Rumpled Sheets

On the wings of veiled dreams 

I glide into a new day.

Sunlight, streams through

pregnant apple blossoms,

dancing.

Golden shafts of light
flutter upon

these rumpled sheets

that held us, 

together

through a stormy and ebony night ~

our amniotic sac,

the colour of golden wheat,

and scented with the sweet, earthiness

of life forged in eksatis.

Photo Credit: Christine Valters Paintner

Poetry Credit: Roxanne Galpin

Sacred Life Sunday ~ Gilded Freedom (a poem)

 

A crimson heart ~

sweet as nectar,

and a scarlet, burning ember

 too deep to fathom ~

love, pure, fresh love 

cleaves him to her.

He opens the gilded cage,

watching, awestruck

and with baited breath.

Apprehensive, her wings unfurl,

She flutters, then sails away

on the gentlest stream of 

a breeze.

Shimmering,

she returns 

to the gilded cage

and sees Him there,

waiting.

Her wings,

beating

in time with her heart.

Her heart,

beating

in time with His.

image credit: google, public domain

poetry: copyright Roxanne Galpin

Inspired by and dedicated to Martin, who showed me that I do have wings, that they can carry me, and that I can fly on my own. He showed me this through the anguish of his love, which gave him the strength to hold the cage open for me to fly out. Of course, I flew back into the cage to my husband, a man who understands that loving me requires giving me alot of space.

Transcending Oneself

The experience of difficult and miserable times, themselves, hardly suffice as grounds for dissolution of a marriage. As the date of my wedding anniversary approaches, I remind myself constantly what a sacred entity I nearly threw away. And of how stupid and selfish I have behaved. One's life will always fail and falter if one places a drug, or any other material substance, in the centre of one's existence.

A marriage isn't just worthy when it serves my ego and makes me happy. And happiness (or lack thereof), seems to me, the STUPIDEST reason of all to contemplate ending a marriage. When is it ever wrong to want to fix what's sacred? If the spouses in a faltering marriage have extended to each other the gift of forgiveness and acceptance, than why should anyone else have trouble with things?

My decision is final.

I will entertain no further doubts or questions about it.
This time, I refuse to succumb to temptation ~
I have delivered myself from it.

A Look Back

In the summer of 2006 Martin and I reached and impasse in our marriage. I left him, in fact [this, the first of a few times I left the marriage cage]. That first time, the death of our dog brought me back to the marriage. During this time, I started a secret blog to document this turmoil in my marriage. I spent some time Monday evening poking through that blog. I've compiled a few of these posts for you below. See if you can catch the story through the words I've written.

~ written 30.04.2006 ~

how i felt just after leaving

shreds ...

that's how it all turned out ... shreds. how, exactly, did this happen? i mean, it feels like i woke up and found my life like this ... shreds. WTF??? where, i wonder, was i when it all fell to shreds? drowning ... ? perhaps. drowning in a sea of identity thru others. velvet, mother. velvet, wife. velvet, existing only in relation to the others in her life. velvet, brutally wounded by the bayonettes called anger, grief, parenting. parenting ... we all want it. that's because we have no idea how horribly difficult, isolating and painful it really is ... and because we don't count on getting a child that's defective ... unable to fit the mold we so desperately want it to fit ... unable to even love its parents.

shreds. each and every day. the defective child ... the one the parents grieve, despite his physical presence. each day a new feeling of loss superimposed on top of the old feelings of loss. each day, the violent slap of unrequited love ... the painful desperation of knowing i love and do not receive any in return. shreds ... each parent, consumed in grief, anger, desperation. grief, with no closure. never closure. only a dull aching and a feeling of failure. FAILURE.

consumed. this thing ... consumed us. or ... we allowed ourselves to be consumed. does it matter now? we are empty nesters ... empty being the key word. we are left in the nest ... feeling empty, they have emptied us out ... the children of this marriage. what remains? two empty shells ... formerly known as ourselves. who are we? who am i? who is he? what are we doing here? besides brooding, brooding, and spewing unhappiness. when does love become habit ...? when does need become habit? habit ... an action one engages in without consideration. is that what we have become?

how does one extract oneself from the tangles of grief, anger, isolation, guilt, emptiness? can there be salvation? can there be redemption ...? i mean, redemption for the relationship ...? does anything remain to be redeemed? does whatever remains WANT to be redeemed? that, dear readers, is quite the question. isn't it?




