Touching Base with Spirit

Sometimes just touching the water helps.

Just a wish for me and T.O. to go back to being 9 years old, a day at Canobie Lake Park.

No grownup responsibilities, just the ability to explore and play and discover things together.  With smiles on our lips, laughter as the default.  Living in the present.

Stripping away everything except spirit.

Knowing what it would be like to escape the complexities of now, of work, of family, or the world we live in.  Escape to a protected space, where it is only glowing light of summer and looking forward to a whole day of joy.  

Dream with the kid

An unmasking? Unsexing?

There was some afternoon gathering.  With a doctor.

I had cut off my breasts, so that they were complete, self contained, unbloody, cone line & dense pillows.

I did not have a memory of cutting them off. I only knew that the doctor would return that afternoon to put them back when it was more convenient.

And then the doctor brought in sanity, implants, why would I want the old bags anyway, except for the nipple.

Em tossed then around a bit too much and I thought the nipple of one stretched down too far, to the bottom and wasn't very aesthetic.

I had no sense of pain or loss. But these things felt solid, like tightly wrapped sandbags. Something that I had to remove for convenience.

Also,

I drove to Maine last weekend

I listened to too many lectures from the handsome guy at work.

Like getting myself off soda, I have to learn to associate the flatness at the main character of the thing.

And lose interest.

Mothers Die

Fact.

Lovers too.

The woman in hospice, who will miss her hands. Her body. 

"I don't have a choice. Even after the arguments with God. I must give it up."

Fresh Air

Chaplain On Living

Leonard Cohen

Intersections Across Stories

I wonder if this story is ALSO about M. (The Lyme Disease Guy with Blue)

Or about T (The Machine), Imaginary Friend.

Because when you ask someone about the edges of their sanity, you are bound to find some unsettling pieces.

M is alone, the ice cream , the accident, the toothbrush.

T is so uptight, so serious, but he can laugh.  There is a crack in there somewhere.

People Going Crazy

They are all around us.

People who may or may not have a mental issue.

Brain chemistry and wiring, PTSD or difficult memories.

Bad experiences that create other bad experiences going forward for other people.

We are on this giant marble, a bunch of tinier marbles, careening into each other.  And sometimes causing sparks.

There once was a very talented songwriter, who took the wrong drug and never came back.

Of course, it happens a lot, more than we realize.  Every beautiful and creative flower, every poetic phrase, every explosion of energy that comes out in a beautiful way....there is an equal and opposite reaction somewhere waiting for us in the future.

At least for those of us who are marked/diagnosed.

http://dangerousminds.net/comments/meet_craig_smith_l.a._pop-folk_golden_boy_turned_lost_psychedelic_genius_th

Your Ghost Songs Still Haunt Me

Everytime I hear a song that reminds me of you, or think of a place that I associate with you, I am taken back.

Little Green Cars
Oh, no, I'll never go back there no more
NIWS/LIWNMTS
Please Read the Letter

Even though I know you have moved on, and are living somewhere in Africa, I still think of your bust of Mozart.  And the sunshiney yellow walls of your apartment.  And that couch.  And that time she dressed in black.

I still think of the dragon, and the lake, and how easy it would be for us to take a day to walk around the Pond.  And all those moments in between, when you lock yourself in your closet, in the dark, to keep yourself away from me.  When the danger takes over.

I'm still waiting for you (even if I don't seem to be).  Which drives me crazy.  Can I wait and both not wait for you?  Have I already moved on?

Your Ghost Songs Still Haunt Me

Everytime I hear a song that reminds me of you, or think of a place that I associate with you, I am taken back.

Little Green Cars
Oh, no, I'll never go back there no more
NIWS/LIWNMTS
Please Read the Letter

Even though I know you have moved on, and are living somewhere in Africa, I still think of your bust of Mozart.  And the sunshiney yellow walls of your apartment.  And that couch.  And that time she dressed in black.

I still think of the dragon, and the lake, and how easy it would be for us to take a day to walk around the Pond.  And all those moments in between, when you lock yourself in your closet, in the dark, to keep yourself away from me.  When the danger takes over.

I'm still waiting for you (even if I don't seem to be).  Which drives me crazy.  Can I wait and both not wait for you?  Have I already moved on?