Two Shorts

 On being a citizen of the Globe-

Having achieved the life long goal of being attached to nothing so that I can pursue everything, I acknowledge an obvious chasm. At any given point on any given day I could die. The world being an unstable but wonderful place means that the more of it I travel, The more I see, The more deaf I become to the calls to "be careful", The higher my odds of an interesting demise. 

Maybe a plane crash. Maybe a current pulling me under while surfing. Maybe a random shooter in an underground poetry café. Maybe a kidnapping while seeing the Holy Lands. Maybe a boa constrictor in the jungle, or malaria. The more I travel that more I expose myself to dangers that I don't know and can't see and am not prepared for.

And yet

    I can't 

        Seem to make it stop. 

My travel bug grows with each flight I take. Becoming an all consuming virus. Growing and spreading. Growing and spreading. There is so much right around the river bend. I don't know what I have done to have a life like this. A series of happy accidents and pluck, grit and perspective. But man! I've landed well. I have arrived. 

And so if some point you're reading this and I have died some fantastical death, raise your glass. 

I did it my way.

A

On dating a Hustler-

Artists and tortured souls are generally under or unemployed. This means that they have plenty of time to sacrifice to the alter of my ego. When I say, where I say- beck and call. 

True; I paid for everything. Which was fine in the moment but inevitably would breed resentment. I eventually couldn't respect someone who was on the grind less than I. They then fell to the wayside. Always. 

Having hustled for 20 years, I am reaping the benefits. I find myself still impatient with men who trade in excuses and self indulgence as opposed to trailblazing. 

However. A small however, the Hustlers require relationship patience. 

An ability to attend to ones self while they are on the grind. That's new. 

Makes me want to get a job or start a business or acquire another degree to fill my time. 

Maybe this is how the successful become successful. This inability to sit still and wait for the next best thing. This incessant drive to be accomplishing something. 

A world full of ideas and money to be made. 

I mean he's busy. Might as well.

Problem is being grinds being what they are- 2 hustlers in a relationship is not sustainable. Someone has to sit at home and mind the hearth. 

that sounds... boring. 

I signed up for this train. Let's see where it goes. 

i am not not hopeful. i am not hopeful. i am not not hopeful.

A

The Fat in the Middle

 Stories end as they begin and usually both contain nothing. 

I bought a house 18 years ago and it was empty. I am selling it now and am in a rush to make it empty. It is what happens in between the nothingness that matters. 

The dinners, the tears, the laughter, the fights, the homework, the snow day fires, the yelling, the hugging, the worry, the hope, the angst, the love, the life- it is the life that is lived in the middle that creates a story. Nothing comes before and nothing comes after. It is the juicy middle that we live for.

I raised kids. At first no kids, childless- now, no kids- childless. In the middle was birth and diapers and crying and learning to walk and starting to talk and starting school and god awful teenage years and good grades and bad grades and graduations and moving out and moving on and then nothing. Children become adults and are children no more. Start with no kids; end with no kids. It is the way of things.

Single and then married and then divorced or widowed and then single. Life is a circle. The older I become the more I respect the idea of existing in the middle. 

Yet, here I sit. Desperately trying to liquidate my assets so that I can again start with nothing. I am wise enough now to know that I will also end with nothing. But having lived just long enough, I am prepared to indulge in the fat middle that creates a meaningful life. All of the juice overflowing and dribbling down my chin, an ice-cream cone melting down my face on a hot Summer day. 

I am ready not for the end & not for the beginning- but for the middle of my next story.

Carpe Diem,

Dewberry

I am ready for love.

44 years and my feet still follow my nose.

44 years and my hips still follow my ears.

44 years and my eyes still follow the vibrant.

This is going to be a great year. 

A

On Suicide- Because eventually every good writer thinks about it...

 When one wants to die 

         it is love that keeps one alive.

The idea that someone would miss you

    That someone for whom your death wouldn't be a guilt inducing occasion

            Would grieve. 

Makes you pause. Go to sleep to wake up another day. 