~ written 4.05.2006 ~

10 days into it ...

that's how long since i left. i haven't left entirely, i suppose - for i still go there frequently. where do i reside? well, for now i reside inside myself. i sleep in the spare room of my mum's place, and a few of my things dot the room that had become the great book depository before i crashed mum's gate. the bulk of my belongs remain in some damp, cold storage locker 3 km from here. and shreds and shard of my life ... they still reside at that other place, along with the man, a co-pilot whose life grew into my own. and the dog ... 10 years old ... the last remaining dependent. pieces of me ... tender, blazing shrapnel ... lie in waiting. in waiting for what? for me to shine my shrill and shrieking light on them. waiting for me to rescue them. to rediscover them - you know - the way one discovers a cherished possession thought lost and gone forever?

what have i discovered, upon re-emergence?

1. this solitude - well its not really a solitude but it sort of is - this rediscovery ... it leaves me awe-filled daily. i listen to myself, to my body. it tells me things. i suppose it has tried to tell me these things all along - but, submerged, i could not hear. or perhaps i heard, but failed to listen. what have i learned? my body - every cell in my body - wants to grow, nourish and deliver a new life. without a doubt. i love. i'm amazed ... but i love. i think of myself as a shell enclosing a shriveled and blackened heart. yet, i find i have the capacity for enormous, voracious love.

2.epiphany! i see now that i have secretly (secret in the sense of unbeknownst to me) focused on and searched for what's missing. as opposed to finding happiness in what remains. comfort, habit, the enduring ... i had sunk so much into all of these ...to the point of submergence. this trivial life ... it sort of swallowed me - like Jonah, swallowed by the great whale. assimilated - i think i got assimilated. where do i begin and where does this life begin? this life ... its just circumstance ... its not me - not my essence. what a simple thought. and a truly startling revelation.




~ written 19.05.2006 ~

unchangeable entity

EDIT: realization. that running never solves anything. nor does distraction. the longing. from where does it originate? i have know, deep down there somewhere, all along that i could not live without lupin. maybe i didn't fully realize it. at all times.

this sad, visceral longing, that has loomed over my soul for these past few days - it's fear. i believe that its fear. of even thinking about changing the unchangeable. of challenging an entity that has weaved itself into the fabric of my heart. its like ... trying to envision living without water ... or oxygen. simply impossible. i cannot live without him, my lupin ... he is my water, my oxygen. as long as he is on this planet, i must exist with him.

but ... things do not have to be so black and white, do they? i like to think they do not. and think that ... i can choose to explore uncharted territory without wreaking complete havoc. i'm so glad in a way that this deep aching longing, which sat in the pit of my stomach for the past several days, i'm so glad that it has turned out to be my own fear. my own fear of changing the unchangeable.

yes ... there is a burning longing ... for ? feeling, unbridled passion, and possibly ... for one so far away - an escape? this ache -- it wants to know itself, that's all. know all the dark and tender secrets of my mind, the raw sensitive spots on my soul and ... whatever else i am willing to share with myself.

we must dare to dream, fantasize. i think we must.

but for now ... i wait.



 ~ written 13.07.2006 ~

and i said to lupin ...

"... you have served me so well. and i ... i have not served you nearly as well."

a profound realization.

and ... i'm truly convinced blazer had everything to do with it. convinced. and ... i'm no cracker jack .... just a soul who senses what others may miss. my darling and beautiful shaggy angel hound .... thank you .... it seems small to say so, considering all you have done. godspeed my hound. i feel you around me.




