Just when you though it was safe

...to go back in the water, or to relax, or to believe for a moment that you could not be triggered. Again. I realize this sort of thing happens but seriously I thought some of this was over. But once again I got reminded how long things, people who have hurt you take to process and get over.

It was one of those moments where you think all is well and one crack in the surface and it's like falling into a bottomless pit of emotion. You sit there with feelings that hard to name, hard to experience; tears are forming but not falling; dinner that tasted lovely now makes you feel queasy.

"What will you do differently" she asks out of the blue. "Do? About what?"
"About not getting in that situation again." My first thought about how to avoid the problems of the last relationship and at least one other is, I will stay with you because you are safe, honest and love me well. But I do not say that because that is not about me changing; what got me into some binds is my nature - to be nice, to give second, third and fourth chances, to want to believe that people are good, that love does not lead one down a blind alley with no escape. So my answer is "I don't know", because I have no idea how to act outside of my nature even when I have enough examples that show I should be more cautious, more hidden, less open. Even though I thought perhaps I would actually cry when in the car as we drove home in the dark, I did not. Instead I did what I often do, I shut it down and out. Moved away from the gaping maw of hurt that threatened to turn me inside out, exposing every wounded part of me to the open air. If I had given in, all those wounds, some decades old would engulf me. That is always the fear and it is an old protection, one I should probably find a way to give up. I keep trying to do that, but in the end the cover comes out and the feelings, the release gets tapped down.

Maybe later, in the dark dark night it will come out. Or not.

Shadow*

Shadow, often used as a pet name, how unimaginative. A thing hard to explain to children sometimes, especially as it disappears and "magically" reappears on the next block, in the house, on the car. More often of late it seems to be used to describe and explain one's darker desires, the less obviously positive aspects of our nature.

Years ago I used the seven deadly sins as the "tickets" I handed out as people passed through registration with me. The reaction I received was amazing and to date the one best remembered. During that camp I started thinking about creating "shadow cards", looking at how we could acknowledge those things we think have nothing positive to offer, which of course is not true because if it is a piece of us is useful to us. But that would make me one of those snake oil new age people and that simply won't do.

However the idea that our stormy contradictions add flavor, a richness to the person we present to the world still makes sense to me. Honoring those inclinations, discovering how we can use them in the most beneficial way appeals to me as part of the balance I am in search of for my inner and outer worlds. It is easy to see how most of the "sins" can be upended and turned into powerful tools but it might take a deeper reach to uncover how our specific negative messages and tendencies can be twisted in useful ammunition to better ourselves. But imagine if we did the work to examine those traits and figure out how they do or could with some adjustments be something for our own good? It would make shadows powerful and lovely in a whole new way.

*Today's topic was inspired by trolling http://home.mchsi.com/~writerspark/randomex.html

To Dharma: Rescue Me. From Dharma

I wish I knew how to fly, how to let my feelings fly around my head, appreciate their dips and soaring abilities; it would be amazing to just enjoy them regardless if there was bounding sadness looping around my head or the thrill of silence.

My pattern of wanting every one happy or at least not mad or sad, particularly at me is really I suspect my own discomfort with the anger and grief that resides in me; that if I can make others feel better than there is hope for me. It is the same magical thinking that I have about my mother, if she became truly sane and functional than I would be safe from the crazy. I don't want my presence in someone's life to make things harder for them, but I suspect it does, because, well I am crazy in my own way; because while I am a realist a lot of the time I feel like I spin tales, recast the better side of myself that leads people to think I am more than I am. When the truth comes out, they are disappointed and feel a bit trapped by the fantasy. Then they are mad. Then I am mad at me, at them; I want to save them from the sink hole I have dug for them but I can't. In truth I did not dig it, though perhaps I helped lead them to the sink hole that resides within, so I can't rescue them either. Everyone, especially me, needs to rescue themselves and yet I yearn to rescue, to help, to offer sixteen lights at the end of their tunnel.

