No Flowers

What if, during these apparently disturbing times of unrest, there was no one willing to smile for a moment? What if, during the storm of what’s coming, raining all over what is, there was no one to point out the rainbow of hope? What if the morning news kept beating us with political screw ups and forgot to share the stories of triumph, hope and perseverance? What if all we could see was the endless desert, blinded from seeing the beauty of the sunrise or sunset, it’s simplicity, or simply became numb to the dreams inspired by the flowers brave enough to bloom there?

I am weary and heartsick of being trapped in the quicksand of pessimism, discontent, and disbelief in humanity that I find myself surrounded with. Fighting against those who perpetuate this only causes their grip to become stronger, and me to sink faster into a depression I am unfamiliar with. It appears to do no good to explain that I can see what is so wrong without dwelling on it 24/7, or that I agree with much of the opinions that fly about~I’m just not willing to rage in a manner that hurts my cause of hope. I wondered just last night what would be expected of me if I were to be diagnosed with a terminal illness and given only a few months to live? Am I expected to weep and wail for the duration of my life at the unfairness or hopelessness of it all? Or would I be supported in any way in my attempts to enjoy and celebrate what time I had left in between my moments of weeping and wailing?

While I can’t answer that question, I can tell you that I don’t want any part of a world without love, compassion, hope, or flowers brave enough to bloom where they shouldn’t be able to. I won’t help create that world, and I’ll have no part in perpetuating it’s existence.  If we are doomed to a world of war, rioting, liars and lack of leadership, then I only have one thing to say:

Leave me alone.

Let me be.

Let me smile and laugh and joke while the fires that can’t be contained burn us to ash. If you’re right and the apocalypse is coming any day now then leave me to my singing, dancing, writing, dreaming, hoping, and loving where I can. Let the last thing somebody sees be my smile before being obliterated by Armageddon, the last thing they hear-my laugh, the last thing they feel-my heart wrapping around them so they know when all is said and done IT WILL BE OKAY.

I don’t want your world, and you don’t know how to believe in mine. That’s fine.

Just don’t pluck the flower that is brave enough to bloom in the desert and grind it under the heel of your anger.

Let the rainbow comfort somebody, even if it can’t be you. Let the flower bloom.

desert flowers rainbow

Pandora’s Box

Lately, I have moments when I scare myself.

Like that feeling you get when you give something a little push, and it starts a chain reaction that shifts everything in sight, or you open the closet door and everything falls out on you. Yeah, it causes a chaotic mess, but what’s left is clean and open.

When Pandora opened her box, she released all the evils into the world, and realizing what she had done~she slammed that lid down as fast as she could, but it was too late~there was no more containing the bad.

The worst part of the story to me, is the part no one ever tells. When she slammed the lid back on the jar (yes, it was really a jar, not a box) it was too late to keep the evils from the world, but still trapped in the bottom of the jar~the only thing left inside~was the Spirit of Hope.

Seriously, now, that is a bad BAD situation. That is where Pandora and I part company. When I opened my jar, and all the negative, evil, wicked, mean, bad and nasty stuff flew out I was RELIEVED. My whole jar was made of Hope, and I carry it with me everywhere.

The scary part is this~I know things now that I didn’t before. I know what I want. I know who and what I am. I know what I’m supposed to do. The OTHER regular old do the duty and quit your whining and be a Stepford Human  me is like “OMG DON’T YOU EVEN MAKE ONE MOVE. DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT”. Me and myself are kind of eyeballing each other right now. You know~nobody move, nobody gets hurt. =)

So I compromise with me. I take a step at a time. I enroll in school, and send in my writing, and meditate. I tell myself the truth every day~I am becoming who I am meant to be. It’s the journey that’s important and exciting. The journey that is the adventure.  There will always be a new destination, because it’s all in the journey. I am JUST now figuring that out.

It is this new knowledge that keeps me sane, and holding on tightly to my jar of Hope. I tell myself that I can take being where I am and doing what I do because it is refining me for what’s next~it is setting me up for flat-out tears of joy gratitude when it’s time to step out. I do understand that who I am goes with me everywhere, so I have to work it out and grow. If I don’t, I’m just carrying the ugly with me in the jar.

Nope. No thank you. I’m collecting only good dreams and schemes for my jar of Hope. No uglies. Done with that.

So here’s to Pandora, and letting out the ugly, and holding onto Hope.


What Does Not Kill…

Today made yesterday look like a trip to the Enchanted Kingdom. Yesterday was such a steady ongoing call to the Dark Side that by bedtime I felt like a champ for maintaining good behavior. Little did I know what was in store for me today. Today was a balls out challenge to everything my ego ever supported.  I was in a situation at work that so insulted me that in a flash of a moment, all the mean, righteous “smack down” I ever worked so hard to dissolve, rose up in a heartbeat like a great monster tsunami to gleefully obliterate the irritating fly in my ointment.