~ written 14.07.2006 ~

a dialogue with myself

and? shall i expect forgiveness? shall i expect all will be right again?
forgiveness is so much harder than being remorseful. it involves surrender.
i think that there shall be no grand absolution only forgiveness meted out in precious, tiny sips which lupin shall feed to me in spoonfuls.
and ... i think that it shall be enuf.

In less than 60 days one year's separation will have past. And I can then file for my divorce. I have begun the process of taking back my maiden name. And ... I will reconcile with Pilot. Its interesting, and worthwhile, looking back at the words I carved onto the screen, almost three years ago. It seems that, when a change must occur in a facet of one's life, it will occur, eventually, even in the face of one's personal protests.

it's a dog's life?

note: comments of previous post returned ... also, comments on lullabies ... returned and another choice added to the book cover post there. so, go to the other blog and help me decide which cover i should submit.

EDIT: choice made ~ see below ...



ok ... I've decided on what to submit for that project ...

book cover ~ yeah the third one I made turned out the best ... soooo ... I'm going with it! (I love the colours).




here's a first 'draft' of the fake web site 'prototype' that's part of the project ~ you see the way the words Books by Design look embossed? Well, the final effect of the website will be that sort of embossed effect to each of the menu items on the left when the mouse rolls over the text. I like the simplicity of the page.




OK ... NOW YOU CAN expand the post to read about why I had to file a missing persons report early Wednesday. Just so you know ... everything's okay, but the experience of it all I wanted to share.

I hung up the phone. And stared at the 8 digit number. I had just filed a missing person's report. On my husband. I wanted to cry ... as in gutteral weeping. I wanted to cry out to the universe gimme a fucking break, already! I felt the temptation so strongly, to fall into that smelly pity pit. I resisted the urge. I resisted the urge to use any external device to dilute that sick feeling I had in the pit of my gut. I called the hospitals. No one there by that name. I called his employer and left a message for him there. And then ... I did nothing. Just felt incredible fatigue.

My ego raged. It clamoured for some sort of outlet, something foolish to engage its infernal rage. I must admit, I indulged it. In a small, stupid way. By finding all the cigarettes he had left, stashed around the house, and cutting them up. Not just in half, but, in small pieces that he could not easily patch. And I left the mangled tobacco sticks on his side of the bed. As I studied my handiwork, I giggled, imagining seeing him sitting on the sofa, smoking a patched-up cigarette. I wondered if he would patch these. Or just disembowel the remains and re-roll the tobacco. I told myself that he might not ever return. I decided that, regardless of whether or not he came home, I would refrain from sleeping in the bed. I contemplated all the things that I'd have to do, if indeed this meant he would not return to me. And I mulled over the four reasons he could have for his tardiness: (1) some harm came to him; (2) fucking some other girl; (3) careless and air-headed - just lost track of time; (4) not coming back because he didn't fucking feel like it.

The last time I went downtown to look for him, every dingy pub looked closed for the night. Well past 1 am ... not a time I typically like to lurk about the infamous corner of Hasting and Main. I saw three cop cars in the alley near Carnegie Centre. A scattering of way strung out high junkies floating about the sidewalk, and at times, in the middle of Hastings. I saw no one that resembled my guy. I saw rats, stealing across the sidewalk, and into one of the many board-up businesses that lined Hastings, near Cambie Street. I wondered why other wives don't have these sorts of experiences. I wondered how wives of police officers and soldiers struggle with the possibility that their man may not return home to them. How does one live with that real possibility? No one who has lost a loved one ever expected it, did they?

I tried to tap into my intuitive sense. It kept telling me he would return to me. Each time I returned from looking for him, my heart sank to find his absence from our home. The raging inferno in my ego's core diminished the quiet wisdom of my neutral intuition. I doubted myself. I wanted to feel prepared ... for the worse possibility. When I heard the key turn in the lock, just before 3 am, a deluge of emotion beckoned me. I resisted. I expressed my disappointment. Asked where he went. He apologized, then answered the question ~ sitting in the park smoking crack, I think, not sure if it was that or meth. Do I believe him? What difference does that make? Its the what I have to work with. Do I lecture him on the dangers of that smoking that white shit? How pedantic ~ he knows all that. What difference would it make? None. Besides, details ... mean nothing. They're like that part of the onion we discard, when preparing dinner. Its what drives the details that matters to me. Everything means something.

