Internal Dialogue #1

Lately I’ve been feeling my personal/emotional worldview slipping from one kalidescope into another. Things I once knew with such certainty are now hovering on the fringe of doubt. And things I was absolutely positive would never be entertained by this seven dimensional mind, are springing into view lively and energetic.

In part, I am saddened by the loss of feelings and beliefs I’ve clutched close to my hearts core like a frayed and tattered lifeline. While old and definitely showing signs of age and wear, it has pushed me thru necessary conflict, always reliable and safe. And a constant companion for so long. Growing me, changing me, elvolving me and challenging me in unimaginable ways. A reliable, steadfast friend who seemed to have my best interest at heart. It’s a hard loss to comprehend.

I’m struggling.

And in part, I am excited to move into a new personal/emotional worldview because it means….

Hmm. 🤔

Nope. 

Still on the fence. 

Change does not always come easy to me.

To be continued…😶

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Lonely Roads #2: Migration

On the bus again. 

Solitude beckons.

Heartache shared.

I’ve screamed. I’ve cried. I’ve left.

I’ve hurt. I’ve breathed. I’ve let go.

So many regrets

Live inside the place

Where Hope should have thrived.

I am human.

I’ve made mistakes.

This bus ride

Is not one of them.

For weeks I’ve listened and watched

The Canada geese fly south.

Migration.

Homeward bound.

Eminent.

Wings spread in formation 

Sure of their path

And their place

In the grand scheme of Life.

The first and the last

Equally important

For the survival of all.

Bound by nature.

By familial bonds.

By something

That has no word in English.

But as much apart of them

As their regal crowns.

As I boarded the bus

I found a feather.

Tucked it in my pocket

And wished to belong to something 

That has no word in English.

Throwaway Girlfriend

My current partner is very good at a lot of things, but one thing in particular is randomly pointing out just how easily my ex partner “kicked me to the curb” and “just threw me away“. Says she would never do that. Says that’s not what people do when they love each-other.

So…

Recently, and totally at my instigation and obvious unhappiness here in Barrie, we’ve been looking into moving to southern, less wintry parts of Ontario. We even considered Vancouver as Kate has family there, a new grandson she hasn’t met, and as everyone keeps telling me, “You’ll LOVE it there!” But, for reasons too numerous to mention, the Universe has clearly said NO.

Grumble.

Last week we had a talk about how few opportunities there are for me to do pretty much anything here in Barrie. It’s so spread out. You need to drive everywhere to get anywhere. I don’t drive. And the transit system here is merely a suggestion.

Winter is coming and the idea of being buried under 6 feet of snow for 5 months is starting to fucking stress me out.

It’s a thing.

During this conversation, I mentioned Toronto and it’s attributes. I could see she was getting agitated. Again. We’ve had this talk before. What can I say? Toronto is my home and will always be my home. I was born there. Have lived 3/4 of my life there. And I miss it. I have family, friends and familiarity there. And to be fair, I gave this Barrie-in-the-fucking-snow-belt thing a go. For three…going on four winters now. It just isn’t for me!

I want out.

She, on the other hand, is a small town girl and has lived much of her life here and in Alberta. She’s used to the long ass winters and mountains of snow. And hates the rush and noise and negative energy of the big city. Any big city. Especially Toronto. And I get it. I’m reaching the point in my life where I’m not super thrilled with the idea of fast-paced-big-city living either. But I also believe that wherever you live on this beautiful planet, YOU get to choose the pace of your life.

I don’t want the city rush and noise and negative energy back in my life, but I do want the feeling of connection. The feeling that I am a part of something. I don’t have that in Barrie. But I do have that in Toronto.

I also have independence.

Barrie has starved me socially. Isolated me physically. Nearly broken me spiritually. And I have to rely on Kate to take me everywhere and anywhere. A thing I am soooo not used to at all!

I hate it here.

And have, pretty much, from the moment I arrived.

She knows this.

Yet, last week when I mentioned Toronto for the umpteenth time, and all that it potentially has to offer, not just for me, but for her as well, she simply said, “Trish. If you need to go back to Toronto, then go.”

I gave her a look which couldn’t have said more clearly, “Reeeaaally???”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I have no desire to move back to Toronto.”

And that was that.

I knew this already. We’ve had this conversation before.

But I think what really surprised me this time around was the finality of her words. I really heard them. Maybe for the first time. She has said them to me before, but this time something rang different. Deeper. Truer. No room for negotiation. Whatsoever.

She said, “Trish. If you need to go back to Toronto, then go.”

But I heard, “I’ll love you as long as you stay here with me. Wherever here happens to be. But I will not love you in Toronto. If you need to go there, you’re on your own. Bye bye.”

And as I stood in the doorway watching her lying in bed, our eyes met in what felt like an unwavering challenge. A gauntlet had been thrown.

I mentally picked up the glove and studied it carefully.

Every scratch and scar and bump and bruise. The ragged rips neatly stitched back together. The leathery palm worn thin in places from endless emotional swordplay. The fingers soft enough for a lovers touch, but sharp in the slap of outrage. Yet the hidden lining remained bright and colorful, cleverly concealing the darkened stains of tearful betrayals.

I finally understood.

Throwaway girlfriend?

Fuck that shit.

Never. Ever. Again.

I am worth so much more than that.

 

 

Moon Love

Since Rhonda’s death, and subsequent Celebration of Life, when I hear friends who I myself introduced to her, and who barely knew her, laugh and talk of her last few years, I just want to scream.

When they speak of the bond they shared over music, conversation and coming out, I am overwhelmed with such a raging sense of betrayal, broken trust and abandonment that the loss of my friend itself has become almost secondary.

Almost.

In my woundedness I fell into a place of childlike pain and reflection. Of helplessness and lonesomeness. Lost in despair of broken trust and the pain of abandonment. I cried so hard and so deep and felt such pain that the bowels of heaven and earth must have shifted in empathy to make room for more of my tears.

And I started talking to the moon. Again.

Then I found this beautiful read.

An imagery that captured my soul and spoke to my 4 year old self. Funny how stuff just shows up when your heart needs it most. It’s not luck, or magic or coincidence. It’s the Universe at work with the law of attraction.

In reading Jessica’s story, which found me online, I recognized that I too have talked to the moon since childhood. Private conversations that honor my deepest feelings. Existing otherwise silent on a plane buried deep within my 4 year olds recognition of being unloved and unwanted. It is a hurt that has no remedy. No platitude. No fix. Buried deep in my psyche, entrenched by the magnificent volume of sheer repetition.

I don’t know if I can ever heal this wound. It bleeds with such little provocation. So deep and raw is the source.

My friend, my truest sister, left me alone to suffer a cruel punishment for a crime I didn’t commit but one I will pay for whenever I think of her now. Hear her name. Or learn of another life experience I should have shared with her. The suffering is acute. The questions endless. The pain familiar. The hurt stings my eyes in overflow.

It is not merely a jealousy that others were privy to her company the last few months of her life and I was not. It is the deeper, unbearable knowing that I was not wanted.

And I have nowhere to put that.

Nowhere at all.

So, it hangs in the quiet luminescence of conversation with the moon.

moon_love_1

Photo Inspired #1

Contextual

The words

Are written

Unspoken.

Etched deep

In every curve

And shadow

Of my body.

Asleep.

And awake.

Inside.

And out.

Awaiting a reverent discourse.

Can you read me?

Feel me?

Comprehend

These words

You can’t hear me saying?

Trapped in the silence

A prisoner of my skin?

The need is barely restrained.