Forgiveness, part 101

Sometimes, I am not sure whether or how to forgive. I feel confused.
I ask myself:

a. Jesus (What would Jesus do?) It's been suggested that we ask this when confused about how to proceed. Jesus was not always Mr. Kindness and forgiveness. He kicked over the tables of the moneychangers. He cursed a tree that wouldn't flower for him. So how do we know when to forgive and when to start kicking? (I had Sissy acting like Jesus in my kids' book, Frog Haven!)

b. Buddha (What would Buddha do?) Imperturbability? I can only FAKE IT! I can "Act as if." I can pretend. But inside is a maelstrom. It rears its ugly head when my guard is down. How can I calm the maelstrom inside? (Prayer helps).

When forgiveness?

When forgiveness?

At what point does forgiveness come into the equation when there's been an argument or misunderstanding??  Does s/he have to ASK for it, apologize?  I usually just forgive him or her the best I can after a while because otherwise there is too much tension.  And I feel too sad.  But if there's been no apology and the bad behavior continues, is forgiveness appropriate?

More thoughts on forgiveness

Notes in reponsie to my previous post (see below)(Thank you, A)

A friend just told me she thought I was very good at forgiving.

Sometimes, I think I am good at "acting"--at pretending I've forgiven--trying to make my wishes to be a forgiving person into a reality that doesn't fully exist, a sort of hyper "acting as if."

The reason I say that is because I wake up in the middle of the night obsessing about something I think I've "released."  And then can't sleep.

Somethings that seem like little things--like my husband planting grass seed in my garden without asking.

I get mad at him more than anyone else.  I forgive him more than anyone else.  I guess that's not surprising, as we spend more time together than we do with anyone else.

But acting "as if"--as if I've forgiven him--just sort of pushes the hurt feelings deeper down where the resurface to bother me at night,

On the other hand, telling him how I feel often provokes a fight.  And a long drawn out process which may include lots more to try to forgive!!

I'd like to do a better job of being human.  I guess that means forgiving MYSELF for my imperfections, too!

Such Hard Work

Forgiving is SUCH HARD WORK. I have to do it over and over and over and then do it yet again.

I woke up early in the wee hours of morning today, in the darkness, ANGRY yet again about something I thought I'd put behind me. Angry and then depressed. Depressed that I can't seem to let go. I'm angry about a series of relatively small things. What it it were something large? How successful would I be at forgiving?

It's easy to have a holier-than-thou attitude, for me, and think, of course I would do the right thing and be forgiving. It's so much harder to actually do it. And to continue to do it for as long as it takes to succeed. Prayer helps.

(This sunflower is a detail from a quilt made by Marie Zeller from Grosse Pointe Michigan and displayed at the Michigan State Fair. Click on the image to view it a little larger.)

Today's Fractal

I have company coming and a zillion things to do, and what am I doing?
PLAYING! BAD ME!!! (Procrastinating--never do now what I can put
off til later or til forever.)

“A life spent in the hedonistic seeki...

"A life spent in the hedonistic seeking of personal pleasure is not a good or honorable life and does not lead to the greatest happiness."

(Not real happiness anyway.  Empty pleasure and happiness are not the same.)

My teenage son spends very little time with BB and me.  When he is with us, he is somewhat surly and unwilling to listen.  I came up with the idea of emailing him very short pithy statements in hopes that he will read them in case I have something important to say--important to him, like so and so called and wants a call back.  By the time he's realized I'm not conveying that kind of information, maybe he will have registered my point.  Or maybe not.

I despair at this point in his becoming a real person, but I guess that's common for the mothers of teenage boys.  I'm told be the time they are 35 or 40, they may actually become human again, but I may not live long enough to see it.

What I emailed to him is the part in quotes.  BB thinks that PB is totally incapable of applying the wisdom to himself, of seeing the connection, of understanding that I mean HIM.  He, PB, the boy, wants nothing other than to hang out with his friends, drink soda, eat junk food, and follow every whim.  He constantly wants us to hand over money for foolish purchases, but he is very angry if we ask him to do anything, including clean his room or rinse his dishes and put them int he dishwasher.  And he walks out without saying goodbye or telling us where he's going.  (Which he just did, and when a friend calls, which one just did, I have no idea what to tell them.)

Anger

This is anger. It is hot and strong and dark and scary. Anger is sad
as well as mad.

This is a left-hand (non-dominant hand) drawing.

Pondering today’s discussion

Pondering today's discussion, Friday, July 31, 2009


If I am driven, at least in part, by my desire to "please my father," who is dead, and if I have internalized my father as an inner father that I am still trying desperately to please, and if I somehow find healing with those inner selves so that I no longer feel driven to succeed at pleasing my inner father, will I lose the drive to create and succeed?  Or will it be possible to find some "middle ground," perhaps a more balanced and pleasant one? 

It frightens me to think I might lose my desire to create.

I have, perhaps, an overly active drive to be creative.  I could be happy to tone it down a little and live in a more balanced way.  But I don't want to LOSE it.

I have, on the one hand, a desire to be creative and a desire to succeed, BUT I also have something that stands in the way of my success—perhaps my ADHD or perhaps something deeper and more insidious.  I work on projects for years and often do not complete them.  I have many unfinished novels poetry manuscripts and art pieces.  I write first drafts of poems, revise them once or twice, and put them aside and rarely send them out.

What I would like is to have a more balanced approach to my creativity, instead of such a driven one.  I would like to work on one or two projects at a time and see them to completion and fruition and find a way to balance my "work" (writing and art etc) with family, chores, social life, pleasure, etc.

Right now, I have a tendency to neglect my chores when consumed with work.

I want to continue to work, but to do it in a more balanced and appropriate way.

I do want to heal.  I feel bad inside, and have for years.  I want, as the serenity prayer says, to have the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.  (Of course, really, I want to change all the bad things to good, but I do know that's not likely to happen.)

So yeah, I want to improve my relationship with my inner father.  But keep my creativity transformed in a balanced and appropriate way.

Voltaire

VOLTAIRE:
No snowflake in an avalanche ever feels responsible.

Many people hold onto a grudge because it offers the illusion of power
and a perverse feeling of security. But in fact, we are held hostage
by our anger. It is never too late to forgive. But you can forgive too
soon. I am especially wary of what I call "saintly forgiveness."
Premature forgiveness is common among people who avoid conflict.
They're afraid of their own anger and the anger of others. But their
forgiveness is false. Their anger goes underground. I define forgiving
as letting someone back into your heart. This returns us to a loving
state -- and not merely within the relationship -- we feel good about
ourselves and the world. True forgiveness isn't easy, but it
transforms us significantly. To forgive is to love and to feel worthy
of love. In that sense, it is always worthwhile.

Memories and Repcruussions 2

Memories and Repercussions

All my faces I burned at the your door, stepped
over your threshold blank as the first piece of paper
slid from a newly opened ream.  I fanned the ashes
of self into your dogwoods and lilacs, but they filtered
in through the poisoned earth to remind me who I was
before I met you. Those shadows, though immolated
in flames, still dance in dreams.  Every day a new face, old
as its tortured scars, blossoms from the blank visage
I donned for our wedding.  One by one, I claw
them off and they scuttle like rats under our bed
to screech and whine for my attention.  They interrupt
the soft touch of your hand on the curve of my hip
during the long wakeful hours as I listen, helplessly,
to their squabbling and pronouncements. So many
of them pile around our rooms, like wadded
and rejected drafts, that I can no longer find the unblemished
self I tried to give you. For your protection. And mine.
Nor can we find each other now among the heaps of drooling
faces, the raging masks that bury and drown us both.


Mary Stebbins Taitt
For K
090720-1254-2, 090720 1st

love first

In The Scarlet Letter, Hawthorne says:  "It is to the credit of human nature, that, except where its selfishness is brought into play, it loves more readily than it hates."

I love this quote and I think it's true that our first instinct is to love and be close, and only when circumstances push us away do we lose this.

Hawthorne goes on to say, "Hatred, by a gradual and quiet process, will even be transformed to love, unless the change be impeded by a continually new irritation of the original feeling of hostility."  I think the same can be said of forgiveness--that is, time and innate love can transform lack of forgiveness to forgiveness.  We can speed the process by choice and intention.

Separating forgiveness from condoning ...

Letting Out the Old Anger, by Mary Stebbins Taitt


Separating forgiveness from condoning the act

This is from a discussion I had with another blogger and I thought I'd share it here.

