Memorial Day Post

This moment, that should always be more than a moment or a day, I remember those that have fallen broken battered wounded and dead to keep those they loved safe. To all those who Serve, Salute.

How Do I?

How do I
Set down these burdens that are not mine
Let go of the words you said to yourself
Step off this path I did not forge

How do I
Keep the love unsullied by the pain

Let light into this darkened space
Love you and yet Love me too

How do I
Find the border of my soul
Seek you out but from afar
Know who is me when there is no you

How do I
Accept your wisdom and live My Life
Feel your wrongs are not my fight
Go my way and not just follow

How do I
Miss you when you're still here
Feel I failed you when it was you who fled
Still... need... you...

How do I
Fix it so you'll love me
Save you so you'll love me
Shine like a star in the night
     So you'll love me

How do I
Still, love you
Know, you love me too
Accept, that it is enough

How do I?

When Bad Books Happen to Good People

What is it lately? I've read three different really horrible books back to back. It says something about me that this is the first time ever! I've read over 2000 books in my life. Yet this is the first time I've read three bad books in a row and only the third time ever I actually couldn't finish a book (James Joyce...sigh). Yes I am one of 'those' people who have to sit through an entire movie or book even when its painfully bad. Mostly I just keep hoping it is going to get better. Then it ends and I feel like a sap. An Angry Sap. 

Now I'm not going to go into the long rants about the book which I would very much like to do but because it has been made very clear from the few people I've talked to that if it isn't on T.V. then their eyes glaze over and that being able to provide T.V. references for books is pre-requisite to having anyone understand what you are talking about or care. What I will say is that all three books struck me viscerally with their ineptitude. Not "Oh, I don't enjoy that type of book" or some aesthetic aversion to anything that didn't happen to me yesterday. No I am a die hard eccentric, when it comes to reading it is anything and everything goes. I will try it at least. Some of my all time favorites have come from simply picking up a random book off a shelf  and giving it a try. If it doesn't have a cover, that's better! That means I get to read a couple of pages to see if I can 'guess' the plot or get pulled in by the author's voice. That is how I started reading one of my favorite authors of all time, Jenny Crusie. I picked up a hardback copy of her Welcome to Temptation at the library and it had no book cover. Just a Red bound book with simple gold letters with the name of the book and author on the front. I've since read everything I could find that she's written. 

I see that I'm tiptoeing around the fact that I really don't know what to do with absolutely hating these books. I do and it' goes against something integral in me to say they are bad. I still try and find some glimmer of good writing or interesting premise or something. So not finding anything good to say makes it worse. I feel betrayed. These weren't random picks. These were recommended books, well reviewed books, or books with descriptive blurbs and hype. They were also poorly written; failing basic characterization, forgetting Rule #1 Show, Don't Tell, with verbose and inane detailing or what I like to call Filler, they had no plot meaning literally no beginning or middle or (heaven forbid) no end, errors in wordage, obvious lack of research, general lack of editing (12 pages describing the character attending a yoga class is awful 75 pages is ridiculous and stopping to give a two page description of your main character sleeping in a chair is not fun by any standard). Even an abundance of typos which I admit are just a pet peeve of mine but I can overlook it mostly because I'm enjoying the book but in combination with all this typos become glaring. In the boredom and frustration I've got plenty of time to notice you've misspelled your main characters name twice and the word house, on a single page.

I guess the worst part for me is that none of these books were about or actually contain the novels as advertised. Bait and Switch, how I loathe thee. If you advertise as a intelligent new look on a popular sub-genre filled with historical accuracy and an intriguing mystery all surrounding a Genre Hero then that's what I'm expecting to read! Not a knock-off of a currently popular book in an entirely different genre. Badly written no less. If you say your new book is a romance I actual expect there to be a romance between somebody somewhere in your book. No I really don't care if you find 'romantic entanglements' against your religion! Have the damn side-kick fall in love! Oh wait you don't have one! Cause no one other than your main character appears for more than three seconds it takes you to brush them off and wander about spouting the same cliche over and over. 

Okay after a few deep breaths I'm a little less foamy at the mouth. Reading goes beyond a hobby for me. It is an integral part of my life and has been since I was born. As I said my mother read to me as a baby and has even said she read aloud while she was pregnant. I think it was probably around that time when the craze was playing Mozart to your unborn to boost intelligence. And well, I do like Mozart. Either way this latest streak of bad book luck shakes something deep within me. I am seemingly faced with 'The Dark Ages of Literature' which is what I've been calling it in my head all day. Most likely it is a result of my lifelong learning about writing. It's like the more I learn the more I notice (and can't move past) glaringly obvious lack of skill or talent. Whereas before I wouldn't read it. I would be too busy reading something else by an author I knew or re-reading a favorite or picking up a random book and liking the prose and possible subject matter and getting exactly what it said on the tin.

