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Last Update Performed 16 January 2001


Time:  7:28 am EST
Date: 
16 January 2001
Reading: 
Nothing for a few days
Hearing: 
Rivers rushing in memory
Watching: 
Moonlight on flesh
Inspiration:
  Blessings

Entry:  Flight

This weekend was full, flowing gracefully into yesterday, Martin Luther King, Jr. day.  I think I got a bit spoiled by the time off from work and the weekend's activities.  But I did get some important things accomplished and that is satisfying.  The pleasure part of the weekend was very satisfying indeed.  But today, it's back into the swing of things, back to work, back to dedicating myself to a company which grants me a fair benifits plan and almost appropriate wages.  I cannot wait for next weekend...

Haunted by the flight of hundreds of butterflies, I am reminded of the blessings in my life.  That I can go and view tropical coleoptra in a habitat created for them through the marvels of science, that I can view their jeweled wings against the sunlight and smile, knowing the precious beauty there.  That I would have someone to share it with and appreciate it with me, not that is a blessing indeed.  I am fascinated by natural flight, that of butterflies and birds that flutter and soar through the air.  Wings, designed, that worked on their first go, light and efficient, beautiful.  And there we sit in the sky, lumbering along in a capsule of steel, wings bulky and immobile, polluting the atmosphere we journey through.  I know that my spirit animal, or one of them, is a bird of prey.  I have not felt such a strong affinity to one particular species, though I seem to be very drawn to falcons and osprey, as well as a particular species of eagle in the south pacific region.  I saw a red-tailed hawk this weekend and she reminded me of the power trapped within myself, the power I must release in order to fly.  Like that bird, I came to this place wounded, and now I must recover Self in order to continue on, return to the wild places outside Self.  I must know that I can survive and accomplish, and I will do this with my three P's: patience, persistence, and perseverance.  I instilled them sub-consciously in myself during Samhain, I plan to bring them up in time for Beltain.  I will have the most bountiful harvest in my history this coming Samhain.  I will reap the rewards, and relish in those blessings.


Time:  7:34 am EST
Date: 
12 January 2001
Reading: 
"We're All Doing Time" by Bo Lozoff 
Hearing: 
Dance MP3's
Watching: 
All the love in my life
Inspiration: 
Mentors

Entry:  Home Away From Home

I am always amazed by the people I learn from, people who teach me without knowing, people I admire.  The Goddess has led me to so many wonderful people, let me share their lives.  For that I am grateful.  I was blessed with parents who raised me to be independent and a free thinker, letting me choose my own paths, for the most part.  My friends growing up challenged me mentally and physically, pushed me to succeed in my youth, everything from climbing trees to garnering worthy SAT/ACT scores.   And my teachers, some of them more than others, were always inspirational to me.   Dr. Hamre, Mr. Dionissio, Mr. Madden, Mr. Kynor, Mrs. Cameroon, Mrs. Dudley, Mr. Loring, Mrs. Rhor.  Some have even become friends, like my writing teacher in college, Penny.  I am drawn to strong people, perhaps because I feel a need for strength in myself.  Not that I don't have any, I would just like to develop it more.   Every day I learn a lesson from someone.  Recently, I have been placed in a mix full of wisdom, strength, faith, and love.  It's like a home away from home, and I am immersed in it.  And here I steep, soaking it all up like a sponge, sharing in that warm bath.  People to teach me grace, forgiveness, hope, faith, benevolence, love, remembrance, tolerance, acceptance, initiative, patience, perseverance, and peace.   I can only hope to return the lessons in some capacity.  That will be fulfilling.    


Time:  7:42 am EST
Date: 
11 January 2001
Reading:
"We're All Doing Time" by Bo Lozoff 
Hearing: 
Dunno Yet
Watching: 
Cursor Flash
Inspiration: 
Change

Entry:  Residuals 

Strange snippets of this morning's dream are wandering through my mind.   Lots of my old high school buddies in it, Carlos for one.  I just remember getting lots of mail, constantly.  Perhaps I should check mine, or it could be residuals from the UPS notice awaiting me when I got home from work last night.   Anyway, from what I recall, I was trying to form an army or some type of covert operation.  Carlos was dressed in Cuban military fatigues and looked very Castro-esque.  I remember making our symbol--an "X" that looked very much like a stencil, with the upper left arm detached, wandering off course.  I remember begging Carlos to join up, using all the persuasion I knew how.  It got very erotic, and eventually, he agreed.  I checked my mail again, carrying an armload back to the "base" with me.  How odd...

