The Paths We Walk...

Just when I think I am nearly out of the woods, something else happens. It always does. And though I tend to believe that we create our own realities, that sentiment is starting to suck, and I am in protest. And all that business about, "It's not about the end of the road, it's about the journey, along the way" ... well, what the f**@#!!!

I am seeing a therapist, "on occasion". I'm grateful. It's costing me nothing, but my time... and we do this thing, during our lunch hour, which we share, on those days.

My eldest son is on his way to prison, for a short little while... although, any time is too much time, for me... and this is not even about me. But it is, too... isn't it? Before we found the money, for his bail, which we continue to be most grateful for, it was two months, that he was in, while awaiting his trial... which we still await. Those two months became, emotionally, a living hell. By the end of this month, he will be marching away, to do his time... 'til then, we just wait, going in and out of the days, and trying to deal with the energy that surrounds us. It is not pretty.

I won't bore anyone, who might be reading, with all the details. Who really cares, anyway, beyond choosing which brand of judgement to plaster upon his face. All fall short of the Glory of God... eh? Or so it has been said. Let me just say that there is relation, between his crime, and events that occurred in his own life, when he was but a young one. And for which I tried, as best I could, to get him the help that I felt was needed. When suicidal thoughts bid him hello, due to medications, given him, as a last ditch effort... (uh, last ditch effort towards... what???) ... well... that is when outside "help" ended. It had been an experience of insurance fraud, on the facility's part, and nothing, else, whatsoever, it did seem. Enough of that!

Did I fail? It feels that I did. Just as I failed Tim...or so it seems. But really, now... is it truly about the journey, and not the end? These days, I'm having a hard time with that one.

My therapist friend pointed out that I seem to be in a box, made of walls, which, she believes, I have created. I am aware of the box, but not so sure that I intentionally created them... beyond self preservation... which seems to be set upon "automatic". At least I have good survival techniques, at the very least... or do I?

This journey is full of more questions than answers. And though someone recently told me that we never "arrive"... well... I am not accepting that one, these days... although, I must say, it does seem like a never ending journey, for me, of pain and bullshit... and more bullshit and pain. And I am simply... completely... sick of it! Sick! And sick of being sick! And everything is making me sick, it seems!

What? I haven't suffered enough? You, oh Great Spirit in the Sky... Creator of all things ('cept my reality, it seems) ... when will I finally, again, regain Joy... ??? I do wanna know!

My sister gave me The Shack, to read, at Christmas time. It's a great book, by all accounts, according to rave reviews. It did seem, to me, rather simplistic, however. I came away with only two things, really, that rang any bells... and they were not light bulb moments. They were, indeed, things which I already had felt, and which it was nice to find agreement, with, in written form. But, those two thoughts seem important. The first thought, which I will now share, was speaking, really, of the love between man and God... on an individual level; however, I feel that this can be related, on any level of love, not just between man and God/Jesus. The idea is that love is not something which we can believe, simply by faith, or simply by someone just saying it... rather, it is something which we must "feel" in order to know... therefore, it must be expressed, in terms, which we understand, in order to be felt and realized... in my humble opinion. For this reason, I continue to strive... and struggle... through communication issues. That's just how important it is, to me. My son is beloved, to me. He always will be. He was my firstborn... and I experienced all of the wonder of his miraculous creation, first in him, before my second son was even a thought. Nothing will ever change that. And no matter what may have befallen him, as he has experienced his years, I will always know that he was... and still is... beautiful and precious. I wonder how it is that he still rings out, in laughter, even now, while knowing what lies before him, and knowing that these past few months are but a drop, in the bucket, of what comes, later... for the rest of his life. Bless his heart. Bless his soul! And may I continue to find more perfect ways to express any love, which he will continue to need... forever.

My therapy sessions have revealed that I do not like confrontation. This concerns my therapist... but does not really concern me... because, you see, it is all part of that self-preservation thing. She would like to see me get angry about things... in general. She wasn't there, with me, in the years that I was angry... and confrontational. She barely understands how happy I was that I was able to just, with a simple wave of my hand, shoo my daughter-in-law out the door, a couple years ago, when she called me a "fucking bitch"... yeah, that was a revelation, in my soul... to be able to not even have been stirred, beyond wanting to laugh at her... and that took many years in coming.