She said, "I cannot separate forgiveness and condoning the act that needs to be forgiven."

I said:

I think separating forgiveness from condoning the act is a crucial thought and act.

You can learn to forgive WITHOUT condoning the act that was wrong.

People are human and everyone, including you, makes mistakes, does bad things--right? I sure know I do.

We HAVE to be forgiven because we are all imperfect and we get tired and grumpy and all sort of things cause us to to do wrong.

Try saying to YOURSELF (at first) and then maybe to some safe other person, I forgive YOU even though what you did was wrong and hurtful. I do not erase the wrong, I do not forget the wrong, but choose to forgive, even if I have to do it over and over again, I will forgive you.

Whether or not ALL acts should be forgiven is a question. I think probably they should, but boy oh boy, some are pretty heinous. Start with easy things, maybe.

My first husband beat me--very badly, more than once, and was abusive in other ways. He called me up years later and asked me to forgive him. I told him I wasn't sure I could. Later, I told him I would. I wasn't really sure I could, but I said I would, though I might have to keep trying.

I am crying now as I write this, because the pain is still there. But I do think I have finally succeeded in forgiving him. It was a long row to hoe. Speaking forgiveness inside and then aloud is a first step.

I get angry easily, probably too easily, and forgiving is hard. I think it's important. It may take me several days to forgive my husband when he has done something annoying or worse.

However, having said that, I will also say this: if someone hurts me ABUSIVELY, I need to find a safe refuge and keep myself safe. Forgiving does not mean allowing someone to continue to hurt you.

It's hard to know, sometimes, where to draw the line. There are people who can help with this if you need it.

I am not complaining but . . . I am ...

I am not complaining but . . .  I am feeling WELL and I don't know why

The past two days were fraught with stress and worry and lots of bad food.  I ate everything I'm allergic too:  chocolate, peanuts, dairy etc.  I also ate snacks, fried food, drank some coke!  I expected to be up all night last night and to feel absolutely terrible today.  These expectations are a result of years of experience--I usually don't sleep and feel terrible after eating bad food and being stressed.

I am very grateful that in fact I not only (so far, knock on wood) slept very very well (for me), but also feel actually better than normal.

So, of course, now I want to know WHY so that I can hopefully continue to feel well.  Or return to feeling well if I slip away.

So what is different?  Well, I don't know. 

Remember how I slept outside in a tent most of one winter because I suspected inside air of causing me problems?  Because the air conditioner isn't running, we have fan in the bedroom bringing in outside air and one in the bathroom pulling it through.  Could fresh outside air have a positive influence? 

I can't even THINK of what else might be different.

Could it be being rescued by prince charming from all the horrors of a dead car in a distant place?  I dunno.

erasing

old age and treachery! (Abuse etc)

Freewrite for Poetry 090512

Vertigo and Freewrite for Poetry 090512

I have just had an hour-long episode of vertigo that has left me feeling nauseous, dizzy and worried. I made a note of it for my doctor, who I happen to be going to on Friday, Muna Beeai. She's my GP. My neurologist thinks it could be silent migraines. I am afraid to do my normal morning exercises, because I am feeling dizzy and I am worried the vertigo will start up again--it came in two batches this morning, first lasting only 2-3 minutes, and then when I thought it was over, I moved and it started up again. So now, of course, Ia m afraid to move.

Oh-oh, appears my fears were well-founded--I just moved and it DID start up again, with a vengeance. 8:40 start. Room spinning bad. I keeled over to the left. Hit my head, not hard. Curled in a ball on the floor waiting for it to subside. Burst into a terrible sweat. Managed to crawl--literally--over to the computer and get into my chair. It seems to be subsiding again. 8:50 on Leo's clock, seems to have mostly stopped--ten more minutes of vertigo--but I think it is still with me and will return if I move.

OK, so let me start this freewrite again. I'm feeling dizzy, nauseous, worried, frightened. The room is spinning--OK--not spinning, holding relatively still now. But I'm afraid it will spin again. There is an odd dull feeling on my left side. That is, the left side of my head--I think it is starting to hurt. I had a lot to do today, and I am bummed about that as well, but also worried about what causes these spells of vertigo. Dr. Moudgil says it could be migraines, but it was also suggested that it might be a smalls stroke or a seizure. It's very scary, especially when I fall suddenly. That fall was very reminiscent of the time in Hamilton, Ontario where I suddenly lurches to the left and bumped into the wall of the hall. Nothing more happened then, but I did the same thing just now--lurched suddenly to the left.

The sun is shining brightly and I would like to go outside. I need to feed the squirrel, rocky, the wild birds and clean Rocky's cage and Eager's cage and make breakfast and shower and dress and get going on my tasks for the day. BUT I am afraid to move.

I can think of nothing unusual that I ate yesterday, only things I've been eating fairly regularly: steel cut oats, brain, rice milk, pork, calamari, shrimp, scallops, mushrooms, broccoli, yellow squash. I feel pretty sick. I can't do this, I have to go lie down.

10:00 I've had two more incidents of vertigo and still feel sick. 9:11-9:14, 9:40-9:55 accompanied by sweating and nausea. Fairly bad vertigo and nausea--probably not four incidents, but one long one, not over yet. It's been THREE HOURS NOW--I feel like it's wasting my whole day on the one hand and on the other hand, am quite scared. Worried about what it is and means. I got up out of bed because I have to pee and get a drink. I also need to feed the squirrel, but that involves bending over, which tends to exacerbate the problem.

More than 3 hours of vertigo, during which time I was unable to accomplish anything and spent most of the time in bed. Finally got up, made breakfast, sat out in the yard next to the shadow of the silver maple in the neighbor's yard--that is, I was in our yard, but the maples is on theirs. I had a weird experience where a shadow appeared on my hand that did not seem to come from the tree.

Vertigo Shadows

At the edge of a shadow cast by the neighbor's oak,
sun shines on my face, a breeze rustles my hair
and the shadow of the oak shifts and wriggles, restless
and hungry, withdrawing and then approaching
my bare toes, over and over while the whole dancing
shadow with it's patches of sun slides slowly closer.
Shadows of leaves, shadows of branches, shadows
of baby acorns nestled among the leaves. Shadows
of robins passing each other with worms and insects,
shadows of their babies opening wide their mouths.
A touch of cold startles me. I look down to see darkness
on my hands, isolated and with no visible source
from the tree. The deep, cloudless sky throws no shadows,
but the shadow on my wrist expands toward my heart.
Compelled to drink from that well of night. I bend toward
my hands. A black wave engulfs me. The earth tilts, the sky
spins and the tree lurches. I smell bruised grass, damp soil.
Feel tiny pebbles mashed into my cheek. Sweating
and cold, I watch the jonquils and tulips leap jaggedly
in the garden. Jump and twist spasmodically. On my knees,
my body curls in Bala-asana, the child pose, and I close
my eyes to still the jumping. The darkness
behind my eyes turns and jerks raggedly. I breathe
slowly. Feel a passing chill, another shadow.
I open my eyes to see a vulture circling, its shadow
passing over me again and again.

Mary Stebbins Taitt
090512-1229-1st

NOTE: This did NOT happen as written, but is a combination of the earlier experience of vertigo with the later experience of the shifting shadows and the mysterious one on my hand.

Making it on my Own (Word Trails)

Making it on my Own (Word Trails)

Writing as I walk, I follow word trails through a forest of thought,
each word linked mutably to a host of images and memories.
An Icabod Crane tree hangs over the path: twisted. The word twisted
links to broken, broken to shattered, shattered to glass
and to my heart, that old saw, that cliché that still feels so rich and real
to me, so true, in spite of centuries of overuse. It's difficult
to be a poet when you love clichés. My glass heart shatters from anger,
from a hand or fist or knife, smashed against a face, face links to fly,
fly escape bird wing fast fancy fallow Farrow Darcy.
I liked that name, Darcy. But I could not name
a daughter Darcy because of Darcy Farrow, though any name
must link to some tragedy or other. A good name ruined.
Alicia was another. I'd chosen it as a possibility until Robert Garrow
raped and killed Alicia Houk and abandoned her body along the trail,
the trail I walked to school each day. A beautiful girl left all winter
under the snow, no a trail of words, but a trail of horror. Strange
what we remember and what we forget. A trail of memories.
Reading old letters, I discover that I wrote my parents daily, twice
daily, often, after I left home. Such an outpouring of confusion,
a plethora of words, forbidden words, like fire hunger beg drugs,
like robbed, beaten, kicked, evicted, like plethora, a word my teacher
says not to use in poetry. Much of what I wrote my parents
I forgot, but occasionally, a favorite story surfaces, suddenly revisited,
shiny in the moment of it's recording, fresh with excitement
and pain or matter-of-factly written as commonplace,
two of us cramming into the turnstile together because we only
had one subway token between us. The half-rotted fruit
we pulled from the dumpster behind the grocers, devoured, grateful
for any sustenance. Sitting on the fire escape to get even the slightest
hint of breeze. "Don't send money," I wrote repeatedly
to my parents, "if I can't make it on my own, I'll come home."
Unlike Darcy Farrow, unlike Alicia Houk, I made it home eventually.
Boyfriend lover husband anger fist hit bleed abuse. Finally, escape.
Twisted, broken, shattered, home. I made it home,
if that breathing but mangled girl ringing my parents' doorbell
was still me.