I had checked out this site I am a member of, ClassMates.com.  I saw a few of my friends who had applied since I had, saw their life paths in the last six years since high school.  So many are married with children, at 25.  Others, people I never expected to join up, chose a career, however brief, in the military.   I believe all of this discovery sparked my dream, or at least images were pulled from these ideas.  I think I am wanting to communicate with these long lost friends and acquaintances, those people whom I have made connections with in my past, people with whom I have a shared past.  I also think that my forming the army was representative of the impact I want to make on the world.  I want to do something significant with my life, make something manifest in the world.  Ideally, this would be something positive, and perhaps this army was a radical way to express that.  It's still symbolic, I feel.  And I want my friends there with me, sharing in my path, sharing in the waves my voice will make in this world sea.  I laugh too, because some of those people whose bio's I looked at probably wouldn't even remember me.  Some would and would likely delete the email.  That's okay with me.  I was never very popular, nor did I want to be--not really.  I mean, I think that everybody wants to be accepted, especially at that awkward stage of adolescence. 

It reminds me of a really shallow thing I did once, something I might take back if I could, assuming I would still get to this point in my life, which is unlikely.   In elementary school, I hung out with a pretty tight-knit group.  We were nerds, totally.  Those often overly imaginative kids who bypass the playground equipment and head straight for the trees lining the rear of the schoolyard where the princes and unicorns and beasts of fancy awaited us.  In junior high school, my best friend, Anna, got a foothold in the door of popularity.  She became a cheerleader.   (I tried out for cheer 6 years in a row, and never made it.  The one year I didn't was the best school year of my life.)  In cheerleading, I think there is a lot of pressure to BE popular too, like that skirt is a badge, or something.  She felt the pressure, and subsequently, I felt that pressure.  One day, during passing to class or something, we cornered two of our closest friends, Sheree and Jessica, and let them go.  It was very like what receiving a pink slip is like in business.  I can remember the conversation almost verbatim.  We told them that we didn't want to be friends with them anymore, that we wanted to be popular.  We said that...well, Anna said most of it.  I watched their faces fall, and I believe Sheree started crying.  I felt my heart give, and I wanted to tell them we were kidding.  But I looked at Anna, who was saying she was sorry and turning to walk away.  I followed, just like I followed her in the ladder of popularity for a time.  But I never made it to the rung that she did, likely since I was never a cheerleader.  I had the arts, and in that circle I can say I was well known.  Not that it mattered, as art had an integrity about it that must be kept for you to be taken seriously.  And that pull towards a lack thereof was what I broke away from when I renounced cheerleading try-outs my senior year of high school.  Sure I still hung out with those friends, mutual friends of Anna's.  I went to the parties they invited me to, and often, had meaningful discussions about life, college, and love and our confusion with those things.     I had more of those discussions with my theatre friends, or at least I remember more.  So in the end, the cutting of "dead weight" to become popular didn't really work for me.  I lost two really fun friends under those wheels.   They always seemed very content with their place in the hierarchy, if there is really such a thing.  Perhaps I would have been too.  Who knows.  For what it's worth, girls, I am sorry.  Sorry for doing it publicly, and so uncouthly.   Sorry for making you feel below me for even a moment.  You were and are wonderful brilliant souls, without the tarnish of the patina that event leaves on my memory of our friendship.  I hope you are doing well.  I will apologize again in person when the time arises, if it does.  And if not, I will immortalize it another way.  Peace be with you.

 


Time:  7:32 am EST
Date: 
10 January 2001
Reading: 
"We're All Doing Time" by Bo Lozoff
Hearing: 
Garmarna MP3's
Watching: 
Moonset
Inspiration:
  Full Moon

Entry:  Letters I meant to send

I have been catching up.  Yesterday, I started on the road, literally.  I have began communication with people I have been slack with, catching up with them and catching them up on me.  Most importantly, simply because we have been out of contact so long, is my former writing professor, Penny.  On the surface, I am asking her for a letter of recommendation to accompany an application.  But underneath, I am asking her to take me back under her wing, to forgive my lack of contact and hold me like the surrogate mother I have always thought of her as, my creative mother.   I could use her eyes, her wisdom, her sense of humor and irony.  I miss her.   I don't want to ever fall out of contact with her again.  (Plus, I am dying to know what she has been up to in her retirement!)  I will have that letter sent by the end of the week.

