Lost

... Lost: Inspiration
May have dropped on a cement walk during a storm in the morning on Schit Street
A chance it will be found battered on Phucku Cres.
or trampled on Soulpimped Ave.

Inspiration will be of no use to anyone if you don't have the knowledge of how to operate.
***so please return to Emptyhead Industries on Fruit Road.

Eat Pray Love

A night with my daughter led to diving into the movie Eat, Pray, Love starring Julia Roberts. I have been waiting to see this movie - attracted mainly by the title itself and ofcourse knowing Roberts will always deliver a worth seeing performance.

Verdict? It was enjoyable with a couple thought provoking moments. Honestly, I waited for "the moment" to happen. I felt a glimpse of what it would be like to be in Italy, the architecture, the food, the language, and the people. A travelogue with a few intimate flings to spice up the "find myself" journey. My favorite part is just the dreaming of being on the trip she was taking. Maybe that was the point. From the point of being numb and unexcited about life to exploring and expanding personal limitations to spark the life back into the day. I can understand that. I can appreciate that. But honestly, I expected more. Will watch it again. Just because I did expect more and feel jilted.

So, as for my life. I am confident with the day if I have faced it with a hint of passion. The days that scare me is when I see the end and all the in between is just that "grey filler" that means nothing because it will end when I end.

I went to the library yesterday and browsed the poetry anthologies for something that would jump out and awaken something in me. Taking out aged hard covered Elliot, crisp Atwood, and colorful names I had never heard of. Then, there she was, Anne Sexton Complete Poems. I had heard the name and wanted to explore more women authors. How did they handle their crazy. I continued the evening being a taxi and waiting in my little black bucket of bolts reading the introduction to Sexton's work. A history of a troubled sucidal woman who dared to spill her confessionals during a time when women's secrets were just that - secret. A natural flowing string of words devulging her love affair with death - specifically her own death. The scary realization is I relate to so much of her life and why she writes. She wrote to survive, to live, to stop from wanting to kill herself. I don't relate to the woman who walked with a barbie doll presence or the middle class view on the world. I relate to the loneliness and death that seemed to consume her days and led to her eventual suicide. I have walked with this cloud over me and survived with scars from my own attempts to escape my chaotic mind. But I did come out from that storm. I struggle each day to keep from drowning in my own mind. So I write.

Eat, Pray, Love....I guess that is a good start. I like the title. A morning cup of coffee, a plate of breakfast 'something', and cigarette while being an observer from my kitchen window. I may not have Paris today but I smiled. I smiled because I still feed. I still crave for candy apples and flavored coffee. I still yearn for the knowing only spiritual awareness can provide. I still can shed a 'real' tear when a child cries. I can still dream of being loved and sharing love. Yes. That's a good start for the day.
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This Moment Is Mine

There are days like these. Too many to count. I still have dreams and passions. Yet, society has put me on the shelf. I fulfilled the academic expectation to my best ability. I flew into the workforce wanting to be part of the solution. I raised my family to be independent and knowledgable. I kicked the crutches of alcohol and drugs. I forgave the monsters and hugged my enemies. I don't have a criminal record. I embrace my imperfections and use them to strengthen my passions. Yet...yet...I am still here the same way I was ten or twenty years ago. Still asking the same questions. Still hearing the same answers.

Every morning appears to be a new opportunity provided to me. I can make a change in a direction that will be different from yesterday. Then I am flooded with the reality of how much work it will take to achieve my dream or reach a goal. I don't want to be bitter. I don't want to be judgemental. I don't want to blame the white man, my mother, a politician, my children, my neighbor, the rich, the poor, the racist, or me. I just want to make my life mean something. I want my children to look back and be proud to say that was my mother. I want my grandchildren to walk with honor knowing I gave what I could to ensure they could carry on strength in knowing who they are.

The world will not know my name. My nieces and nephews won't even say my name. When the years pass that is all that matters. "Who will remember?"