Rescue me by Buckcherry seems the closest to how I feel right now, except it's all about me, no one else in my head and heart right now to do this for me. I have no idea who Buckcherry is, I just did a lyric search for "rescue me," just in case you are wondering about my music choices. I need to learn, deeply, make it my operating system, how to take care of me, how not to obsessively rescue others, not to lose me inside someone. It is scary, I know how to do the basics like housing, job, feeding; it is the deeper stuff - being alone, facing all my feelings without judgment, pampering me, taking care of my health on all levels. To honor my needs and wants without rationalizing why I shouldn't have them or meet them.

I feel a little like an addict, like everyday is going to be a struggle to make the best choice, to not bathe in the waters of someone else's needs, to not offer lifesavers before some one actually says they need one.

So today I claim as day one of recognizing my lack of control over or for other's people's feelings; that people will get mad at me, they have a right to their feelings, as do I; that I will continue to be as loving and supportive to everyone as I can while remembering to do the same for myself.

Initial visions of the next stop

Life has become more surreal. I have just arrived in Saugerties. The room is barren in a “in shambles” kind of way. Single mattress and box spring on the floor, a small but neat table, and a horribly beaten up small foam filled couch. How do I know its foam filled? Because the covering on the seat is almost completely devoid of fabric, the top of back has tears displaying white poly fill. The walls are painted soft lovely lavender in distinct contrast to the century old, scratched wide plank pine floors and the sad furniture.

The younger son is home, listening to NPR while making tea or some beverage for himself. Imagine that, a teenager not texting, in front of the computer or television. Hell I was surprised to see there was a television in Matt’s home, I fully expected there not to be one. From downstairs there is a banging as if Eli is repairing something, or building something. Who knows? Marketplace is covering the latest economic news in between banging, odd noises coming out of the boy. From the moment I opened the door the aroma of fried food, like grilled cheese sandwiches made on the stove and the butter burned assaulted my senses. The scent is present even upstairs in my little room. The house is down the road from a river. Out of the window I can see what looks like an old mill that has been turned into condos that are no doubt over priced for the area but I suppose “having a water front view” helped sales. I have barely seen Matt in the last 8 years or so. The boys and I have had almost no interaction with for their entire lives so it should prove interesting to live in a house of testosterone after living with no males for over 20 years.

I have not unloaded much stuff because it feels odd right now. Since I cannot figure out how to get on their wireless (later I discover that there is none), not sure my computer is even finding it, I am drafting this in word until I can figure things out. It could be good to not be online for a bit. I still have my phone if I need contact. I brought in the audio books so I can finish listening if I desire. Staying in Sunny’s basement gave me the opportunity to search some of her book shelves so that in addition to finishing up my rereading of Rubyfruit Jungle and two other books I brought with me, I have three of her books to tide me over.

Staying randomly in people’s homes may prove trickier than I had hoped. Finding one’s rhythm without crossing unknown boundaries is an interesting challenge. Luckily Sunny gave me her leftovers from lunch, yummy rice and beans from the Mexican place down the road from her house, plus the rest of my fried yucca for my dinner tonight. Being physically unrooted is a bizarre state, even at my mother’s home it is hard, though she is giving me large berth, not even using her bathroom once while I was there for two days since it is down in the basement. Her bathroom is her haven, designed and decorated to her specifications down to the color of the towel warmer. Eli told me, “Dad said to make yourself at home.” What does home mean right now? Oh sure I had an answer to one version of that esoteric question. On one hand I know Matt in a historical manner, in a family type way, in a body sense memory way; we have now each other more than half my life. We lived together a thousand years ago as a couple, so yes if I felt like grabbing a book and going downstairs to read on the couch it would be fine. Really. I get the sense that his sons could care less; they have had other roommates sleeping in this room, sharing their space. I am merely another friendly transient. After staying at Sunny’s that sounds wonderful because there is no such common, comfortable gathering space so the idea is compelling. The reality feels tentative. However soon I will venture downstairs, grab a fork, get something to drink and eat my dinner, with a book in hand in the living room. Well assuming I can block out Terri Gross’s interview with one of the actors from “I Love You Man”.

(Since writing this a few hours ago, life has become gentler, easier, and feeling like a good place to rest)