Tyra

"Well hellooooooo dere!"

When Tyra was maybe four years old and we were living in Lexington, Kentucky, we took a road trip. We took numerous road trips during that time period and especially that summer, but the trip I'm thinking of right now took place in late-July, 2003. My good friends Tomas and Ro, along with Tyra and I, took a long weekend and drove in my 1989 Honda Accord hatchback known as "Big H" (his name was Horace) down to a protest in New Orleans, Louisiana.
       
Holy crap it was sultry. NOLA in July - my only experience with New Orleans thus far, and the only one I'll ever have Pre-Katrina, which changed the city drastically, we've all been told.

Of course Tyra was with me. The main event of the protest was a march against a Central American Free Trade Agreement. Check it out - I just found this news blurb in the archives of Indymedia.

http://neworleans.indymedia.org/archives/archive_by_id.php?id=15&category_id=3

The photo on this page - this photo:

Post-trip-and-fall-onto-Canal-Street-with-hundreds-of-people-watching

This photo was from that march. That's my best friend Ro on the left of the giant white banner. That's me on the right, nearest the curb. Check it out - we appear to match. For the first half of the march, I had Tyra with me, attached by her leash looped around my waist. If I remember correctly, my friend Tomas left his post at the center stick of the banner to walk Tyra off to the side a bit. This photo was taken after we turned onto Canal Street, which has massive metal grates/plates across it - a material that sweet Tyra had NO intentions of walking across. When the march crossed the first one, Ty went to scoot around my legs and away from the metal under her feet, and she ended up tripping me with the leash. I totally bit it and scraped my knee and elbows up. She was not hurt, but perhaps a bit nervous of the crowds and general hullabaloo. As it seemed to be bordering on too much for her, Tomas offered to take her and walk her separately, since the banner didn't really need three people to hold it anyway.


*sigh*

Oh Tyra. I'm sorry you ever felt even remotely nervous, though you did invariably steal the show and the hearts of all the hundreds, if not thousands, of people we met together.

I miss you, baby one. My little babushka. I expect to see you when I enter a room. I hold my breath when I wake up in the middle of the night, straining to hear your deep breathing that means you're asleep near me. That sound was the most comforting and sleep-inducing sound imaginable. A single minute spent laying near you and listening to you sleep and I was already falling, if not completely asleep with you. It was as if my soul knew it was safe to relax because you had. Let's face it, kiddo - you were the best parts of me. We were never separate. We still aren't.

But dammit I miss your face. I miss how soft the hairs on your head were, especially that spot between your eye and your ear, where I could kiss you and perfectly smoosh the rest of my face into yours and inhale your comfort. I miss the way you smiled at me, both with your eyes and with your grin. I miss how we could go anywhere - ANYWHERE - and no matter how many admirers were loving on you and giving you people food - the second we made eye contact or you overheard me say your name, even in talking ABOUT you to someone else -- you left your shining spotlight and trotted over to me, happy and eager to share your excitement and Love with me. You lived for me and made certain I knew it. You lived to make sure I was ok. You gave your entire self to me with no expectations and no reservations.

And you were FUN. Dammit, doggy. We had so much fun. SO much fun. Remember when you were still quite young and could easily run circles around me? The hours upon hours we spent in the car - me, rocking the fuck out to whatever music I was currently enthralled with, singing at the top of my lungs, talking out loud to you - you, sitting in the co-pilot's seat, leaning up against the door with your face in the wind, that blissful smile on your face, eyes slit nearly closed, nose craning upward to catch the finer points of the scented wind. And then you'd open your grin and the wind would flap through your doggy lips and your long pink tongue (with the black spot in the middle) would flop out and across your cheek. :) Generally by then, I was grinning right along with you, unable to sing through my giddiness, likely telling you how effing cute you are. You'd always respond to my voice by turning your face into the car, your entire being just beaming at me with Love.

You gave the best Love, Tyra.

And the most enduring. I am ok without you physically in my world right now only because you built me up and taught me how to be OK.

My family says Tyra was an angel. From God. Sent to me to protect me and help me and Love me through the worst times of my life. They sincerely believe - at least a few of them that I'm aware of - that I would not have lived through my mental breakdown without her.