Mary Stebbins Taitt
090417-2124-1c; 090417-1641-1st (complete) draft

word image from Wordle, adjusted by me.

No Help for the Snake Bite (Rattlesna...

No Help for the Snake Bite (Rattlesnake dream/nightmare)

I am out in the distant "bush" on a work-related task when I encounter a snake. The snake comes after me, chases, attacks and bites me in the finger in spite of my efforts to elude it. I am in thick underbrush and cannot run. The snake is small, brown, and thin and does not look like a rattle snake (they are usually thicker, huskier). It is wrapped tightly around my finger and won't let go, and its tail is hidden in its coils. I try to remove the snake, but it is locked onto my finger. I manage to press the coils aside and I find the tail which has 3-4 rattles on it; clearly its a rattle snake and poisonous. I struggle and struggle and finally get it off and it tries to attack again, repeatedly. I am encumbered by the brush and thicket which I can barely press through let alone run. I escape the snake and realize of course that I must go for help (and abandon my work). After I press through more brush, I have to swim across a large body of water. It is choppy and dark. The sky is very "black" with threatened rain and I fear lightning. I am, however, proud of my ability to swim through all this. At first I swim hard, but then realize that the excess flailing with circulate the poison so I swim more gently.

I have now arrived back at work which is a school/museum. Many of my work friends and coworkers are there in a meeting and I tell them I've been bitten by a rattlesnake. They are joking around and telling me unrelated things having to do with work and with their personal lives. No one is listening or hearing me, that I have been poisoned and need help. I make a loud announcement to the whole group, which embarrasses me, but they still don't listen. I ask the security guard for help--but he also does not help, he is busy with his own problems. I call 911 and get the police station and the person who answers the phone cannot give me directions to get there. I am thinking I need to get to the hospital. I keep saying; it's been over an hour, I need to get to the hospital, but no one is helping me. Because the snake was small, I think it may not kill me, but it still could, some snakes are more toxic than others and I don't know what kind of snake this is/was. I wake up in a panicked dither.

Things I am saying in the first narration of the dream:

• I am being poisoned
• I am being attacked
• No one is listening to me or hearing what I am saying
• No one seems able to help me
• I am encumbered and held back by multiple barriers to getting help/healing (underbrush, water crossing, bad weather, lack of assistance, stupidity/ignorance, distractions)
• I am in danger

Since all the characters in the dream are parts of myself (as well as other people in my life who aren't helping, doctors etc), I need to look at how I am holding myself back from healing. And why. And how I can change this pattern.

My chapbook, In the Circus of my Sanity, was sitting on the dining-room table at PB's place and I moved it over to the other side of the table. BB must have been looking at it, reading it. It shows a picture of "me" wrapped up by snakes. This image, fresh in my mind from yesterday, could have influenced/"caused" this dream.

Possible extended meanings:

Since snakes can represent penises and sexuality, perhaps I am being "poisoned by my sexual experiences," e.g.: rape etc.

Snakes can also mean:

• transformation and healing
• possible betrayal or loss of money
• someone liking/being attracted to you.
• hidden fears and worries
• phallic temptation, dangerous and forbidden sexuality (as mentioned above)
• a person around you who is callous, ruthless, and can't be trusted
• knowledge and wisdom
• Goddess Worship/the old religion
• doorways or journeying/knowledge/wisdom healing/shamanism
• my own masculine energy--the ability to take action in the world
• a poisonous or toxic situation in my life (if it's a poisonous snake)
• and of course, they can mean other things as well, as personal symbols. A controlling person, a parent etc.

I have always liked snakes in waking life and am not normally afraid of them, but most of the snakes I've encountered have not been poisonous. I did get very close to and photograph a Massasagua rattler, but it looked nothing like the snake in my dream. They are very placid snakes and do not attack (most snakes do not attack unless cornered.

The dream could also be a warning about the dangers of therapy and getting into toxic or poisonous areas of my life/mind.

I have snake dreams fairly often. One I had recently took place in the water (subconscious?)

Of course, the snake, too, represents a poisonous part of myself--and I can be toxic to others as well as myself. I keep returning to snakes, like I do to eggs.

White Duck on a Green Pond

White Duck in a Green Pool

The Clinton River makes an acute turn, chews
up the banks and topples trees whose roots hang fibrous
and ungrounded into the green water. Mallards, quacking
and grunting, slide along the current like pucks
in an air hockey game, smooth on the wrinkled green surface,
interrupting the reflection of willows and phragmites
with their shiny blue and green heads. When the river cuts
back far enough, it will rejoin itself, abandoning
this U-shaped oxbow to stagnate like an old appendix.
Already, the trail caves into the river and disappears,
almost impassable between the plunge to water
and the thicket of brambles. Already,
old oxbows ring islands of trashy willows and weeds
where Canada geese nest, the males hissing,
trailing intruders, attacking with wing blows,
with the heavy thump of breastbone against neck and shoulder.
No one in this dismal place is jubilant, but the white ducks,
resting on the sandbar opposite the bend of the river preen
their spotless feathers with bright orange smiles.

Mary Stebbins Taitt
090416-1025-2a, 090413-1730-1b

Okay, something a little more cheerful.

Flash in the Pan

For the NaPoWriMo Challenge #8, for the "Old Flames prompt," for national poetry month at ReadWritePoem:

Flash in the Pan

Barbara screamed, pointed at me, and everyone turned to look.

She screamed and screamed, pointed and flailed. Her face turned

scarlet. The thirty children who had gathered around me gaped at her,

all of us standing as still as if we were staring at Medusa, until my boss

found someone else to teach them and secreted me away with Barbara.

I shrank. Disappeared into a knot of thorns that tightened around me.

In the news, only that morning, a crazed wife had killed her husband

and his lover. But in private, Barbara's maniacal frenzy abated;

she spoke quietly. Fingers released their threatened hold on my neck

and I took a breath and another.

I still wanted her to disappear and take Gordon with her. Forever.

Before our first kiss, I'd asked him: "Are you married,

are you engaged, are you in a relationship?"

"No, no, no," he said, and he lied. I believed him. He wore no ring.

I tend to trust. I'd welcomed him

into my home, my heart and then my bed. But they were engaged,

and then they married. After he lied,

after he cheated, they married. He probably blamed it on me.

If I were her, I'd have been as angry, but never

would have married Gordon. She told me, in tears:

he'd cheated before. Said he saw other woman

when he was with me, too, Cheated us both.

Cheat once, cheat again. I so would not have married

Gordon that he was the first step toward a vow of celibacy

One year, then another and then a third. And on to ten. Barbara married

a cheat. I married silence, peace and a spacious

empty bed.

Mary Stebbins Taitt

090415-2212-3b; 090414-1115-2b; 090413-2252-1d; 090313-1602-1st

This poem has long lines which don't translate well into blog format.

I've started seeing a therapist; can't remember if I mentioned that, because I was hoping it would improve my insomnia. I'm dredging up all kinds of bad old experiences. I think I was a MAGNET for bad people.

The Fallen Moon

The Fallen Moon, by Mary Stebbins Taitt. This is from a dream the
other night--actually from two dreams in early morning. The white fox
in the trees and the fallen moon were juxtaposed dreams, one after the
other.

No Escape

No Escape, by Mary Stebbins Taitt. Abuse is hell. I started seeing a therapist. We were talking about my earlier life.