There isn't much I can say about his day that is different from any other day. I can say I am giving it another try. I know my blessings. I am aware of the escape I have perfected. I live with smiles, love, and passion.

This moment is mine.

Being a Grandmother

I now have grandchildren. I was sixteen when I had my first child and was thirty three when I had my first grandchild. At both times I was afraid. I had a childhood with little adult direction. Most adults back then were lost and in pain. The children were like a gang family on the street at night when the parents passed out from the weekday party. I remember sitting on a step with some girls around my age, 7 or 8, and their siblings. We sat watching the falling stars and enjoyed the stillness - quiet - of the night. We laughed and held our little sisters and brothers while they slept. The sun would come up and uncover the reality of our world.

There is no bitterness or hate toward the adults back then. I did carry alot of shame for what I could not prevent and protection I could not provide for my siblings or even my mother. All I knew was it would be different and the pain would stop with me.

Becoming a mother changed something in me. My mind would revisit the city condemned white house I lived in as a child. I wanted the world to be different for my daughter. I knew enough to realize I had to be different. In some cases I see now I might have been a bit over protective and could have been more selective with my friends. Yet, it is that world that kept me safe when I needed. I stepped away and it wasn't easy. I left behind my friends and the life that sheltered all our pain. As semi-adults we now had families and had to grow up. I had to face the world without the crutch of drugs or alcohol. The bits of memory that had been locked away slowly began to seep into my day. Being a mother wasn't the challenge. Learning to be human with emotion was.

When my first grandchild was born I cried. It was amazing to watch as my baby brought to the world a little human. They both struggled for so long to meet each other. My world would forever be changed in this next season of my life journey. He had the right ammount of fingers and toes. His cry awakened something I couldn't recognize but it felt right. My daughter with her beautiful and forgiving heart was still scrambliing in her life to find her place. Her decisions were not based on her role as a mother but as a teenager. In my heart I believed it was my responsibility to step in where where the mother could not be. We battled back and forth fighting for who could care for him better. He cried and watched as we battled. Finally one day, a woman told me the story about the two women who fought over a baby and a king said to them he would solve it by cutting the baby in two so they could share. One woman said the other could have the baby because she did not want to see the baby hurt. The king gave her the baby. I understood. I stepped back with an aching heart and let my daughter keep my son in the chaos she was living. Within weeks she called and committed to letting me keep her son, my grandson. He has been with me since. I am close with my daughter and she has three more children.

In our traditional beliefs the grandmother plays an important role in the lives of the children. My children rarely had their grandmother in their lives. Just like I rarely had her in mine. So it was new to me but natural for them. I am a mother, grandmother, and woman. What a life I have been given. A clump of coal to diamonds story.

Bargain Hunting

The sky is pink...or is it light purple or maybe a bit orange. No matter, the sky is beautiful this evening. I spent the day searching affordable options to deal with some immediate concerns. I now have a vehicle, paid $500 for it, and it isn't the prettiest, quietest, or newest but its paid for and it gets me where I need to go. Today, I found a backyard mechanic to fix the brake pads. The little metal beast was squealing all over the city for the last two days. I called the shops and found this man on a local forum site. So it all worked out. Now to take care of the dryer. I took the back off but stop there when I seen there was a few more screws and backs that would need removing. A task for someone without a clue. I found another deal for a queen size mattress - $30 delivered. It is practically new but when i tried getting it to the upstairs bedroom I realized there is no way the bed is going to fit! So now I have a mattress and box spring sitting in my hallway. It will be going to my daughter. So it will be used. My other deal was a printer. I needed a printer for my daughters music sheets and my grandsons homework (homeschooling). So what do I find a free printer and she is willing to drop it off! I thank the lady and carry the little machine into the house and smile at the girls because of my little find. When i go to set it up....it is so old the connector is only for the computer towers and will not fit the laptop. So I have a printer. I have to be more specific with the wish list I send out into the air....a printer that I can use with my computer. Oh well, free leaves not much for complaining.