This morning, the full moon shining in my bedroom window woke me up early.   I blinked in its brightness, nearly cursing it shining on me there.  But then I thought of the prayers sent up to her, not only recently, but throughout all time.   I felt suddenly blessed that I would think she was shining on me, to feel those cool rays on my face, that cleansing white light.  I sent up my own prayer and thanks lying there, seeing her hanging low in the sky through the slats of my blinds.  That was a better awakening than any alarm clock. 

I am still finding it hard to believe how wonderful my life is shaping up to be.  I am not gloating; this has not happened before.  Everything is going well, falling into place like the most perfect Tetris game.  I am in awe.  I am in love.  I am grateful.  I am so blessed.  I am ready...I am right on time.


Time:  7:31 am EST
Date: 
08 January 2001
Reading: 
"We're All Doing Time" by Bo Lozoff
Hearing: 
Kirk Whalum MP3's
Watching: 
The clock
Inspiration: 
Woods

Entry:  Time Again...

Winter in the woods.  It haunts me, visions at sunset, that time when things play tricks on the eye.  The trunks of trees and the near powdered leaves on the trail beneath my feet all becomes the same dust color of dusk.  There is little to no definition between the trees that seem to continue on forever.  In the low light, my eyes find the moon in the sky, waxing gibbous over head, Venus on her right.  I send up a quiet prayer of thanks to Venus for blessing my life with love, embodied on this earth to my left, and holding my hand.  I can feel the residuals of a passion almost quenched on a rock overlooking the frozen river about a mile back down the trail, hanging like a fog in the chill evening.  Suddenly, a doe breaks through the trees ahead, crossing our path so quickly that the only way to know whether it was real is to follow the bobbing triangle of white tail through the trees.  Perhaps Athena sent it as a sign that my hunting is taking the right path, that I am on the right trail.  I feel that I am, but the reassurance is always nice.       


Time:  7:51 am EST
Date: 
05 January 2001
Reading: 
Archived Email
Hearing:
  "Cars Go By" by Joe 90
Watching: 
A miracle unfold
Inspiration: 
Erin

Entry:  Writing Again

Sometimes I surprise myself.  I am currently working on the first poem of the year, the first poem I've written in months.  I have switched gears again, moving from songs to poetry.  I do it all the time, though I had a really long stint with the songs this past year (as you can see if you check out my song pages for year 2000).  Little poetry as poetry last year at all.  So, I am inspired, obviously.  I have the bones of this poem and now I am editing it, streamlining it.   I'd forgotten what I am capable of.  I haven't written anything significant in so long, nor have I had anything looked at by eyes other than my own in months.  I thrive on being graded, I need that feedback.  How strange that I would feel that way since it really doesn't influence me to edit any more, or change my mind on things like word choice or structure, at least very rarely.  If anything, it solidifies my opinions and views on those things, a better defense.  I think I have only changed a couple things due to what a teacher/peer has commented on.  Literally one or two things, and I have shared a lot of work.  Not that I think everything I write is perfect, not by any means.  I edit over time.  I write down the initial skeleton and then flesh it out over the following months, even years with more significant pieces.   "Democracy For the Discerning Eye" is a constant edit.  All my short stories (which I will get posted soon) are constantly taking on new form, becoming new incarnations of themselves.  I need an outlet for those things, though.  I need peer critique at that very least.  I have been trying to hook up with other crafters of verse and prose to talk about writing.  Hopefully some of those things will pan out.

Until then, I trickle out ideas, phrases, poems and prose.  I am waiting for the big one...


Time:  7:58 am EST
Date: 
04 January 2001
Reading:
"I Will Not Die an Unlived Life" by Dawna Markova  
Hearing:
  "The Price of Fire" by Capercaillie
Watching:
  Zilch
Inspiration: 
"Feel so good and so afraid..."

Entry:  World turning in your hand...

Yesterday, I looked into eyes as deep and blue as the sea.  I felt myself slip under the warm waves, lulled to peace.  I looked again, and they were turbulent, roiling.  They picked me up and carried me away in their hungry desire.   This all in a span of 15 minutes.  I fit so perfectly in his embrace, like a puzzle piece.  He fits so perfectly into my heart, the river flowing through me instead of between, a gap to bridge.  One touch, one wish, one sigh...I am alive.   I am hearing breath in my ear as he inhales the scent of my hair, of me, deeply.   He waits, holding me inside himself for a time, before releasing us, as we have co-mingled, into the air.  We have been released, together.  We are both free, so new.  We are.