Fritzy and the Fish Tank

It's been a while since I've posted anything. I've been through a lot lately, medical tests, my brother, etc. My dad has flown in from Australia, and is staying with me for probably the next 3 to 6 months. I refused to get involved when my brother's pastor called several weeks ago to say that my brother was out of control and scaring some of the women in his congregation. Normally, I would have driven him downtown to the county psych hospital, and told him to check himself in and get back on his meds, or find another way home. In the past, I was always able to talk him into it. I didn't have the time or energy this time. I had to work. My other brother was mad because I wouldn't help. He used the excuse of having a client on the other line, like his job was more important than mine. He and my sister have come to expect me to just take care of these things. Now, because I didn't, my dad has come to try and straighten things out. I believe this has turned out for the best, because my dad is getting a dose now of what I've been through for the last 20 years, and had no idea that my brother could get this bad. It's been eye opening and heart wrenching for him, but having him with me 24-7 has been exhausting and painful for me.

I've been telling him exactly how I feel in the most diplomatic way I can think of, but I can see it's hard for him to take. After some of the awful things my brother has done, no one in this family expects me to live with him and take care of him anymore, and that's a relief to me, but as I've pointed out to him, I had to get physically ill, before anyone would step in and help. And, they're all irritated by the inconvenience of this whole thing. My sister still thinks that I'm just being lazy and need to see a psychiatrist, and convinced my dad to make an appointment yesterday [without asking me what I thought].

In the midst of all of this, I had this dream. It's about a dog I had and loved dearly as a child, Fritzy.

- Fritzy is old and dying. I accidentally sit on his head. I put him in the fish tank to help him recover, and then forget he's there. The next morning when I remember, I panic thinking he might be dead, but when I call him, he swims to the top and I lift him out. There's another little brown dog in the tank with him. I reach in to pull him out, too, but he swims under a rock, frightened. Then, I wonder how they were able to breath under water. That's when I wake up. -

In the past, I've found that dogs in my dreams usually represent my "pet projects" or therapy. Fish tanks are usually my responsibilities, and are usually neglected. I don't really get this dream, though. I asked for clarifying dreams, and lately the only ones I can remember are about moving furniture, which usually represents my baggage. I'm sure it's connected with my having to talk about the past with my dad, but it seems like I'm missing some of the meaning. Oh yeah, my dad's a heavy drinker, and it's been difficult lately for me to say no to alcohol, although I've not had more than one or two.

Report on Biopsy Procedure

Report on Biopsy Procedure

I am back from my biopsy.  I am feeling light-headed (slightly) and a little out of it.  Not exactly well, but nothing bad I can put my finger on.  A slight pressure in my head, tiredness.

Here's what happened:

I went to the ultrasound desk at Beaumont hospital, checked in.  The receptionist had my name and put a wrist band on.  I hadn't had a wristband for the mammograms or ultrasounds, so immediately I knew this would be a little more invasive."  (Of course, I already knew that, e en though it's my first in situo biopsy.)  I waited past my appointment time and was just starting to antsy (15-20 minutes later) when a woman called my name.  She was Nancy, the person to whom I'd spoken in the phone, the one who had made the arrangements.  She took me to the ultrasound room--looked like the same room where I'd had my previous ultrasound and had me strip down and put on a gown with the opening in the front and sit on the ultrasound bed while she checked my wrist band and ask me questions--the SAME questions she'd asked on the phone and I already answered--while she filled out forms.  She asked my name, date of birth, why I was there.  Checked my wristband.

Then another lady came in.  These were NOT the same women who gave me my previous ultrasounds.  (So maybe it was a different room?)  Nancy is blond and tall and middle-aged (younger than me, maybe 50?) and the second woman had an accent.  At first it was very noticeable, but after a little while, I didn't notice it at all any more.  She asked my name, date of birth, and why I was there and checked my wrist band,  She was short and dressed in dark blue scrubs--the first one, Nancy was in pale blue scrubs.  L2 was the ultrasound lady and she looked with the ultrasound for the lump they were going to biopsy.  They had the images from last time on the light box and I had looked at them to see what lump looked like (I'd been studying lumps on-line to see what I could learn about them).  I had wanted to take a picture of the lump with the little camera I'd had in my pocket, but by the time I got dressed, I'd forgotten and just wanted to go home.  DARN!

After she found the lump--and I could see it on the screen--she went out looking for the doctor, who came in and identified himself.  Meanwhile, Nancy had hooked me up to a blood-pressure monitor and heartbeat monitor.  My blood pressure was really good (even though I was a little nervous--eek)--and my pulse was also really good. 

The doctor, who was Italian and must have thought I was, too, because he kept talking to me in Italian--(and I am but I was too nervous to even pretend I understood--although I did understand a little, scrubbed my breast with turquoise stuff--antiseptic and then told me to turn my head to the side and he sprayed me with numbing pray which did not smell very good--kind of what one might expect.  He asked me my name, date of birth, why I was here.  And checked my wristband.  Then he said, "bee sting." and explained that he was going to give me shot to numb the breast tissue.  He actually gave me several.  I could feel it--it was milder than a bee stig--it hurt, but less than a shot normally does--like a little prick as opposed to a big one.

Then he got out the biopsy device.  It looks a bit like a large needle, only much more complex.  It has a gun-like trigger and parts--metal tubes--that fit inside the needle-like part.  I was feeling slightly queasy and fearful--I was afraid it would really hurt--the thing was HUGE--literally like 10-12 inches long!  EEK!  It was a scary-looking tool.  I could see him inserting it on the monitor--and I could feel a sense of pressure and a hint of pain and also something deeper--like pain I couldn't feel--don't know how to explain it--it didn't really hurt.  It hurt a little, but very little, less than my normal fibromyalgia pain.  But it was still upsetting--dunno how to explain it--I remained very calm externally, but inside I was getting a little dissociated.  After he'd gone in 3-4 times with this device, he said, "almost done."  Then went in twice more.  Each time, I expected it to start hurting worse, in part because of my previous bad experience with anesthesia.  Usually, they don't give me enough and then proceed to hurt me.  But in this case, there was never any real conscious pain, just that sense of pain I couldn't feel that was making me queasy.  Also the sight of that gian needle entering my breast on the monitor--pushing its way through the tissue--I could see the tissue giving and tearing a little as the needle went through it.

When he said he was done, I asked if I could see the samples and he handed me test tube with little bits of my body in it, swirling around--because he kept shaking it--like little eels or snakes.  They were maybe a 16th of an inch wide and half an inch long and curly.  I hope he got some of the right part.  Some of the lump.

I'm still feeling slightly out of it, slightly headachey, slightly queasy.  And tired.  I just want to lie down.  I have an ice pack Ia m supposed to keep on my breast ten minutes on and ten off, and I am supposed to wear a bra to bed and do no heavy lifting etc.

I am sure I'll be fine soon.  It really wasn't that big a deal.

Now I have to wait 3-7 days for the results of the biopsy.

A Can of Worms

A Can of Worms

"Isn't sex over-rated?" a long ago husband
writes to ask. "Except, of course," he adds,
"what we shared in the sixties." Enter
Hieronymus Bosch with his can of worms.
Twisted trees shoot up around me and fill
with monkeys; the ones riding my back chatter
and screech. A fountain of acid erupts from the earth;
grass sprouts tongues and the edges of flaming
dragon's teeth scorch my inner thighs.
I remember honey bright kisses,

fists and bruises, languid touches
but mostly terror, long alleyways, hiding
under bushes and inside trashcans full
of maggots. Always, he found me, dragged me
out by the hair and hit me, painted me
into canvases with leering eternity signs
between waves of fire and mustard.
Always grinning. He dressed me and stood
me by the highway, thumb out (or in my mouth),
while he hid in the bushes, waiting for a ride.

He forbid my descent into undersea canyons,
beam probing the coelacanths, if my mermaid
laughter wasn't on his schedule of simultaneity,
tantric song and knives balanced on his nipples.
Malevolent demon bats, keepers of eternal darkness,
fluttered around us, roosted in the shadows
and threatened to engulf us. We argued
about who had called them. He insisted I did,
and of course, I did.

Now, when I dive through the skin-nets of their wings,
they dissolve in veils, and I am home in the lychnis,
catchfly and moonflower. I sit among garter snakes
and mother stones, sun soft on my face. No
longer do I fall endlessly into darkness, as I did
in his arms. I walk down a different path. No
man lives beside me, no sex shatters me. No
landmines, no torn talons, only a vow of chastity,
cardinal babies and their red-beaked parents
in the sweet syringe, and black raspberries,
with their small thorns, ripening outside my door.