I've still got a 25 book to be read pile stacked up on the floor next to my desk that has become menacing and shadowy since I gave up reading the latest wall-banger hours ago. I will not be intimidated! I will persevere! I will... hope at least one is not cringe worthy? Please?

Being Okay....

After reading one of my favorite blogs, Julieland, which today is somewhat pertaining to Release and Healing, I feel the need to express something I find rare. Like the many comments on the internets concerning the lack of follow-up on the recent Rapture Fiasco I also notice a lack of info concerning the end stage of healing.

Recently I've been cloistered and processing a lot of pain concerning my childhood. Yesterday I sat on my bed and thought to myself, "Now what?" And you know what? My answer was, 'Life'. There was no lingering melancholy or simmering anger or hopelessness attached to the word. For the first time in awhile there wasn't anything attached to the word. It was the emotional equivelant of waking up slowly on a Sunday morning. It was...I was... just...okay. 

In going over it all I realized that there comes a moment when you're okay. That is shocking to me. Not that I've never been okay or felt good or even great about something that once hurt. Just that somewhere along the line I learned the sneaky insidious thought that healing was a lifelong battle. As I sat there hearing my mind go over it I was surprised at my own okayness. This wasn't the first time I'd dealt with the pain and residual of childhood trauma. This wasn't the first time I'd had those memories and hidden wounds pulled out into the light of day by some experience. This wasn't the first time I'd had to stop everything and just concentrate on that weeping little girl inside. This. Wasn't. The. First. Time. 

But it may be the last time I have to weep from that particular wound. It feels healed. Not it's-okay-forever-and-nothing-is-wrong-with-the-world healed. Instead it is like the knobby soft shiny bit of scar on my knee from when I had that bloody battle with a coffee table when I was 8, healed. It's a part of me. It doesn't hurt anymore. It's a interesting story to tell. And it feels a little weird when I poke it and squeeze it between my fingers.

So I guess what I'm saying is...Today, I'm okay. 

A Little Less...

"That's what careless words do. They make people love you a little less." 

   - 'The God of Small Things', Arundhati Roy

Careless words like the quote above from a fictional mother to her equally fictional daughter can cut and wound and cauterize so it never heals. One is left with the Hole Shaped Universe. The place where once dwelled something precious, now a mere outline of Loss. A silence, half of a twin pair with emptiness grows and eats a small inconsequential life. Words buried under layers of scar wait for this moment.

My mother loved me less. Less than everyone and everything, up to and including herself, whom I'm not sure she ever loved at all. 

Now as I sit here and watch the raven outside my window through the tears of this old old pain, I wonder, 'How do I love me more? How to love me enough to wash away the tears of decades, the pain of dark hearts aligned against innocence? How to Love me enough to fill and overflow the Hole shaped Universe where their Love should have been?"

How can I stop loving me Less?

Night, Rain, & Tears

These things just seem to go together.

What is it about the night that changes things? What is it about the sound of falling raindrops that pulls at one's heart? Tears... ah, tears....

I've been alone so long I'm not sure if I remember a different night.

Random Thoughts

Names, Places, and Books...

Today is random thought day for me. One of those rare days when I allow my mind to just wander whereever it wishes. I'm allowed to flow with the Universe and follow whichever clues it sends my way. It's rare. Feel free to skim through this one. :-)

Dirty Pillows

Today it's all about the Dirty Pillow Feathers. Dirty Pillows, as I remember it, comes from the movie 'Carrie'. It's what the main characters' abusive mother called breasts. Feathers, on this blog, will refer to the outer view of the Phoenix, body image issues and such. Hence today's title Dirty Pillow Feathers

The Late Post

I lost a post during this maintenance issue.I will be posting an older one that I'm not sure is ready but until then here's the Old Spice Guy.



www.youtube.com/watch?v=owGykVbfgUE

The Evulz Ex

Well since this will be the first really personal post here on The Year of the Phoenix it is appropriate that it be an explosive one!

This is about a previous relationship of mine. For privacy reasons, and because it cheers me to do so, his name will never be included and he will be known as Jafar. Now what this particular post is really about is the long torturous journey of healing I have been on to recover from him. All I will really say about him personally is that he has NPD, Narcissist Personality Disorder. Which I didn't know until after I had finally broke away from him. 

All Things Phoenix

My fascination with all things Phoenix began long long ago. I wish I could say it was an abstract concept to me but unfortunately the events of my life conspired to make it a very real metaphor. The never ending cycle of fiery death followed by new beginning is something I've known my whole life. Through tragic events I've found my center and 'arisen' out of despair and grief to be 'reborn' into peace and hope. Today I stand in the ashes. Waiting. Watching. Learning.

Year of The Phoenix: Day One

Up in Flames....

That is how it always begins, in flames. You must burn before you can be reborn. Well, at the urging of friends far and near, I'm taking a Year to examine exactly what's burning, where, and Who's being reborn.

Be sure to check out my links to see where all this inspiration and courage originated as well as who is on this journey with me.

Welcome! At least it's warm in here!