THE PRICE OF FIRE

I would know your face
In this wild enchanted place
Come to me and be still
And we'll dream of the wild horses
Running free with the wild horses

From my dream I awake
Just one wish I have to make
If I hold you again
In these arms when the war is over
Will you stay when the war is over

For a lifetime and then
Until the world begins again

Well now I know it's the price of fire
To love you like I do in these chains
With the pleasure and the pain
It's nothing more than the price of fire
to feel so good and so afraid
I touch the flame and I can't look away

My world is turning in your hand
The skies are burning now the dream becomes the man

I can hear your voice
Now I'm sure I've made my choice
Take this heart where you will
And we'll be gone with the wild horses
Just you and me and the wild horses

For now I know it's the price of fire
To love you like I do in these chains
with the pleasure and the pain
It's nothing more than the price of fire
to feel so good and so afraid
I touch the flame and I can't look away


Time:  7:25 am EST
Date: 
03 January 2001
Reading:
"I Will Not Die an Unlived Life" by Dawna Markova
Hearing: 
Blackmore's Night MP3's
Watching:
  The dawning of my life
Inspiration: 
End of a dream

Entry:  Revelations

I am mourning the loss of a year and a half of my life.  I am mourning the loss of a lover, the loss of a brother, son, and friend.  I am mourning the ground placed between us in that year and a half, the span that became uncrossable, the bridge I stood on, knocking on what seemed to be a locked door on the other side.   I am mourning that I didn't try the lock.  I am mourning the loss of someone who didn't think having a Medieval wedding feast was a terrible idea.  I am mourning the loss of one who was making chainmail to wear for the ceremony.  I am mourning the passing of moments shared--the first kiss on the pool table, and his asking for my telephone number afterwards; pondering having Polio for a middle name; losing myself in strong arms that first night we made love; losing myself each subsequent time we made love; coming into the parent's house at one am to meet them for the first time; wine in the hot tub; the fluffy red blanket; Sherman Willams Stellaluna and roadside sunflowers for our "40th wedding anniversary;" saying "I love you" for the first time, how it slipped out on the verge of sleep, like a dream; spontaneous decision to move, the rush of excitement when our eyes met and he said "yes;" The Watch Incident, Denny's, Salina, Kansas; St. Louis traffic; the first scent of North Carolina woods; "It's the humidity;" table-top drawings; my brother's wedding, the fiascoes and the frustrations; making up silly songs on the guitar; the missing angel wings; Ferzies.  I am mourning all the words recorded, all the songs, all the breath shared and passed on into the sky, left now to become whatever they may be.  I know that they will always be fond memories for me, ones that catch my breath, stop my motion for a moment so that I can fully remember their poignancy, their bittersweetness.   And then they will release me again, lingering like mist and bringing a smile to me, as I know that I have been blessed with deep love in my life.  I will always wonder how he is, what he is doing, where he's grown.  I will always wish him the best, sending prayers and blessings his way until the end.  I will always miss him.   I will always remember...

I am mourning the passing of my old self in the world.  I am letting go of my past mindset, removing the bitter seeds of doubt and planting self-esteem and integrity.  I am moving away from my co-dependency and moving to a more independent self.  I am rediscovering where my edges are.  I am changing into the person I have always wanted to be, growing into the shoes I purchased in a size too large and have always been intimidated by.  I am standing beside my fear, rather than hiding behind it.  Out of respect for my future, I am releasing my hold on the past, watching my knuckles return to their normal color as the blood returns.  I can now begin to climb from the plateau, I am ready.  I search for my next foothold...


Time:  7:49 am EST
Date: 
02 January 2001
Reading:
  "I Will Not Die an Unlived Life" by Dawna Markova
Hearing: 
A breath exhaled
Watching: 
That breath dissipate in the winter morning air
Inspiration:
  The Wheel

Entry:  Happy New Year/ Clean Slate

I am watching the sun rise on the new day, the beginning of the new year.   I feel it touch me and warm me for the first time in months.  Holding my face up, I let it be bathed in the morning's first rays.  I breathe in the sun-charged air, still chill from it's incubation in winter night.  I feel the crispness in my lungs, filling them full with it.  They threaten to cough, like the breath is their first, and foreign.  But I resist, hold it in to the point of pain.  This is my first breath, the first breath my free soul taketh from the world.  When it feels right, I release it into the air, making my first mark on the world.  It rises, and dissipates, and becomes air of water.  It is carried somewhere far away by the wind and the clouds and the rain.  I am content not knowing.  I am imaginative enough to know it's destination...anywhere I wish it.


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