What would I do with my time if all these everyday adventures were erased with the sudden change of circumstance....like winning a lottery or inheriting some strange uncles pot of gold?

Being Alive!

The mornings are my favorite time of day. I love the feeling of coolness and quiet in the kitchen. The scent of brewing of coffee and sweetgrass smoke triggering childhood memories - those good memories.

This morning, I lay with eyes closed attempting to convince myself of the reasons why I should get up. No job. Goals lined in failed attempts. Broken dryer. Piles of laundry. Plans replayed and never realized. Promises made and not kept. Teenagers in drugs. Teenagers dropping out of school. Teenagers dropping back into school. My son calls me a hypocrite. My grandson tells me he hates me. My daughter isn't speaking to me. My other daughter is pregnant 'again'. Where did my son get that money last night? Were the police watching the house? He hates that I think that of him. My bed is broken. I am sleeping on the couch again - where my grandson wet in his sleep. I am gaining my weight back. I am afraid to exercise. I am afraid to take risks. I have many good intentions. I do more in my head than in my physical reality. I am still struggling to make ends meet. I dye my hair. I can't look in the mirror. My grandson barely knows how to read. The world will never know me. I will never know the world. How is my mother? My brother sent me sixty dollars. Will I lie to get money? Will I drink like that again? The closet needs cleaning. The window needs fixing. The door needs repairing. The screens need replacing. Can't avoid looking poor. The city is filled with racists with a voice. I don't have a job. I can smell the coffee. I can smell the sweetgrass. I can hear ...... the mornings are so beautiful. I am here. And no matter what I still care, want, need, plan, love, smile, and face the morning. I am grateful for all of it. That's what being alive means.

Cancer Scare

Ok so the day has begun like all others. I have my list of 'to dos' and a great cup of coffee to sit by me while I spill my morning thoughts into this 'space'. But there is one thing different today. I am entering a day without that grey cloud of worry. I try outrun it by keeping busy and staying focused on the positive. Then those moments just before my mind drifts into my sleep journey, I plan my last days. And when the morning sun drifts through my window the words 'thank you' bring in the new day. For many years I have had the same physical pains and concerns. I have had numerous tests, ultrasounds, scans and enough blood to keep a vampire harem in suspended bliss. Then that little thing they found on my ovary grew in addition there were now concerns about both ovaries and more tests. I refused to say these things out loud. I believe to say it would to give it life - strength. I could just think of my children and my dear grandchildren.

This day is different.

This passed summer I went to a spiritual ceremony. The sundance. A sacred time of prayers, songs, dance, and personal sacrifice. I danced and prayed. I prayed for my relatives. Those ones that are sick, lonely, homeless, hungry, lost, afraid, - all my relatives - all nations. I gave thanks and shed tears for the beautiful ways the ancients kept alive in our spirit memory. Pilamiya Tunkashila....I thanked the Earth, our grandmother who keeps us alive. I prayed we would take our place in the circle as allies to Unci Maka..Grandmother Earth. And with the time in my prayers I felt the prayers of my brothers and sisters, my relatives, that danced under the sacred tree and prayed for me.

This day is different. The prayers were carried and heard.

The results of my tests came back and my family doctor had to take a second and third look at my results. She read them back to me...negative...normal...negative...
That's good enough for me. I woke up this morning thinking about living my day the best I can. No fear. That was my real sickness. Who knows what will happen tomorrow. But this moment is mine.

Peace and Humankindness.

Magical Restaurant

In challenging times I turn to history.
First I go to my own. A childhood with
adventure and hardships. At the time
it was life. The adventure was surviving
it and the hardship was using my imagination.
One memory that stands takes me under a
kitchen table with my siblings. The adults
have all gone somewhere and I have been left
to protect. Under the table was a magical
restaurant. The five potatoes we shared were
turned into apple pie, chocolate, ice cream,
jello - anything the heart desired - and there
was enough to go around twice!
I was eight years old and I survived
the adventure through imagination.