rebirth

Ok, So here we are back in springtime in Charleston. It's hot again. Sometimes I find a bad mood has crept up on me. I'm angry and impatient and depressed even. It takes me a while to realize, no, no, I'm none of those things. I am simply hot. Sweltering hot.

An even keel is impossible to maintain if my body is boiling on the inside.

But, on a happier note, no place is finer (especially when the ac is roaring) than Charleston in the Spring. I'm just so happy here.

It's everything good you've ever wanted with warm air and singing birds and sunshine and lazy weekends. And, lazy is the operative word.

I am not painting at all.

I am cooking well and often. I have made one really good friend. And I am sitting around a lot.

It's been a long time since I've had a good friend. Years. Years and years.

That being so - I am (maybe too) aware that these things are special and that life (for me at least) doesn't always provide such companionship. So I allow myself the laziness -

the sitting around, the cooking, the eating, the lack of creating anything, the lack of any ambition at all.

And the best part about it is, that being old, and having been around the block several times, I am consciously aware that it does not get better than this and that there truly is nothing to achieve and nothing to improve on and that in any second, it might be years again until I have such a meeting of the soul (if ever). So, maybe for the first time in my life, I am truly enjoying the companionship of another.

So maybe that's why I had to wait years. So when it happened, all I could say, is "thank you."

thank you.

Fall Out

You hear so many stories about gurus being poisoned and how, because of the state of their minds, the poison doesn't affect them.

I have also seen it written that if you are sick, you should not talk about it. You shouldn't give it a name and mostly, you shouldn't overly identify with its relationship to you. In other words, don't get too attached.

I have some experience with this. So I don't want to sound too heartless.

But it is true - the less you attach yourself to something, the less it attaches itself to you.

Neighborhood Fight

Well, my father has a dog, a blonde lab. We call her Callie. She is two years old. Now, of course, I adore her. I've noticed everyone adores their dog and I am no different. I love her and could eat her up and sometimes just sit around and day dream about how much I love her.

But she is a bad girl. My dad has not trained her well. She jumps on strangers and goes kind of crazy on the beach, just because she wants to go one way and I want her to go another way and so she has fits. She digs like a crazy girl and spins around, like...like? a two year old having a tantrum.

But she is also sweet as pie. She just is. I was reading something on the internet the other day about how labs are the number one dog in America. And, of course they are. Her nature is pure goodness. She wouldn't hurt a flea. She looks at you with her chocolate brown eyes and sends intense beams of affection and love your way. She licks my face. She sits down and leans against me, just to be with me. And for the most part she is quiet, docile, easy going, funny and supremely good natured.

I have a bit of a history with dogs. I used to live in Oakland, California, where honestly half the dogs in the city should be on America's Most Wanted. There are pit bulls roaming the streets of that town that will kill you. I exagerate not. I have been chased. I have been bitten. It's terrifying. So, while I grew up with dogs, as an adult I developed a fear of dogs that I am not familiar with. Even now, in this cushy burb where I dwell, if somebody walks up to me with a dog, I don't pet it. I wait and stand aside and let things develop, slowly.

And I really don't like it when people have dogs off leash, and their dogs charge me, no matter how friendly and benign Fido is. And of course, it happens all the time.

Because dog owners, like parents, all have different ways of rearing their dependents and I've been somewhat shocked to realize it really doesn't embarress most dog owners when their family pet charges you and jumps all over you. "She's very friendly," they're yelling from about 100 feet behind and I'm just like, "oh shit."

That said, it has bothered me somewhat that my father has not trained Callie all that well. I never let her off leash and if we are near other people, I am overly conscious of her potential for jumping, so I resultingly hold the reign tight.

I am the kind of dog owner's relative that would be tremendously embarressed by my dog's behavior. That's just the kind of overly self conscious person I am.

So here we are at today. Callie and I go for a run on the beach (she is of course on a leash). We have a pretty good time. She's just so beautiful and such a natural athlete and loves to run and runs next to me well. "Good girl; Good girl," I am telling her. She does have a minor fit after we meet a stunning weimaraner and I only let her sniff for about thirty seconds before I try to get her back to our run. So it's a good run, not perfect.

Then, we are about a quarter of a mile from home, taking the wooden walk off the beach to the house. I have my headphones on. We are running. I see a man coming towards us on the walk. I put Callie to my right and reign her in close to me and kind of slow down as we pass the man. He's huge, honestly about three times my size and of course, although I am holding her tightly, Callie lunges in front of me and towards him as we pass.

