of Puff the Magic Dragon through much of my life. Puff was pretty cool, but super nice and loved everyone and everyone loved him, etc.
Me? I was (and still am to some degree) everyone’s doormat. The yes-girl. Needed someone to shlep you and/or your crap? Call me. Need someone to watch your kids? Call me. Need someone to do XYZ into infinity? Call me. To the point where it got to be manipulative and abusive by some. I spoiled friends, said yes to anything and everything, went to the ends of the earth and back. Then my father passed away in 2014 and things changed for me. My need for help shifted the equation. Most of those who asked me for help were nowhere to be found. Those who are still around in my life are unable to help as much as they’d like.
Enter being homeless. It wasn’t as bad in the first year, couchsurfing. It was when I got into the shelter when I began to change. If my contempt for humans was mild before (mild to moderate), then it tipped the scales (okay, pun kind of intended) into the VERY DRAGON levels. I withdrew more, seeing how some others at the shelter treated fellow residents. But the Angry Dragon side emerged quickly. When bullying of one woman escalated, I snapped at the bullies. Then I’d withdraw to my corner and watch. When they did it again, I lunged and snapped again. This happened a few times.
Now, I’m about as Pacifist as one can get without committing to some peaceful religion. Seriously. I do identify with Buddhism, but I’m not at a place where I can let go of parts of me that don’t ring true with it. My dad was very much a pacifist after he did his tour in WWII. So for this anger to be present doesn’t sit well with me. Eventually I need to separate the anger from the aspect of being strong and standing up for myself and others. To show my passion without anger. That will be the big challenge for me. It is, like everything else in life, a lesson to learn.
The Great Penguini Speaketh 