I know this is true. I would not have survived. Tyra has been the singular reason for not committing sincere suicide at least three or four times. I just couldn't leave her alone. She did nothing but Love, and I was her world. How could I take that from her? I couldn't.

*BIIIIG sigh*



Oh Tyra. I did it again. I went off onto another tangent, losing the intended story entirely. We didn't even mention the ORIGINAL story I wanted to tell - the one about when we went to the Gulf of Mexico, that weekend we were in New Orleans. :) Oh well.

There's time for more stories. This'll work for a blog post, don'tcha think? See - I just don't work right without you. My pitiful ability to pay attention is even worse without you next to me. *more sighs*

I Love You, Tyra Ann Quick. I always have and I always will. Talk to you soon, baby.

<3,
~Q~

Nourishing Pain

I have no idea what I'd like to say, but I crave the outpouring of language. I want to hear the click of the keys on my little netbook and I want even more to mentally crawl into the comfort of words.

         Words make sense to me.
Words are wondrously delicious when they walk the wooden plank and dive into the pools of your deep retinas.

Three weeks ago, my guy and I broke up. I made a conscious decision to not run from the pain of yet another loss, yet another chance to learn from another human being I was blessed to know more than superficially. The risk we take, of course, when knowing someone deeply, is that the wounds they may leave are also just as deep. Therefore, many thoughts in these past three weeks have brought tears down my cheeks, even more left to pool up behind the retaining walls of my irises, colored blue by my father and likely his parents before him, and theirs prior to that.

In the past, hot gashes to my already hurt heart would have demanded an escape, would have screamed for Novocaine in the form of cutting, overeating, or getting fucked up all day every day until the immediate danger of feeling that awful was safely hidden under scar tissue, hopefully never to resurface.

              Do you have any scars on your flesh?

      Are you aware of the loss of elasticity contained within the damaged tissue?

                    Do you know that scars still hurt a bit, even after the skin has healed, when the healthy skin surrounding the scar pulls and tugs at the resistant entity which is forever stuck within trauma?

Because it does. It will always hurt just a little, I imagine.

I saw this tree yesterday when I went out to run off my lazy sleepiness. That tree had obviously been cut across its trunk at some past point, for the tree, much like me, still carries a scar for the world to see.

             It looks a bit like my arm, right?

When I saw this tree, I felt a particular kinship with it, and a fondness for what it showed me. I found that tree to be distinctly beautiful and interesting. On my good days, I also feel beautiful and interesting.

As beautiful and interesting and unique as our scars make us, I would like to see what it feels like to actually heal fully from this most recent pain; see if I can do it without yet another scar. The night we broke up, I sat on the bathroom floor, crying into the roar of the industrial-strength fan that was whirring on the sultry July night and a new thought occurred to me. I became very curious about the pain I was feeling and I realized that I was, I AM, at a point in my life where I am stronger than I've ever been. I've been through countless heartaches and traumas that make other people cringe when hearing about them. I've been living in an After School Special for at least the past decade. I wondered what it would feel like, what it would BE like, to simply allow the pain to do what it does and not do anything active to escape it. I know for a fact that I'm not fast enough to outrun it, nor wily enough to dodge it, but one thing I had not yet done with my suffering is simply accept it. See what it wants. See what it feels like to just sit with it.

                What would it be like to do nothing whilst my soul cried?

So I sat. I cried but when the tears began to fade, I didn't purposely think of something sad in order to bring on more pain and tears. I decided not to run to the kitchen for alcohol or comfort food or razor blades, though all of those things were fighting to be heard and acted upon. I decided not to even write about this experience for awhile. I wanted just to sit with it.

I sat and I listened. I heard my heart cry and she sang like the most beautiful stringed instrument I've never heard. She sang to my ears only, stretching my heartstrings tightly and cascading down agonizing lullabies and promises that could never have been kept in the first place. She wailed behind my eyes and she railed about misunderstandings and the unfairness of it all. When I still didn't run from her or even protest, she sobbed like a little child and I wanted only to hold her in my arms forever. She was sad and beautiful. She still is.