I fell asleep by around 4 am, I think. I awoke, on the red velvet couch 1 hour and 45 minutes later to wake the truant up to go to work. As he left, about a half-hour later, I told him, come back to me. He smiled, slightly, then left. I spent the morning weighing in my mind the intention behind that gesture of obscene tardiness. Never, had he done that before. It must mean something. I wanted to run ~ escape. I fantasized about going to Winnipeg to see my parents. Just like that ~ going without saying anything. Pointless. Solves nothing. Seems like an example of the behaviour I decided I found unacceptable. I fantasized about changing the locks. Or issuing some dramatic ultimatum. Counter-productive. Bitchy and childish. Solves nothing. I asked myself what would I do, if I possessed the financial capacity to leave. Would I? The temptation would urge me, for sure. But, what of the consequences of indulging spite in a moment of acquiescing to one's raging ego? And ... what of honouring the vow i made, years ago? What of following through with a choice I made?

I thought of something Susan wrote about, in her blog a while back: life is not about my happiness ... and I understood what she felt, in that moment. I can only effect change by managing my response to those things I wish to change. Exerting pressure ... name calling and be-littling ... manipulating ... throwing raging histrionics ~ these all work at counter-purpose. I wondered, is this it? What's the deal breaker for me? Indeed, would my threshold of tolerance decrease if I had the financial means to leave? (I admit I fantasized about indulging myself by getting a fancy hotel room downtown at least for the night ... so as to remain absent upon his return home ... how childish, I know!). Does financial dependence exist for me, to teach me the lesson of humility and tolerance? How do I tolerate the unacceptable? That's what love means, doesn't it? Tolerating the unacceptable? The disagreeble? Perhaps financial independence would afford me distance ~ the sort of distance chickory has with her cabin. Of course, I would opt against a cabin in the mountains, preferring a studio apartment, perhaps. Perhaps distance would bind us? Perhaps ....

Perhaps I just chalk it up to c'est la vie, stick that feather in my cap, and move forward. Awareness means that unceasing tug of war with my ego ... and it prevents me from turning into that pillar of salt ... the one borne from the inertia of holding grudges, desiring revenge, harbouring resentment. We all make mistakes. That we learn from them seems to me, the best means of accepting responsibility for one's behaviour. Escaping never solved anything. In fact, it seems like the quickest way to become a slave to that very thing from which we run.

It's a dog's life ... and I love it! I feel so fortunate to have it. Besides ...

i have felt like this for days ...

pssst - if you're one of those carebears
that only wants to live in the 'feel good' moments -
then your post is two posts back - sea otters holding hands.

enter this post @ your own risk.

alone. alone. alone.
melting into the darkness.
GONE. GONE. GONE.
we have all GONE.
well ... no matter.
i have GONE. but, still -
i'm here. besides,
stuffed animals make
far better companions anyhow.
and so do street people -
even though they're only nice
because they want something.
... at least they're honest!
that's more than i can say for others.
human beings -
they're highly overrated anyhow.
they simply lie and patronize
far too much for my liking.
morality and rationality -
they're just costumes we wear.
ultimately everyone acts
in their own self interest.
g-d is a tool of our trade -
self-service.
only the very weakest seem so very strong.
no one will close his eyes for you.
no one will close his heart for you.
no one will open his heart for you.
no one will save his heart for you.
no one will protect and defend you.
no one will pick you up when you fall,
but many will trample you, without a second thought
no one will ever open a door for you
but many will want to slam it -
and catch your heart in the doorjamb
there are no lovers, or friends, or partners
community exists only in one's dreams
promises mean little more than
the dust from which we emerged.
happiness - the exception, not the rule.
pain - the currency of life.
go lightly from this ledge
leave @ your own chosen speed.
nothing in here moves -
everything - just made of stone.
festering madness will eat me alive,
reduce me to a few meaningless shards of glass
sharp - jagged - shattered.
melting into nothingness
a beam of light --
swallowed into a cell of darkness.