Mary Stebbins Taitt
090404-1219-3a, 990705-2f, 990621-1st, originally called "Underrated" L
from the Desire 6 Ms

This is an extensive revision of a poem I wrote in 1999.

Dream Poem "Backwards"

This poem is from a dream I had last week.  I had considered making a poem of it and didn't attempt it because it seemed too hard, but it continued to worry me, so I attempted it and here it is (danger, upsetting images!):

Backwards

 

Round, puckered and striated like a nipple, the fossil

hides among rocks on the mountain top.  I stroke it,

feeling the bumps and indentations in grey rock.

Limestone, perhaps.  Below, sky stretches, endless,

fading toward white.  It shimmers like the sea.  I call you

to see this ancient stone creature, knowing

how you like breasts, the soft roundness of them,

the responsiveness of nipples.  Not rock ones,

of course, but still, "come check it out." 

But you frown and step back, refuse to touch it,

and when I look back, I see, not a fossil,

but a dead girl, naked, lying deep in the rocks,

disintegrating.  An arm here, a leg there,

features half rotted from her skull, the nipple

just showing in shadow on the twisted torso

deep between the summit's rocks. 

 

Boulders shift and ocean now surrounds us.

We're on a breakwater, but no waves strike

the rocks.  The water is still, calm and blue as a summer sky.

We stare at the dead girl.  She's become intact and fully clad,

her clothes pressed and clean.  Her cheeks blush

with color, brightening.  She lies on top of the rocks,

no longer lost between them, and I'd swear I see her

breathing.  She's flung across a slanted rock

as if dropped there by great bird, head downward, legs up,

long brown hair draped down the rock toward the water,

facing the endless blue above.  We're on an island,

a shrinking island, no land in sight, only the glassy water,

the unmarred sky.  I'm surprised when I realize

she looks a lot like me, at maybe nineteen. 

 

Her eyelids flutter, and I awaken, in another century,

in a distant place, alive, and much much older.  Tears

dribble down my cheeks.

 

 

Mary Stebbins Taitt

090403-0930-2a, 090402-1757-1c, 090402, 1st 4:15 PM; from a dream last week

Press here to make me cry (Impossible tasks)

I've been crying a lot this morning.

I just heard that someone I loved died.

Ruth Grenoble.

She was 88 and lived a long wonderful life, but I am still bereaved.
I wish she could have been with us even longer, healthy and happy.

I cried because I got a letter from another elderly friend, the one
who sent the clipping about Ruth's death. A nice letter.

I cried becase it is raining--HARD. And raining. And raining. And
wet and grey.

And I cried becase oif the impossible tasks--I seem to have a number of them.

One is the address change business for my numerous small stocks. Each
held somewhere where it is impossible to get someone on the phone or
get their website to work. They are threatening to take my stoocks
away becase of "abandonment!" And they won't leet me change my
address--it's been what 3-4 years and I've been trying and trying.
Calling and talking to customer service people who say they can't take
address changes on the phone as they have no way to verify I'm truly
who I say I am.

None of these stocks are wrth much, but they are mine. It's the
principle of the thing!

I was literally stewing about it when the mail came and ONE of the
stock companies, BNY Mellon, finally changed my address and sent me a
check for $23 from all the dividends I haven't received due to the
address change hassles. I know, not a lot of money, but hey! I'm
unemployed and every little bit helps!

I cried--in relief. I know, I know, I was crying earlier in
frustration becase it's literally been years.

And no, I am NOT having my period--I'm 62 years old and don't have
periods any more.

The stock thing is not over, there is more to go. The multiple others.

And then there is the house inspection thing. We need to get this
house in spected, the Rolandale House. But I called and called and
called and called and let the phone ring five minutes, ten minutes,
etc--no answer. Over and over. I was just settling down for another
long wait when someone picked up the phone and kindly andswered my
questions. When I hung up, I cried and dcried. It's not over yet.
It's only one of a long series of hurdles.

Why do things seem to be getting harder and harder?

I guess, in part, because I don't sleep at night. I'm tired and it
makes everythings seem harder and more stressful.

But bureacracies do seem to be much worse--it's so much harder to get
to talk to a real person. And the recordings and choices and menus
NEVER solve my problems! WHY?

And do I get a piece of chocolate or a glass of wine to soothe my
shattered nerves? NO! I can't.

But hey, I wrote two new poems last night and this morning. :-) :-D

learning about ourselves and shadows

Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.

--Carl Jung

When you notice something about someone else that evokes a negative emotion in your field of conscious awareness to some degree, they are reflecting something in you that is similar, these are your shadow beliefs about yourself. Often, it's enough to acknowledge that characteristic and accept that it's part of us, but it is not who we are. But the first thing that usually pops up is the Ego with a case of denial. No, I don't talk that loudly... wear that much make-up... am not that rude... would never treat a friend like that ... am much more considerate... don't ever make mistakes like that... never behave that way in public. It's the I'm OK, you're not OK defense. Instead, we could accelerate our personal growth by exploring those parts of our selves that we notice in others and making conscious choices about whether we want to keep our behavior or change it. This is how we develop our strengths.

If we decide to keep it, we then have to learn to let go of our need to keep it or it can work against us. If you notice another person who always has to be right or have the last word, and you find it annoying, begin to observe your self in different situations to become aware of when you are like that. Think about how it serves you. If you're a trial lawyer that might be a good characteristic and you might decide to keep it, but if you're a tennis player, it might be to your disadvantage not to change. When you become aware that you do the thing or are like that sometimes, to some degree, you can determine whether it's appropriate or not appropriate by the reactions you evoke in others. Then you can accept that it is part of you, but it is not all that you are. Something that's part of you is always part of you, but you have the ability to intensify it or extinguish it. You can still want to express your opinion, but let go of your need to be right. You can still demand to be heard, but if you continue to expect others to believe you or do what you say, then you haven't let go of your attachment to being in control, having it your way.

The mirroring technique is a method to increase self-awareness which involves paying attention of your physical and emotional reactions during encounters with others. If you feel comfortable with someone, you are mirroring positive parts of your self (e.g. good conversationalist, pleasant smile, confidence). If you feel anger or don't like the person right away or get a bad feeling about the person, they are reflecting something in you that you feel uncomfortable about— but would probably deny if confronted with that information. You may choose to put up a wall to avoid seeing yourself in the mirror. The stronger your denial, however, the more likely it is true about you. When you know everything about your self, good and bad, and can still accept your self, you'll find yourself becoming more accepting of other people's eccentricities and less annoyed with the world, in general.

The following exercise will help you learn to use mirroring to learn about your self. It is suggested you pay attention first to negative feelings because we learn the most about ourselves from these. They are our greatest teachers. When you become good at processing this information, don't beat yourself up too badly, you can use the same technique to look at the positive things about yourself to reconstruct your self-image.

I copied this from here, go here to read more.

The quote from Aurora got me thinking.

a good reminder

"Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves." -----Carl Jung

sent to me by Aurora Fox

When I am really crabby, EVERYTHING irritates me!  :-(

Gratitude Today

I am grateful because:

• I have lost a little weight
• my fibromyalgia pain is present but not too bad
• I went through my novel, Frog Haven, end to end, and feel as if it is getting nearly ready to send out again.
• The sun is shining.
• My son, who is home sick, is currently asleep.
• there is nice music playing on the radio that I like.
• I am about to go make myself a nice breakfast and I expect to enjoy it.
• I have you to talk to and friendship is good. :-D
  

Spring, Discovered!

Here is an art piece to go with one of my new dreams.

In the dream, the triplets were juts a little older than this. I am wondering why I am dreaming of Jewish triplets. Supposedly, things coming in threes either mean good luck or PAY ATTENTION.

Perhaps I miss my friend Jacob who I've known since he was a boy? I really have no idea. Tu b'shavat? How am I or some part of me like a Jewish boy?