It still hurts to think of him, but it isn't a constant pain. Honestly, I'm grateful that it still hurts me, that it hurt me at all, for if it didn't it would mean I never really cared for him. That isn't the case. I loved him very much, and a part of my soul will always love him, even though he isn't the man I will spend the rest of my life with. We are inherently different at our cores, and our differences do not lend themselves to lifelong compatibility in that type of a relationship. As we do love one another, it actually makes more sense to let the relationship we had go because we really weren't happy living together. I've never been through a break-up like this, where I'm sad but not destroyed, where I'm missing him but happy at the thought of the growth we're hopefully both undertaking because of knowing one another.

It's beautiful - Love. It reminds me of autumn leaves, gorgeous even as they're dying and then falling to the ground to become nourishment for the next cycle of growth. I like to ponder that image quite a bit.

---------------------------------------

So here's to you, Good Sir, and the painfully beautiful nourishment you've given my soul. I look forward to watching how she grows in this next cycle of my life.

Love,
~Q~

This is my goal for October 23, 2010 -- the Mankato 10k

You Could Be Mine

The opening scene of the movie that is my life this very afternoon.

I went on a walk with Tyra this afternoon again. Yes, it's really cold out and yes, there was more snow on the ground. The good thing about being out in this particular weather is that you are far less likely to run into another human being whilst dancing around in an "empty" park, to music that only you are currently privy to.


The above photo was actually taken maybe 2 days ago, but I basically looked just like this again today. :) White hoodie though. 'Cause you know - I'm spicy like that with my flashy wardrobe.


Hey look - it's me again.

Ok. So back to my story. When we get to this, the most glorious part of the walk, I take Tyra off of her leash and let her have at the snow banks. She is never more happy than when she is able to sniff any piss spots unhindered by me, the leash, and my concept of "walking". We don't necessarily have the same behavioral patterns when it comes to this concept, so when we're both unhinged and able to meander near one another, things work even better for us.

It's freezing cold outside. As in 5 degrees, negative 6 degrees "Real Feel". I left the house at 4:00, so I bet it was maybe 3-4 degrees warmer, but still. By the time I left the park, I was quite aware of the feeling of my stiff jeans - the ones two sizes too big for me - touching my red frozen thighs underneath. Those of you who have experienced this pre-frostbite feeling know what I'm talking about. It's weird. I didn't even feel when my phone vibrated in my back pocket to tell me I had received a text message. That's one frozen ass. Brr.

Anyway. Since I'm quite recently obsessed with Guns 'N' Roses all over again, with the acquisition of their "Greatest Hits" album, I was of course doing the snake dance all through the park, with a less dramatic version for those parts of the walk that take us through neighborhoods and prying windows. The front half of the park is pretty much all wooded - not with the massive pines like they have up north, but the ones that host the prettiest colors each and every autumn. There are a few trails through there that I like to mosey on through. Something about the woods - maybe I was a wood fairy in a past life. :) Or Paul Bunyan.

I also quite enjoy the big ring around the open field at the other end of the park - especially where there are again trees. It just occurred to me that I really am, literally, a tree-hugger. How did I not realize this before now? Hm. Interesting.....interesting...........

But maybe not as interesting to you, so I'll try better to stay on track with this story. Tyra is following her nose from pee-spot to pee-spot, I'm listening to "Civil War" through my headphones and dancing my ass off down the powdered path. I wish I would've brought a camera. You could see my slippery dancin' footprints in the snow behind me.

As I'm singing harmony along to one of Slash's many guitar solos and alternatively pretending to be Axl Rose, complete with arm movements and swinging hips, to accompany the oh-so-rockin' vocals. Because - let's face it, people. One cannot properly rock out to Guns 'N' Roses without plenty of dramatic facial expressions, dancing, screeching, and half-whispered phrases like "patience..." or "what's so civil about war, anyway?" On a good day, I can even do the whistling. It's a bit more difficult when your face is frozen.

So there I am, completely in my own world, twirling about, singing like I was either alone in my room, or singing karaoke with my friends who are generally rocking along from their chairs. Mid-twirl, I notice there's an older gentleman on the path just ahead of me. Brown Carhartt jacket, one of those sweet grandpa hats with the ear flaps - down even - and a walking stick of some sort. He had obviously seen me before I noticed him. I wonder how long I had been amusing this guy.