i give up today. i feel sorrow-filled.
disconnected. i want to disengage.
from everything.
i cannot. i will not.
but -- i dearly, dearly WANT to.
that makes me weak, i suppose.
or --
perhaps too honest for the living?

a wolf and a moose

why wolf? as a child in swiss boarding school M - always the smallest - earned the nickname 'petit loup,' which means 'little wolf' in english. wolf - curious, peristent, a social creature that mates for life. i have a wolf, the love of my life ... my universe.

why moose? for my 37th birthday, i requested from M only the simple gift of a stuffed animal from build-a-bear. a moose is what i received. the moose accompanied me on my very lonely sojourn in this urban wilderness. i clung to him @ night, and during many lonely times. as though moose somehow had captured part of M's spirit to carry with me.

and that is the story of a wolf and a moose - the loves of my life.



[following is something i posted in my myspace blog, the first weekend after M's arrival in vancouver.]

we stood in cathedral park, enjoying each other's company (after 11 weeks apart) and also sharing a joint. we looked on, as we saw the reason the cathedral bells rang so jubilantly at 10 am on an ordinary saturday morning. a bride and her entourage poured out of the church. of course, the bride looked like a princess, in her white dress. and it occurred to me. how truly blessed am i. i did not have a princess-like wedding dress. or a princess-like wedding. that's because i did not need any of that. i am not just princess for a day - ie my wedding day. i am adored. i am a princess every day.

alphabet soup

he didn't come home.
do i read anything into that?
not sure.
where's the consideration?
it must've gotten lost.
in that FUCKING barley soup.
am i over-reacting to feel hurt?
first time ... ever that
he fails to come home.

image originally uploaded by vialetter

i'm tired tired tired
... sooooooo tired of humans ...
and their seeming inability
to deliver anything except
a lot of empty and patronizing platitudes
you know, human race?
you're all quite tiresome
and that is how i feel
today.
right now.

- EDIT -
he came home.
i said nothing
he got cross at me
for talking loud
talking loud,
because he failed
to listen
i'm invisible
just talk right over me
i'm not really here
he's gone for cigarettes
its 4 am
i'm watching a movie
i just watched a character
slaughter a tiny canary bird
i think i was
slaughtered then, too.

i feel dead inside.
like that bird.

crushed creation

crushed. how i felt. this afternoon on the bus. on my way to see my drug dealer. and watching the humans around me, swirling like lemmings on a fly wheel. the feelings slid from my heart and sat in the pit of my stomach like a rotten meal.

crushed, i felt. and sick with sadness. thinking to self 'no lonelier have i felt in this adulthood than right now.' thinking to self 'now what?' pondering recent losses. the loss of truth. the loss of community. the loss of vocation. loss of dearest canine friend imaginable. does that spell the loss of purpose? for, i still ask myself, 'now what?' and, my psyche's teeming with questions and postulations and pondering the potential.

a swirling mass of unstable isotopes dancing in my head. and ... no one with which to reflect to reflect upon this confused tangle of life. but me. and, sometimes it just isn't enough. and, the love of my life? well, he's gone awol. gone awol into his cases of beer. gone awol into his hang over. gone awol into his hours of deep snoring slumber. hours. spent alone. with myself. and ... no one. why? how? how can a soul so deeply attached and committed to another feel such utter desolation?

the cusp of change. its barbed. and it hurts. and we're there - me and him. i feel it. i see it. its all around us. each moment burgeons with the future's possibilities. stunning. plethoric. unfathomably mammoth. like ... standing at the edge of the solar system. our solar system. looking into the blinding light of darkness. the blinding light of unknown. what lies ahead.

what lies ahead?

image originally uploaded by theronin