Two Dreams in January

Spring Discovered

We are on a road trip driving through a countryside that is brown and dead looking. Suddenly, I spot a bush that has a few flowers and then one with even more and one fully flowered--perhaps a shadbush. I want to stop and take pictures of the flowers, and there are humming birds in them, lots. A Jewish man with a yamakah and three sons, also wearing Yamakahs (triplets) are with us. Everyone is jamming in around the shadbush to try and get pictures of the hummingbirds (who do not seem to be afraid of us at all and are flittering close to our faces and cameras) when the boys discover a robin's nest with four nearly fledged baby robins. They are holding them, very carefully, but after a while I am nervous and want them to put them back in the nest. I want the babies to be safe and the mother to return to them. At one point, I want to photograph the three boys, each holding a baby robin and sitting close tilting toward each other in a very attractive way (more by accident than design). There is one small grey-brown unhatched egg. I notice it is not blue and wonder if it is rotten or if the egg of a parasitic nester (eg: brown-headed cowbird).

I think this is a wishful thinking dream, as it is very cold and wintry here. I am eagerly awaiting warmth and flowers, birds, etc. I love taking pictures but don't like elbowing my way between other photographers to do so. I am sometimes torn between taking pictures and protecting flowers or birds. The egg could be "rotten" because spring is not about to hatch here any time soon! I am also the three boys wanting to hold the baby robins, wanting to be very careful with them. I hope there is not some rotten egg in my life about to hatch into something dreadful--like death, disease, loss etc. The hummingbirds are a symbol of life and energy and JOY! (I could use a little joy, I've been kind of depressed for quite some time.)

This was a very realistic dream and I suppose it could happen. But I do not know a Jewish man with three identical triplet boys and can't imagine why I'd be driving through the countryside with them.


Unprepared for and Bad Memory of Richard and Mimi Farina

A Bar hired me to sing Richard and Mimi Farina songs, but I was unable to properly prepare and have forgotten many of the words and even the songs and song titles. I am botching it up badly, starting songs and unable to finish them, substituting songs by other artists like Peter Paul and Mary. At some point the bar is entirely empty and I am singing on alone becase I am getting paid to do so but feeling like a complete loser.

This is probably a stress/worry dream.

• I worry a lot about being unprepared when I have to do a presentation--in my job, for years, this was a daily concern, but it goes back even farther, to school and homework etc. And I have two classes and all my manuscripts to prepare.
• I worry a lot about my failing memory.

on the other hand, Richard and Mimi Farina were a LONG LONG time ago, and to expect myself to remember them well without having prepared is absurd.


I am very unlikely to ever be hired to sing at a bar--I'm not that good a singer. And if I were, it seems unlikely that I would be expected to continue singing to a totally empty bar! I say this because one of the things it's good to ask about a dream is this: could this happen? Meaning, could it be a premonition? It could happen, but it is pretty unlikely.

I'm in a rage but--deep breath---ha ha ha ha!

Grrrr! I wish I had had a camera. PB called at 1:30 and said he needed his choir clothes. HELLO? I'd driven him to school because he said he needed his choir clothes and he took the Louis bag full of clothes--I could see the hangers.

Oops, wrong clothes.

"My CHOIR clothes," says, exasperated, as if I have all the details of his choir clothes memorized. I go upstairs, after telling him he's interrupting me.

"Name them," I say, grabbing the vest. The one with the sequins.

"The vest, the red one."

"Got it."

"The tuxedo vest."

Huh? We go through a bunch of shenanigans until I find the right thing.

"The white shirt."

"The tuxedo of course."

"Oh. Of course. (The one with the tails!) Got it. Anything else?" I name what I've got. I name it twice.

"No that's it." I shove everything in a large bag and drive over. Honk multiple times and he finally comes out from Jay's in his Stewie PAJAMAS! Hello? (and it's VERY COLD out!) I hand him the bag, he says "Thanks," I leave.

I'm in the driveway when I hear the phone ringing in the garage.

"You didn't bring my pants."

"You didn't mention pants!" At this point I lose it, and yell and holler and say bad words. It's the second time I've said bad words this week when someone else might have heard them--in this case, Jay's Mom if she was nearby.

Then I go up, look in his closet, and have no idea what pants he want. I grab the navy blue ones, drive back over to Jay's, honk again. He comes running out--God I wish I'd had my camera handy and was quick with it--he comes running out wearing a tuxedo with tails, a white pleated tuxedo shirt, a white tuxedo vest, and Stevie pajama bottoms flapping in the wind. LOL! What a sight to see!

I was laughing too hard to be angry at that point! But it took HALF hour two run back and forth including rummaging time. Which may not seem so bad but add it to the 45 minutes and that is an HOUR and 15 minutes of totally wasted time due to his carelessness and inability to listen to instructions. meanwhile, my lunch is burning!

Successes and Failures, Small for Success

I set three small goals for myself, at the beginning of the year:

• To write a Geraldine poem,
  
• to clean under the Christmas tree and then the table, and clean up old projects
  
• and to start a diet.

and here's my report:

• I wrote a Geraldine poem, which is good, but haven't worked on it or filed it properly (bad)
• I cleaned under the tree, cleaned the junk off the table, washed the table cloth. I cleaned up SOME of my old projects, but there are so MANY! AK!
• I started a diet and lost some weight, but last night, during a bad bout of insomnia, when I was up in the middle of the night, I ate multiple slices of white bread and some other junk and gained some weight! :-(

New Goals (small for success):

1. Review the Geraldine poem I wrote, make any needed changes, FILE properly, read the Dawn assignments, and write one new poem, preferably a Geraldine poem. File that.
2. Call Muna Beai for a flu shot, blood test etc, and referrals
3. Restart my diet starting today

mini goal set 2:

• Begin removing items from the Christmas tree (Ask K to bring up boxes) Goal: to have Christmas tree down by Feb 2 (and not before).
• Make some positive cleaning changes around tree. Continue to clean up old projects.
• Do my assignments for painting class and my sketchbook exchange sketches

I am grateful that:

• I've lost weight (not much, but some)
• I did make a few positive cleaning changes
• I have written several new poems including a Geraldine poem
• I've had interesting dreams
• I am able to take the painting class
• I have a loving and tolerant husband
• at least at the moment, we have what we need
• there are trees and birds
• it's sunny outside
• that I took time to meditate today (I got some good ideas!, lol!)
  

I am trying not to chastise myself for being so slow at meeting my little goals and cleaning up. I always seem to be so BUSY!

2 eggs and a scale

I had another dream last night--it could have been in response to the friend one, since I'd asked for clarification and it could also havebeen its own thing.

I dreamed that we were breaking camp and everyone had gone ahead andI was making a final check. I found two eggs and a scale, a small electronic digital balance scale (black).

Both eggs were brown, one was boiled and one was raw. They were slightly different in color and size. I took them with me because I thought the scale might belong to Graham. It turned out that the eggs and scale belonged to a friend of Keith's who was traveling with us
(friend).

When I woke up though, I felt that the dream was a message to stop trying to measure poetry against art. Each is its own thing and has its own place and I need to stop weighing them against each other.

Poetry is the cooked egg, in a sense, I've been studying it and it is more well-developed. Art is the raw egg, still in process. Poetry is ready to be eaten. Art still needs to be cooked.

Or maybe the message is to eat the cooked egg first--maybe I AM supposed to weigh them.

There was a friend in the dream--maybe it means that the friend who is angry and afraid and lashing out has many creative powers and energy that would be useful to me if I reintegrated her/him.

I don't know. I'm tired. But I found the dream powerful and full of symbolism. EGGS and SCALES are both very powerful symbols (like SNAKES are powerful!)

Persephone/Demeter are also meaningful for me--Virgo with her scales. Scales can mean justice, Balance (which I sorely need), decision-making.

And eggs. Ideas, growth, birth. Fertility, creative potential. Also fragility.

In the dream, I went on a long solo journey with the eggs and then when I found out they belonged to the friend, I KEPT them and did not return them. Felt a little odd about it, but put them into MY/our things.

I hereby ask for yet ANOTHER dream of clarification for THIS dream. Does it relate to the other or is it its own thing?