I put Tyra back on her leash to pass him, and pulled one of my earphones out of my head, so I could also hear if he said anything to me. It occurred to me that in the past, I would've been quite embarrassed in a similar situation. Simultaneously, it also occurred to me that I sincerely was not. Not worried about it in the very least. I may have appeared strange to this guy who was probably nearing his 70's, but I doubt very highly that my singing and dancing was disturbing to stumble upon during a walk. I would love that, if I had run into it. Can you imagine? A world where we all wander around singing and dancing if the mood strikes? Sweet.

As I passed the man who has lived more than twice as long as I have, I made eye contact and we smiled at each other. I said "you're one of the brave ones - to be out in this". He smiled bigger and replied "you are too - one of the brave ones". Maybe it's just me, but I don't think he was talking only about the weather.

I grinned back at him and put my other headphone on just as "You Could Be Mine" came through. There was no need to pause and discuss - just two human beings, sharing a few smiles as we both continued on our respective paths. It was cool. Thought you might like that story too.

Love,

~Q~

Unexpected Reaction

February 2nd and I'm finally moving into the room I'm technically occupying. That's only - what - five and a half months of couch surfing in my mom and dad's home, where I grew up?

Not too shabby, Q, not too shabby. :)

I worked for probably five and a half hours, listening to the Cirque du Soleil soundtrack for "Varekai", which is achingly beautiful in a way that flies high above the various languages it speaks. I cleaned off the big dresser, which was definitely my sister's and before that I believe was my Grandma and Gran'pa Nelson's. Up until today, it had served primarily as a dumping ground for unopened mail, various hats, and a few things that Emily didn't move out with her when she left home many years ago. Now, it's much more in line with me. I also cleaned my highboy dresser, I cleaned the corner shelves and put all my books away, cleaned off the desk and even put several photos in new frames.

I'll post photos of my reorganized room when I get to that point. Right now, half of the room is in that awful middle stage, where things are strewn all over the middle of the floor. Mostly paperwork. :)

When I started this blog post, several hours ago, I was needing a break. I made the mistake of filing through a file folder entitled "Jason". My first Love got a Xerox box for all the 5 1/2 years of our sentiments. Jason got a file folder. A fat one, but not a box. It's either the 3 years vs. the 5 1/2 years, or perhaps I stopped collecting every little thing as I got a bit older. My husband and I actually lived together, too, so there wasn't nearly as many letters or notes to document our relationship.

Anyway - the point is -- that file folder: I wasn't expecting the reaction I had while looking through it. The times I'd go through the original break-up box, which generally happened about once a year, whenever I'd be getting ready to move -- my heart would ache and I'd generally end up crying. I don't really have many of those things left, as I was guilted into throwing away so very many things that had to do with my life prior to meeting Jason. Naturally, a similar sadness would be a reaction I would maybe expect from my first time really sifting through my estranged-husband memorabilia. What happened, however, was much more unexpected.

I literally and quite physically got nauseous. I had to put the folder away without quite finishing the perusal, close my eyes and breathe slowly and deeply so I didn't upchuck all over the carpet. Ew. I did not see that one coming.

Nor did I expect faint waves of sickness to return at the very thought of the things I read tonight. Gotta go - making curtains & watching "When Harry Met Sally". Much less volatile.

Love to you all,

~Q~

Weekly Reader + the Usual (ramblings)

Well, well, well.

So it seems that once you sincerely figure out what it is in life that will help move you towards happiness - AND (here's the kicker) actually rely on yourself and go after that elusive state of being - holy crap kids - apparently it's real.

WaitWhat?

I know, right? How else can one explain how my entire existence got so flipped upside down and inside out in such a short period of time. For awhile, after leaving the mr., I felt guilty. Not that I did anything wrong - I didn't. I finally took care of my own well-being and it's been the best damn idea I've ever followed through with to-date. No - I felt guilty for NOT feeling guilty for leaving my husband. I was happy and grateful and beyond finished with that entire way of living. Still - I always thought divorces were so sad, and no matter how "not-quite-perfect" the relationship was, it would always be really difficult.