We all know that depression is... according to text books... anger turned inward. Ok... so... maybe I'm depressed. But I am not wanting to unleash that anger, out of me, in ways that are destructive and non-productive. And yes, I am fully aware that anger can be a positive thing, when used as a propulsion energy, to attain something good. Civil rights come to mind... fight on!

The difficulty I deal with, day to day, is how to relate, to those around me, who are precious and important, in my life, as we wade through this stinking, steaming heap of crap. It seems that all of our communication efforts are a wee bit off. The more that we continue to get it wrong, the more I tend to pull in, and want to isolate myself. I don't want to deal with it... in fact, I shouldn't have to... but, the higher reality is, I know that I should... and that I must. F**@#!!!

It is not just about me... although it is partly about me. It is, most importantly, about my son... and his children, who are my grandchildren... and his wife, who is, often, not his friend... and understandably so, though we won't go there, because I am biased in my love, for him, you see. It is also about his brother... and my mother... and my sons' dad... and all the thousands upon thousands of ripples, upon the Sea of Life, that we all drink from... in the many forms that Rain down, from Heaven, to fill our cups, and cause the river banks to over-flow, from want of dry and barren shores...

I have had, for a very long time, a tendency towards moving away from energy which I do not operate well in. Whether that be stagnant energy, or negative energy... or what. Perhaps this is part of the wall... the isolation... the separation. I do not relate well to those who are superficial, and have no feeling for humanity, in general, beyond their own temporal lives. But I would like to learn to Dance in the Rain... instead of waiting for the storm to pass. Maybe that's what my son is doing... because, gosh knows, he's in the middle of a very fierce and black storm.

I'm always taking breaths... and exhaling.... and this drives my mother crazy... but I feel that I cannot breathe... so, I take another breath... and another, and another, it does seem. I do not draw long... and hard... for that sort of breath, simply, is not there, inside of me, anymore. My chest is constricted, to the point of feeling as though I have been wrapped and bound, like in the old days, to restrict the flow of unwanted mother's milk, that once so bountifully flowed... I reach for plates in the cupboard, and my muscles severely draw, to the point that I grab the baby aspirin, because one can never be too safe, when it comes to protecting one's heart. I've felt this way before... and before... and before... and I really don't wanna feel this way... anymore...

The second thought, that rang a bell, from The Shack, is the idea that religion... separates people... instead of bringing people together... as do labels, I might add... and other such distasteful things. What has happened to us is never going to go away... ever. It has destroyed... and will, most likely, continue to destroy... lives. Yes, I must learn to dance in the rain... and not just pay lip service to that thought.

Yesterday I found my old place, in the country. The place that I had loved. The place that I still do love. The parcel of land where Tim and I had lived, with our 1 mile long, bumpity- bump driveway, that took us deep into the woods... and caused us to carry a shovel in our cars, to level the careening ditches, that often plagued our car-driven path. I found it via satellite, and what a joy it was! It had been nothing but an old hunting lodge, made of yellow painted concrete block... a small circle of land, which had been cut out, in the middle of a forrest of trees... and nothing but the sound of a lone dog barking... somewhere... in someone's far-a-way yard... the continual sound of trees singing, as the wind went sweeping, thru those tall, thin Carolina pines. I saw the roof of the house, and the concrete entrance to the basement, that came off the side... I saw the pump house, where the 1 mile ended, at the entrance to our yard... I saw the front porch... and the pine tree that loomed high above, the top having fallen, years ago, smashing loudly and scaring the dogs, during the week-long ice storm, that I will never ever forget... and I saw the, once again, over grown dogwood tree, whose limbs were still hovering over the edges, of the roof, of that precious little house. It was the first time, in a long time, that I felt joy... seeing this little patch of love that still sits in those woods. I had been told that it had been leveled... and yet, there it was. There is still the possibility of Peace... and Joy... out there... somewhere...

"Watch your thoughts... they become your words... watch your words... they become your actions... watch your actions... they become your habits... watch your habits... they become your character... what your character... it becomes your destiny... "