Tips for a better life

I will be referring to these in 2009 to get myself out of the doldrums....or when I need more energy... my fave :  #12 "Try to make at least three people smile each day."   I want to make you smile! This is a forward I got but I thought it had some good points for discussion. hugs and love to you. XOX  Mary Tips for Better Life 1. Take a 10-30 minutes walk every day. And while you walk, smile. 2. Sit in silence for at least 10 minutes each day. 3. Sleep for 7 hours. 4. Live with the 3 E's -- Energy, Enthusiasm, and Empathy. 5. Play more games. 6. Read more books than you did the previous year. 7. Make time to practice meditation, yoga, and prayer. They provide us with daily fuel for our busy lives. 8. Spend time with people over the age of 70 & under the age of 6. 9. Dream more while you are awake. 10. Eat more foods that grow on trees and plants and eat less food that is manufactured in plants. 11. Drink plenty of water. 12. Try to make at least three people smile each day. 13. Don't waste your precious energy on gossip. 14. Forget issues of the past. Don't remind your partner with his/her mistakes of the past. That will ruin your present happiness. 15. Don't have negative thoughts or things you cannot control. Instead invest your energy in the positive present moment. 16. Realize that life is a school and you are here to learn. Problems are simply part of the curriculum that appear and fade away like algebra class but the lessons you learn will last a lifetime. 17. Eat breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince and dinner like a beggar. 18. Smile and laugh more. 19. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone. Don't hate others. 20. Don't take yourself so seriously. No one else does. 21. You don't have to win every argument. Agree to disagree. 22. Make peace with your past so it won't spoil the present. 23. Don't compare your life to others'. You have no idea what their journey is all about. Don't compare your partner with others. 24. No one is in charge of your happiness except you. 25. Forgive everyone for everything. 26. What other people think of you is none of your business. 27. However good or bad a situation is, it will change. 28. Your job won't take care of you when you are sick. Your friends will. Stay in touch. 29. Get rid of anything that isn't useful, beautiful or joyful. 30. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need. 31. The best is yet to come. 32. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up. 33. Do the right thing! 34. Call your family often. 35. Your inner most is always happy. So be happy. 36. Each day give something good to others. 37. Don't over do. Keep your limits. 38. Share this with someone you care about

--
I am certain of nothing but the Heart's affections and the truth of the Imagination- John Keats
Mary

Snakes in the Water

Snakes in the Water

A woman friend* (?) is visiting me. I seem to be living in Big Sur or someplace like that. We are on a cliff looking down at waves crashing on the beach. She speaks of swimming, but I say we can swim up here, and it's very peaceful. "We can swim to the right, we can swim to the left." There suddenly appears to be a deep clear warm lake at the top of the cliff. The water is comforting, warm, refreshing, pretty. After we swim a bit in peace and comfort, we encounter snakes. They are swimming in the water around us, and my friend is frightened of them. I ignore them and swim right through them, and they ignore me. But my friend yells angrily at them and splashes water to scare them off. Instead of fleeing, they rear up in the water hissing, showing their fangs, and then come at us in attack mode, opening their mouths to bite. I am offended that they are attacking me when it wasn't me who attacked them. I am also put off and a bit frightened by the now angry snakes. And I am upset with my friend for provoking them.

*In the dream, I know her, but when I wake, I can't remember or figure out who she is.

I had this dream several days ago and it has been haunting me.

I often think of water as the subconscious.

The green snakes (they were all green and in a wide variety of sizes) seemed peaceful and harmless at first. They floated in the water like lily pads. Relaxed. But when riled, they went into attack mode.

Snakes can be sexual and represent male genitalia, but also represent female power. The Goddess. They can represent nature and the power of nature.

The snake can be a symbol of transformation. Snakes are often seen as symbols of life, death and rebirth. In North American native tribes, the shedding of the snake's skin is associated with life and a new beginning.

If all the parts of the dream are viewed as part of myself, one could look at the dream as two different ways of dealing with life. If I approach life and change in a relaxed and calm way, I move through it without difficulty, but if I get frightened or angry, yell, splash around, than life becomes a problem and attacks me. I've seen this over and over!

I also wonder if the dream could have been caused by a confrontation with the security guard at Elmwood Cemetery. I can't remember if it happened before or after that. The guard was upset and K was exacerbating his upset instead of soothing it.

In any case, ONE message of the dream is to relax and go with the flow, so to speak, be soothing rather than angry and reactive. Unfortunately, when riled, I tend to attack, just like the snakes. That's the wrong approach. I learned it again today when calling the bank about an issue. Calmness works better. BUT, how do I get a grip on myself when upset?

I hereby ask for a clarifying dream.

Could this happen in waking life? Yes but it is unlikely.

Note: I am not normally afraid of snakes in waking life. But I often am in dreams. But not always.

OK, I have worked ALL MORNING and part of the afternoon Tuesday on a poem about this, 6 drafts so far.

Thin as Our Fingers
(Turning Flowers to Garbage)

A lake appears along the trail, above the cliffs
and pounding surf beneath. Bounded by cliff-side rocks,
it stretches nearly as far as we can see. Huge,
like the ocean below, but calmer. More welcoming
than the crashing waves of the sea. The trail
enters the lake and continues out of sight under the water,
as yellow as the yellow brick road in the Land of Oz.
I plunge in, eager, excited. Warm as air, the water
caresses me. Soft. Buoyant, delightful. I exhale, sink into it,
and rise again. “We can swim to the left, we can swim
to the right!” I tell you. And demonstrate. A smile
blossoms on my face and fills me with light
like the first sunny day of spring. You hesitate, then follow,
slowly. Wade, then swim. Then smile, too. We drift together,
above the yellow path under the water. You laugh,
bob, sway, almost seem to dance, until you see
the snakes. Green snakes, hundreds of them.
Some are as thin as our fingers, some as thick and long
as our arms and legs. The snakes float on the water like lily pads,
hold only their nostrils above water, heads suspended, tails dangling
like the long stems of water lilies. I swim and glide among them,
easy, relaxed, smiling. No clouds crowd the horizon; the sky
wears the clearest, deepest blue robes imaginable. Reflects
the endless blue water. But you stiffen. Hang back.
“Look,” I say, “they are harmless.” Snakes surround me,
and pay me no mind. Still frightened, you refuse
to swim forward. Suddenly, you yell and splash at the snakes.
In an instant, they all rear up, draw scaly lips back
to expose their fangs and hiss. They charge us both.




Mary Stebbins Taitt
For BB and jo(e)
090113-1229-1eb

I wonder if I should attempt a version of this poem that not only tells the dream but also explores feelings and possibilities about it. That feels challenging and frightening to me. Making a good and successful POEM out of all that. And right now I am totally overwhelmed, but maybe I can try it later.

I was up really late working on this last night and have done nothing else including EAT (no food yet today, BAD for me!) exercise chores etc. This has really consumed me but I MUST do other things!

I'm struggling

alone

weather splattered hopes
blot an otherwise bleak landscape
streaks of anger
pale against a sky that refuses color
hint at a stubbornness that quickly darkens
leaving no shadows

clinging to cold rock
numbing roots
bent until my spine aches
branches raw, bark frayed by a
judgmental gale
humiliating blows hit full force

no shelter and no where else to turn
bare twigs reach for the
anger the sky rejects
hoping to ignite a spark of defiance that
warms numb roots
self destruct in a blaze of glory

instead, a gray night rolls in
dense Demerol darkness
anesthetizes the hopelessness
obscuring vision
I bow to blackness, but
pray for a miracle

Sorry I've been so bad about commenting lately. I've been very depressed and angry. I'm mad at my family again. It makes me sick every time I get mad at them. It's hard to function. I wish I wouldn't let them get to me like this. To make matters worse, I'm struggling with a government funded medical program and getting nowhere. I sat on the phone for an hour [using up my minutes] on hold to get my lab results, because they've failed to call me. They disconnected me at closing time. Aaaeeee!!! It's hard enough having to rely on handouts after working all my life, but to have to deal with all this other shit when I don't feel well... I don't have the energy to scream.

My sister thinks I just need to get a second job, like I did before I got sick, instead of sitting around feeling sorry for myself. She started on this kick when I told her I would not take care of my bipolar brother who is refusing to take his meds. I told her that I can't even take care of myself anymore much less him. I've been taking care of him and my mother for 20 years now. I'm done now. That's what this next poem is about. I put it on my other blog, hoping she'd read it.

The Caretaker

What use are you to us
When you make yourself sick
Wallowing in self pity
Won’t listen to our advice?

Because we’ve spent our money,
You have no excuse
You owe us an explanation
Nothing’s free

You are not living up to our expectations
We have given you what we deemed necessary
You have been judged to be in arrears

Now you need to return to
Your previous role!

This last poem I thought about calling "The Rantings of a Spoiled Brat", because that's what I feel like I am/doing. Sorry to be so negative today. I know I should be putting things in God's hands, but I feel so trapped, so alone, so humiliated, and so angry that I don't want to wait on him. I just want to get out of this place!