I've changed my mind. Getting to the point where leaving was a preferred option - that was one of the hardest things I've survived. I mean - wow. Just when I thought I'd hit bottom and things wouldn't get worse -- yep.

"Just kidding! You thought THAT sucked!?! Wait 'til we see what's behind door number 3!"

Once I had actually made up my mind that I needed to change my situation and change it FAST, it didn't suck as much as I had anticipated. It was actually quite freeing. I cut my long hair off, no longer concerned with his opinion. I reconnected with old friends. I walked through the nearest wooded park every day - particularly loving it when autumn came. I hung out with Tyra & my cats. After a few months, I started heading out again & I met the most incredible group of friends.

So ok - I'm still legally married, so I guess I can't say it was "easy" to finalize the divorce (since I haven't done that quite yet), but that's because I'm so busy creating -- music, words, memories, friendships, & the Life I actually WANT -- I forget I'm still legally bound to a man who I haven't spoken to in months. Basically, I'm just too uninterested in going through my finances to finish the paperwork and I don't have any international rendezvous planned before 2012 (hiking the Inca trail with Ro, Heather & her kids, & ????????) so I'm not in any giant hurry. The reason that travel plans even matter (just realized how random that previous idea must've seemed) is because my passport never did get changed from my maiden name to my married name, so I have to legally reclaim my Q before crossing any borders. Unless it's between counties. Or states. Or cities. Or social mores.

The point I intended to write about when I started is this: Just this past August, I was completely miserable. I was living in a tiny town in southern Minnesota, where the only person I actually knew was my husband. Throughout the previous 3-4 years, I had gone through a massive mental breakdown that landed me in the hospital more than a handful of times in maybe a year to a year and a half. I fell in love and married a man who enthralled me because his energy was even stronger than mine, and he joked that his crazy could out-crazy my crazy under the table.

Helpful Hint: When someone tells you something important like this early in a relationship - they mean it. You should actually believe that. Another one I've heard is "you should run from me right now. I forgot how cool you are and how much I don't want to hurt you, but I think I will". Good call dude. Hind sight is 20/20, it's almost true. In that case though - he freakin' TOLD me what was up and I completely overrode the warning in my gut. Oops. You mean he was serious? Hm. Who knew?

Since I've long been convinced that my eventual partner-in-crime will be either a crazy conductor or a mad scientist (perhaps somehow both?) - the crazy thing intrigued me. Not gonna lie - it still does. Something about hitting 30 though -- I don't want to be crazy my entire life and I know I'm not going to be in this life forever. Been there, done that - what's next?

So I'm writing. And some girl friends and I just recently started a band -- it's called That's What She Said and it's already clicking into place beyond expectations. And I'm riding again - with the bruises to prove it. I should take a picture of the one from Saturday, when one of the horses I teach lessons on -Buddy the paint Quarter Horse - he got a bit bored of going so slow (beginner lesson) - he reached around when I was adjusting stirrup leathers and grabbed onto my arm with his teeth. That hurt - I have this pretty black 'n' blue half-circle on my upper arm. Ok - let's see if this works.......

Yeah --------> OUCH.




It's alright though - it was completely worth it. I think back to before August 20th and how insanely different my life was then from my life now.

#1 - I'm happy. Never thought it could happen. Pleased to be wrong.

#2 - I don't have to hide any of my injuries, because they aren't frowned upon (either because they were given to me by someone who never should have laid an ill-hand on me - or self-inflicted cuts that only served as short-lived eyes in that crazy-ass hurricane of yours truly during those years).

#3 - I was GIVEN A HORSE. On the day that I met him, by some people that I had only met maybe 30 minutes earlier because he & I clicked that well. The previous owners wanted him to go somewhere where he would be just doted upon. They/he chose wisely. I certainly do that.

#4 - I was given a keyboard. A nice one. Within 30 minutes of me putting mention on facebook. I named her Eirene. I have awesome friends.

#5 - I have awesome friends.

I'm pretty sure that this post is even longer than my usual ramblings. If you've managed to read this far -- bravo. Lemme know if you'd be interested in reading my memoir when I get that one finished. It's looking to be quite interesting. At least to me. :)

Which reminds me. The ENTIRE purpose for this post, at least as I had originally thought: my great new friend, Esther Marcella, hosts this radio show on KMSU, where she interviews writers. She knows that I write, and when she found that I write this blog, she asked me to be on her show.