For a moment, I could actually feel the victory of leaving this person boiling in the humiliation I was so ready to drown them in. Seriously. Did you actually read the last three sentences I just wrote? Not only did I really write them, but today for several critical moments, I meant them with my whole being.

Once upon a time, I wouldn’t  have given any of this a second thought. But this is not a fairy tale, or an episode of Dexter. This is my constantly (I hope) evolving self, who at the moment of critical fail, chose not to use my well-known weapons of mass destruction. Fearing my lack of ability to speak with any kindness or wisdom at all, I put myself on momentary lock-down until my potential “begging to be a victim” escaped with his dignity intact.

I cannot express adequately the difficulty of this feat. My unfortunately legendary and much feared head-lopping abilities were appalled at being held back, and my ego begged to set things more than right. My mind kept telling me that letting this person get away with such a professional atrocity was not good for man-kind. Sometimes it is very important to smite someone most severely to teach them how not to behave. Seriously again. Can we re-read this paragraph?

I did the right and kind thing. Everyone lived happily ever after. Okay maybe not yet, but tomorrow after I calmly and kindly ensure that it is understood what will and will not be acceptable in the future, I will at least be at peace without losing the progress of my heart. But I will admit to you that IT IS KILLING ME. But that’s just the old ego talking.

What does not kill me, makes me strong. What does not kill me, makes me strong…

Pray for me. A lot. Thanks.

The Curse

This is a day that is reminiscent of unpleasant days gone by…days when I had no choice but to begin each one of them with a heartfelt prayer for grace, and blessings, and perhaps a miracle or two.  Days when, no matter what my effort or plea, my world continued to implode in a slow and somehow graceful dance of doom until I was left only with the question, “why is my life not being filmed as a tragic comedy for those not actually involved with it?”.

Once upon a time, there was an exiled princess, beautiful beyond all measure (this is my story, leave it alone). She had been banished to an atrocious River House with the curse upon her that no matter what she did to make things beautiful in her world, it would be for naught. The original structure of this house was a thousand years old and had been added on to so many times that no one really knew how many fuse boxes it contained (and some of you don’t even know what those are, do you??). The rafters for the ceilings were from native timber that time had twisted into unrecognizable shapes, the windows were of the very first glass ever made, and the furnace was a monstrosity from hell.

The beautiful princess and the mighty huntsman she married had a magical child, a son, who they loved with all their hearts, and it was difficult to keep him safe in the River House of Doom with a high-speed road ,  six inches from the house on one side, and a raging river as a back yard. But keep him safe they did, and for the next 20 odd years, the beautiful princess fought the River House of Doom with all her might.

She put a new roof on it, replaced every window, re-sanded every floor, replaced the furnace, tiled and painted the bathroom, put up new ceilings, built new walls, and tore a few down, painted the exterior at least three times and then sided it when all else failed. Throughout these times they survived many floods from the wrath of nature, cleaning up and continuing on…

Until the final GREAT AND MIGHTY FLOOD; the one that desecrated the entire village…and although the River House of Doom was not swept away with the others, the enormous power of the flood destroyed the foundation beneath with all of the heating and plumbing that had been so carefully replaced. And thus she was defeated. In deep shame, and financial ruin she departed with her huntsman to the furthest edge of the kingdom to heal, and make their plans to overcome the evil curse and thrive. (the little prince had fortunately left before the GREAT AND MIGHTY FLOOD to fight epic battles for his people)

Slowly, they healed, they learned, they grew. They became stronger from the battles they fought in days long past. They began to dream of a better day where they drove cars from the current millennium, and owned a home on a quiet property where Bambi and Thumper roamed and flowers grew in profusion. The beginning of the beginning was in sight.

Then the day dawned when her chariot (or the horse) became to tired to go on, it needed an oil change, and a cracked manifold repaired and the electrical system redone, and when she came home to ponder this financial fiasco she found that her refrigerator no longer worked and the burners on her stove only functioned at half capacity!

At this point, dear Reader, we must entertain the possibility that the curse of the River House of Doom is still upon the beautiful princess. What must she and the mighty huntsman do to break this evil curse?  Should she send him forth on his trusty Harley to search the kingdom for answers? Her hair, although fashionable, is not long enough to use as an escape route. Sleeping until a handsome prince comes is not an option. (huntsmen get very touchy about things like that) So what’s a girl to do??

Someday we will know what her answers were. For now we must just accept that shit happens, you have to suck it up and roll with it, learn your lessons from it and make better decisions based on your past experiences. At least that’s what I get from this fairy tale.

Oh!! I forgot to tell you the part of the story where, after they escaped from the flood, the River House of Doom caught on fire and burned to the ground. And when the princess was notified of what was happening she went to see for herself. And as she saw the fire jumping high into the night sky…she danced =).


The End?