I Can Choose Not To Listen

“Thank you Jesus, for healing me”
He cries out
Wanting more pain meds
Refuses to take his psychotic meds
Doesn’t care how the hospital bill gets paid

“Just be strong and take care of things”
Clueless fatherly advice
Running thousands of miles away, so
He won’t see the mess he’s left
Thinks he can buy respect

Two generations of
Self righteous rhetoric
Spat out
Condescending benevolence for
Their own benefit

At my expense

Small and smart for Success

OK, I've boiled my goals down to these:

1. Lose weight and improve my health
2. Clean my house
3. Finish the Geraldine Ms and send it out

There are other goals, but I am starting with these.  They are overwhelmingly big, though, so I am starting by:

• making small changes in my diet every day until I begin losing weight and then stick with it
• start with the livingroom and diningroom table, clean under the tree, clean up old projects, wash the table cloths
• Work on the new Geraldine poem and post it and then do another.

When I complete these, I will add more.  I hope it leads to success.  :-)

Happy New Year!

What's Important?

In order to prioritize and make choices, one needs to determine what's important in life.  I've had this discussion before with myself, and one might imagine that by the time I am 62 and a half years old, I'd have this down, but I don't.  I feel a little fuzzy and confused.  SO here goes again, for January 2009:

I guess at least to start out with, I will do these as bullets rather than trying to number them and put them in order.

• #1 LIFELINE:  LIFE and as a subcategory of life, health and safety.  Our lives are almost always the most important priority.  Only rarely does something become more important than life itself.  And, in order to sustain life, we need good health and health services, a healthy diet, exercise, sleep, shelter, warmth, reasonable clothing, and so on.  AND SAFETY--fire safety, driving safety, travel safety, etc.  Even though I said I wasn't going to prioritize these, I am calling this PRIORITY ONE--LIFELINE.  Behaviors and activities that support LIFE and HEALTH (Good health supports a long health life.).  Everything related to life, health and safety of MYSELF and my family and secondarily, my pets, friends, and other people, all these are priority ONE and come first.  The individual parts of it need to be prioritized according to importance and urgency, but all are high priorities.  As a subcategory of health, mental, emotional and social health.  Because these things can effect one's well-being in serious (and sometimes fatal) ways, they belong in THIS category, but can sometimes be given slightly lower priority.  Work & finances falls into this category, because without work, there is no income, and without income there is no food, shelter, clothing etc.  That puts a lot of things though, in the number ONE category.  They still need to be further divided in some way so choices can be made.  There are also lifeline tasks for pets, plants etc, but these definitely fall into a lower priority than life itself.  Life is somewhat more important than health, because health if lost can usually (but not always) be regained.  Safety, however is a top priority, with excellent health maintenance right behind it.  One car accident can wipe out life or health in a single blow.
  
• Social:  family, extended family, friends, other people.  Very important.  We cannot live (or live well) without social connections.  These need to be supported, encouraged,  sought after and sustained.
• Creativity.
• Education.
  
• Recreation. Fun.
  
• Spiritual
• Community/World/Environment:  this is also a lifeline category, of sorts--if the environment is bad, then our health and lives are not sustained; if war comes here, then we may die in war.  And then there are the lives and well-being of others to be considered.
  
• Personal Growth/Healing
• Love and Romance
• work, career:  for me, this is where my writing comes in and I want to make that a high priority!  Aiee.
  
• health and fitness. (an important subcategory of life.)
• chores and tasks.  Why do we do chores and tasks?  Because they are necessary to life and our priorities.  They are subcategories of other priorities.  They can be divided into life-related tasks, eg, shopping for food so we won't starve to death and other tasks, eg:  cleaning the house so we can live in a supportive and healthy environment, so it will be welcoming to our friends and family.
  

At some point, these things get muddled up because they overlap.  Some take up larger portions of time and energy because life, for example, mostly seems to sustain itself until it doesn't.  We don't think of it as a separate category.  And some of these were already mentioned under life.  I think I need to do this.  Why is it so HARD for me, so totally difficult.  Is it my ADHD?  Am I mentally deficient?  Am I an idiot?

Now that I have written this down, it seems sort of silly. 

But I need a way to think about my choices.  I don't know why this seems so difficult for me.  This doesn't really help me divide up my time and energy.  I feel as if I am floundering with this.  I feel overwhelmed by thinking about this for some reason today, and I am going to put it aside for now and walk to the store, accomplishing , I hope, the lifeline tasks of exercising, light dose, and shopping for food.

If you can articulate what's important, let me know!!

New Year cogitations

I want to get started again on my New year's resolutions and goals.

1. lose weight
2. clean my house
3. finish the Geraldine Ms.
   

I don't want to spend too much time at this cogitation because it will throw my daily schedule off.  I want to stick to my early morning light dose and exercises and try to attack what needs most to be done early on.  But since one of the priorities of the new year is writing, I want to do quick morning pages to get me in the mood and to clear my mind for more important stuff.

Though it seems that starting right off revising poems or something might be a more productive use of my time.  It is sunny and bright out and I want to go out for my morning constitutional as soon as possible.  I have a hard time knowing which of the priorities I have should be first.  First things first, but which are the most firstest things?  Health?  Writing?  Healing?  Exercise, writing, light dose?  Cleaning?  Help!  I don't really KNOW how to prioritize and if I don't know that at 62 1/2, when will I?

I love seeing sunshine, we get so little of it at this time of year. Mostly it is cloudy.  Yesterday all day it was dismally dark, light twilight, and in the morning, freezing rain.

9:14  AM  If cleaning and chores etc were at all times to be more important than writing, writing would never occur.  Same with health issues.  There's needs to be a way to divide the time, a schedule.  Some sort of flexible schedule, because as soon as one is made, a problem occurs that conflicts with it.  I need:

• time to write, time to send things out
• time to eat
• time to sleep
• time to walk or run or bike or ski etc ("aerobics")
• time to spend with Keith and Graham (family time)(and one to one romantic time)
  
• social time, community time
• time to clean
  
• health time:  light dose, exercises, doctoring, tests, mammogram, etc
  
• art
• recreation
• shower etc, basic personal maintenance (this takes longer than it used to!)
  
• chores and tasks
• spiritual time, spiritual practice, dream time

I have to go back and look at that pie diagram I made.  OK, I am out of time for now.  I will have to continue this later.  AK!  It is hard to think in bits.  But I must go.

What are you thinking about during the early part of 2009?

Good News and Bad Regarding my Weight and gratitude for the Holidays and New Year

Good News and Bad Regarding my Weight

It's the new year and time to try again to lose weight. The good news is that I weight 24 pounds LESS than I weighed a year ago. Yeah, I know, I don't look a bit different and I still look fat, but I do weigh less and my clothes are a little looser and more comfortable. The further good news is that I only gained about 8 pounds over the holidays from Thanksgiving through New Year's, which will be easier to lose again, I hope, than the 25 or so I gained last year over the holidays. The bad news is that I am about 20 pounds heavier than I was at my lowest during the summer, and I am sick with all the usual problems I get when I travel. I have a sore throat, probably from eating dairy products inadvertently. I have pain in my feet and joints etc., the usual, somewhat exacerbated by bad food. The good news is that it is not as bad as it often is after I travel. Worse than normal, but less worse. I attempted to be extremely careful.

I am starting a diet, gradually at first, but then escalating, I hope. I can never predict the course of these things, but I intend to keep trying. Health first, weight loss second. Exercise.

I will report back. I hope. Sometimes, I get so busy I just cannot keep track of things or blog.

HAPPY NEW YEAR to You! :-D May 2009 be the best year yet for you personally and for the country and world.

I am grateful that:

1. I got to see my children (YAY!) and some of my friends over the holidays!
2. I weigh less than I did a year ago.
3. Our traveling both to and from NY was safe and relatively uneventful.
4. I did not gain as much as I sometimes do over the holidays.
5. I did not get as sick as I sometimes do over the holidays.
6. I am home. (Even though I enjoyed seeing everyone--my kids and friends! YAY!)
7. I had bird food for the birds and squirrels.
8. My African violets and houseplants survived without me and are still alive.
9. I have another opportunity to get back on track with my health and weight.
10. There is beauty to enjoy while traveling.
11. My husband loves me and tries to please me and make me happy.
12. I wrote two drafts of a new poem to bring in the new year.
13. I got nice gifts for Christmas from hubby and children etc.
14. I enjoyed lots of good food over the holidays and last night.
15. There is another new year to grow and heal and see beauty and be creative in.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!