Simple Pleasures

I decided to go to the beach today by myself--the kids are still away and I've yet to arrange time for me. Sure, I've had a cup of coffee here or a lunch there but usually I'm just stopping in, taking a break from a busy day of job hunting or dropping off applications or meeting with my thesis advisor--whatever.

Today, was a date with me.

I lotioned up before I left the house to avoid the gritty experience of lotioning on the beach, trimmed the hedge if you know what I'm sayin', put a bandanna on my head so I wouldn't have to worry about burning my dome--because I wanted to walk and walk and walk and not be dissuaded by my fear of too much sun.

So I walked--I smiled from the inside out, I reflected as the waves crashed creating a rhythm I could breath to, unfold to. It was beautiful--it was serene.

As I was walking I noticed something that drew me to it, veering off my path a bit. It was a conch shell the size of the palm of my hand--I couldn't believe it. There it was, in perfect form except for a minor chip, a mere scar from it's journey across the ocean floor to me.

This shell became my omen--just when you least expect it, there it is. Whatever 'it' is--just when you least expect it, there it is. I took her as a sign and held her close to me like an anchor--my eyes filled with tears. Everything moves me as of late, everything speaks to me--either I'm open to some sort of cosmic language or I'm one foot in the door of the crazy hotel. Either way, senses heightened for sure.

I walked for two hours--I never have this sort of time. It reminds me of when I first moved to Florida, god, 16 years ago. I LIVED at the beach--it was my oasis as I struggled with a whole other stock of grievances.

It was nice--god it was more than nice. I am on this path of discovering that I am whole after all, that I am enough, that I am an individual outside of my children and that's okay. I thought I had already discovered that because I didn't believe a lot of my identity rested in my role as mother but I think it did, more than I knew.

I will not fill this space apologizing for or minimizing what I just said--it will stand on its own, judgements and judgers be damned.

Later, I had dinner with myself at my favorite Thai spot--Tom Ka Gai soup with fried tofu and peanut dipping sauce. As far as I could see, my table of one was the best spot in the place.

It was enough, I was enough.

Rock Bottom

Sometimes--I have to hit it. I fall and sink and collapse and crumble but until I land at my lowest, the nadir of my experience, I have no way back again.

So I did--thank god. The relief is palpable.

I was beginning to wonder it there was a bottom in this case--I've had two episodes that scared the shit out of me when seen from my outside. Especially the most recent. I didn't recognize myself, I didn't recognize the words coming out of my mouth but that didn't stop them from coming.

I though I might have to be hospitalized in order to be stabilized--I almost wanted it. I wanted to surrender in the most profound way. No. I wanted to give up. I was tired. I was weak. I was despondent.

Certainly, the alcohol didn't help but it didn't create this personal reckoning of mine out of thin air--what it did was tap into the fear, the confusion, the despondency that I have lived within for the last two months. I turned inside out on my bed and the pain poured out of me.

My first Kirtan

Kirtan is devotional music--this evening I had my first.

There were 6 of us and pockets of others around the world, for sure, in celebration of World Peace Day. We sat in a circle, the beautiful tattooed woman to my right began the chant and we gradually joined in--our voices grew, the music grew, the energy was intoxicating as we first called on Ganesh, remover of obstacles.

I have never sung out loud in a room full of people before and this evening, it didn't even matter, I was not singing for them, I was singing for me, I was connecting to Ganesh in the name of removing obstacles in my own life.

From there we chanted Om Namah Shivaya and only a few minutes ago did I learn the meaning (very loosely translated): Om and salutations to that which I am capable of becoming.

It is now so very clear why I felt lifted from earth during that time, why I was emotionally drawn and centered in peace.

We closed our kirtan with a chant for peace, Om shanti, shanti, shanti and I used mala beads for the first time in my life. Aside from my foot falling asleep, I was totally into it and moved by the experience.

It was just what I needed on a day like today.

Falling apart...

I am so tired of crying, so tired of feeling like I'm losing my mind.

I hate this house--love doesn't live here anymore, only emptiness, only what was, no promises, no hope, no children in the other room.

Sometimes I curse the moment she walked into my life but then where would I be? Do I appreciate the purpose she served and let go, hoping that such a person longs for me somewhere in time?

Why do I need that?

Because it's all I know, because we all want love if we're honest. Because I want someone to want me, to long for me, to miss me, to hear me, to see me, to feel me, to search through their own time for me.

I went to the doctor today--vitals were good, check-up was good. They smiled as they told me this, as if I should appreciate the health they confirmed for me.

I knew what they didn't, what they have no tools to measure--the vitals they can't possibly gauge are crashing. My soul is sinking, my essence crushed and suffocating under the weight of uncertainty and fear.

My destiny and my future are in danger of never being realized if I can't shake this disease that they'll never be able to diagnose.

Breaking up and breaking open

I must preface with, I am so relieved that the children are with my parents right now. I can't imagine how I could do this, all that I must do, while still managing a semblance of who they need me to be.

I have had space to fall apart.

I have come to my knees and I have I bowed my head to the floor to cry.

I stayed in a heap on the floor until the shaking stopped.

I have succumbed to fear.

I have withered away, physically and mentally.

I have had space to realign the crookedness I feel inside and to disjoint myself again with thoughts, forward thinking and fears while I fumble toward the life I asked for.

I miss them but if they came back tomorrow, it would be too soon. I am not whole yet.

I still feel as if I am in pieces--an array of pieces that do not even look as if they will ever fit together and so what the fuck do I do now?

The only thing I can do--the only certainty I have counted on the last two weeks.

I cry. I break-down. I smile again and walk with air under my feet. I hope and I dream. I fear and I shake and I tremble and I write this at this moment with a knot in my throat because the rawness is palpable and I have yet to find space to breathe.

When will I breathe again?

When will I feel healed?

When will it not hurt so much that I will be able to eat a meal without feeling as if the pain of my existence has already filled the space where the food should go?

I have days when I force the food into my mouth and I gag as I swallow because I have no hunger--no lust.

Just fear.

Just raw fucking fear--the kind that swallows your breath before you gasp for it. The kind that sends your children away when they just might be the only anchor you have.

Theme Songs

"I won't be lost. Next time you see me, my pain will be gone."--Natalie Imbruglia, "I Won't Be Lost"

Every good break-up or huge life transition needs a theme song--I have several.

The one above, another by Ani DiFranco, "Superhero":

"I used to be a superhero, no one could touch me and not even myself and you were like a phone booth that I somehow stumbled into--now look at me, I am just like everybody else..."

But also "Joyful Girl" by Ani:

"I do it for the joy it brings, because I am a joyful girl--because the world owes me nothing but we owe each other, the world"

I'll have to think of others...stay tuned!