    The idea that you are not alone

        That someone loves you enough to agree that 

            Suicide, or the theoretical contemplation of it, isn't crazy

                But could be considered as just another viable option

                    Makes you feel seen.

and

being seen is enough

it is enough

the conversation

is enough

to choke the thought

and make you glad 

that some one loves you 

enough

that

two some ones love you enough

to enable you to stay

even though 

to go

is 

a 

restful thought.

A

Gentle

I know love. 

I have known love.

the real kind and the best kind and the kind that lasts. I realize just now, today, in this moment that i still haven't shaken it. i realize that maybe i never will. everyone else is a shadow of you. a recreation of what was. and it is done. 

it's done. 

that hurts

the postscript

King Solomon said that "Love is as Strong as Death is. It's insistence on exclusive devotion as unyielding as Sheol itself." this is a fact. like death, real love refuses to be denied existence. like energy it is neither lost nor gained. just distributed and redistributed. when called it comes to help to heal to soften. love is never done.

Water

In a relationship

Out a relationship.

In a relationship

Out a relationship.

In a relationship

Out a relationship.

Relationships come and go for me like the tide. They ebb and flow. Back and forth. I live my life like the river. Always on the move. Always changing. Always on my way to become the next thing. 

I have never been a pond or a puddle or a lake. I have never been bound; by life, by circumstance, by limitations. Like the water, I find a way.  Water always finds a path- or creates one. Water takes the path of gravity. Just down. It just moves down. And then it gets so hot, so small, so light- that it transforms and ascends. Water never ever fights. It adapts and releases. Finds friends in the sky and makes a party until it becomes so heavy that it heads back to terra forma. Where the party splats, breaks up and starts all over again. Water is content in all it forms. Small like evaporation and heavy like ice. Alone as it grows and together as it journeys. 

I am water. Sometimes light, sometimes heavy, sometimes alone, sometimes together, sometimes soft, sometimes harsh, sometimes gentle, sometimes loud- always pervasive. Always growing. Always finding a way. I am water. Everything and nothing all at the same time. I am not afraid of fire. I can not kill me. I simply evolve to my next phase and start the journey anew. 

I am water. 

Life saving.

Life giving.

Essential.

Simple.

Necessary.

I am water.

A

New Year - Everyone loves a wild thing

 I have decided

    as much respect as I have for the pretty girls.

            I would much rather be known as

                    A Wild Child.

I like my hair untamed. A mass of curls and waves blowing in the wind. A plethora of shades of black and brown and tan and caramel transformed by kisses of the sun. The white that speaks to the story of my life. The story of my strength. It will not die with dye. My hair is free. Strands getting mad when I plug in the flatiron. So I smile and put it away. My hair is wild.

I like my outfits to be a kaleidoscope of ideas. Flip flops with rhinestones earrings that dangle to my shoulders. Sunflower sun dresses with muddy, hot pink, high heeled hiking boots. A swimsuit under that little black dress because who knows when the ocean will call. My look is never polished. Never makes sense. Never would be found on the cover of a fashion magazine- but I tell you what, you'll know when you look at me that I am always ready for the party. And you will crave an invitation.

Makeup- hahahaha. Nope. Lips and lashes, by which I mean mascara, that's all you need. My face is free.

As much as I respect pretty and admire the dedication that goes into maintaining such a look, it'll never be me. 

You will look at me and think-

        What has this one been up to now?

   Why does her meeting skirt have an imprint of a two piece?

Her eyelashes can't be real but her eyes look like she just rolled out of bed (I did)...

            Why is she wearing 6 inch heels with a tattered hoodie?

I 

    Don't

        Need

            To

                Make

                    Sense

                        To

                            You.

I likely won't.

You will think- that girl is a hot mess

and your internal danger signals will chime. 

            and then you will come closer anyway. 

Because who doesn't love fire?

We hang beautiful things because we enjoy the view. 

We cage wild things because we are both fascinated and frightened by them. 

        I'll take your respect over your admiration any day. 

and yes,

                I do bite.