She doesn't touch him, doesn't even come close. And the man kind of air boxes towards her with his fists, saying something. I think he's kidding. Because I've learned that although her behavior embarresses me, most people can't resist a two year old white blond girly lab, they've had one of their own, understand their unruly behavior, and want to tell you all about their own lab, who is either at home or has passed recently. So, I take off my headphones - well away from the man now with Callie who is just calm and standing there and I say, " I'm sorry," very sincerely. Because I am.

As I said the man is huge. Then he starts. "That dog is a reflection of you," he says. "And you shouldn't be allowed to leave the house." I was rather shocked. But I said, "I'm really sorry, sir." And he just repeated, real red in the face and mad as hell. "She is a reflection of you and she shouldn't be allowed out on the streets and either should you."

I said, "Sir, I know it's scary. I'm sorry if she scared you. But she didn't even touch you." He said, "I wasn't afraid; I just don't like to be assaulted." "SHE IS A REFLECTION OF YOU," he is screaming. "YOU SHOULDN'T BE ALLOWED OUT OF THE HOUSE."

Now, he is pissing me off. You know it's always that question. It's the moment you want to be the superhero or the vampire or whatever, so you can transform yourself from plain girl with docile pet to some shit kicker who can teach this huge obviously seriously unhappy man the lesson he deserves. So, I say, "Well, sir. I hope you feel better."

He's still screaming, about how worthless I am and how I deserve the worst of the worst of everything. So I say, finally, (because now I am ready to fight) "And sir, your behavior is a reflection of you. And you are being very rude." This gets him.

He puffs himself up to a size even bigger, as if that's possible, and with a kind of weird disturbed smile on his face he comes walking toward me.

"I'm not being rude," he says. "Yeah you are," I say. "Cops are rude," he says. I say, "You are not a cop." This stops him for a second. He considers it. Then he says, "I am a cop." And you know what? He does look like he could be some kind of retired CIA agent or FBI or something. All huge and menacing and full of myself. Like he's ruled the world for decades. I really hated him now. "Well then arrest me," I say. And he says, "You are not worth it." And he takes his huge retired FBI self off down the wooden walk.

I really wanted to kick his butt.

But I didn't. (as if I could have :)).

But I tell you this - as the torrent of emotion has dissippated and Callie and I enjoyed some sunshine and I have enjoyed the rest of this beautiful day, I AM CHANGED.

I no longer care about my extremely docile pet's somewhat bad, definately imperfect, behavior. I don't care if she lunges at you. I don't care if she barks her head off. I don't even care if she jumps on you, although I do promise I will pull her off. The world is a very imperfect place. If Callie and I are the worst two things you meet on the street, I think you should consider yourself very lucky.

So, SIR, for this revelation and historic moment of self-acceptance, I sincerely thank you.

Update on a Regular Life

I used to be self-imprisoned by an unreality, a world where all fantasies and all products of my imagination, seemed plausible, possible, if I just believed hard enough. I wrote a lot and was actually quite creative, but paying rent and feeding myself were both very difficult for me.

Today, I live in a world of reality, which perhaps is no more real than the unreality, but which proves itself and its austereness minute by minute on a daily basis. In this reality, I work hard. I am an administrative supervisor at a plant. I sign invoices to be paid and work with the vendors and monitor the payroll. I punch in and out on a time clock. I get a half hour lunch break. I commute for an hour and five minutes, each way each day. I work out at night. And, slowly, slowly, its taken a couple of years, I've shed 10 pounds and I've gotten myself out of debt.

In this world, an ounce of effort is rewarded with an ounce of gain, maybe less. There is no ship coming in; there is no cumulative affect. There really are no surprises. I work hard, and like a turtle, I make slow, slow progress.

Most of the people I know my age have a much greater experience of freedom than this. They take impressive vacations and many, hold jobs where they decide when and where they’ll work, as the money keeps rolling in.

For a long time I was pissed at myself, thinking my years of nurturing my imagination had stagnated my growth and ruined me.

But I try to be kind to myself now.

Who is to say my life has not been lived perfectly?

Sometimes I remember that.

I wake up and the morning is especially quiet and especially beautiful. I meditate, then slip downstairs to make some coffee. It’s that time I always leave myself in the morning, to sip coffee, surf the internet and leaf through my various books where once again, if only for fifteen minutes, there seems like there might be a door, not too far out of my reach, where if I could just walk through it, life would be more harvest and less toil. I wouldn’t be the employee. I’d be the employer. And I wouldn’t employ anyone, but me. :)