Sure! So I'm told it's 10 minutes of reading work of mine and 10 minutes of Q & A, and she's already asked my permission to question my reason for starting this blog in the first place. I said "most certainly and of course". Abusive relationships and mental health issues and really unhealthy ways of coping with the stress that we ALL struggle with at some level or another --- not talking about it when it's been so integral in who I am today would be remiss. I have no intention of wallowing for the rest of my life -- continuing to classify myself as a victim when I know damn well that I am just as strong, just as brilliant, and just as beautiful as you are. Yeah you. We all are strong, brilliant and beautiful. So yes - I will talk about it openly. And I will NOT be returning to re-experience that chapter in my life ever again.

Wrap it up, Ms. Minnesota-Good-bye............

Alright. Later Gators. :)

Love you all,

~Q~

Dabbling - fun to say AND fun to do! Doesn't pay too well though....

Can I just be a professional dabbler? Because I'm extremely satisfied and content and happy with basically everything that is going on in my life, but I don't get paid for almost any of it, and at this rate, I'll still be living with my poor parents when I'm 35. Maybe 40. Um....not ideal. For any of us.

It's not that I'm not productive - I'm quite active in my dabbling. You should see my planner - it looks like I actually work and have meetings and other non-interesting-type things. The only thing is - all of MY events are all interesting things I have planned for myself but only one of these weekly events pays me any money. Trust me - it's not enough to live off of.

So how do you people do it? How do you make enough money to support yourselves and not want to slit your throats from obligations and the sense that you aren't living life the way it was meant to be lived? Or is that even a problem for anyone else but me? Money is not even the slightest bit motivating for me in its own right. I have zero interest in dropping any of my hobbies, but I also can't imagine also picking up a "real job" while still being able to maintain #1 - my new-found sanity and #2 - all these awesome activities and events and interests I'm dabbling in. There are just so many hours in the day and this lady also really enjoys sleeping.

Dabble. Dabble. Dabble. That's a funny word. I like it.


Here's a sampling of what I've got various toes dipped in at the moment:

* Lyric -- my amazing, wonderfully intelligent, incredibly sensitive horse who was gifted to me maybe 6 weeks ago. He & I have been hanging out as often as possible, and the ONLY time he didn't hold it against me when I missed a day of visiting him was when I had that terrible cold for a solid week or so AND I made a point to visit him while still partially sick, so he would comprehend why I had gone AWOL for so long (meaning like 3 days in a row). Any other time I've missed even a single day, I've gotten the rump when I go to see him again and he gets stubborn about quite a few things. Like walking next to me. Or letting me hug him. Or even accepting my treats. I'm not joking - he's got SUCH a personality and the guy is maybe even more sensitive than me. Maybe. :)

* Tyra, Trinity & Maya -- I feel bad lumping them all together when Lyric got his own category, but for the sake of brevity, that's just how it shall be. The point is, the other animals that call me "mom" also need daily attention. They're more forgiving than the horse, but I feel bad when I can't spend as much time with Tyra. I've brought her to the barn a few times, which she quite enjoys, but the cold isn't too kind on her aging bones, either, and she becomes quite the 80 pound lap dog around Lyric, which would make riding quite difficult. The cats only really get pissy with me if I stay out all night, since night is when we always cuddle. They let me know when they're mad though, either by throwing up, peeing on my clothes, meowing loudly at me and weaving around my legs upon my return, or a combination of all of the above.

* Writing -- In addition to the MASS quantities of journaling I feel remiss without engaging in, there's also the memoir I'm working on. My writing group meets once a month, so that keeps me more on task, but I still have quite a bit of work to do on that bad boy. Quite a bit. Then there's this blog, which I also don't keep nearly as updated as I would like to, at least in an ideal world, where I'm not ONLY Superwoman, but also Queen Goddess of the Universe in Q-form.

* Music -- I'm pretty good at supporting all my musician friends by attending many of their performances, but even that is getting to be more difficult, with so many of my friends BEING musicians and therefore having shows at conflicting times & dates. I can only be in one place (at least physically) at once so.....it's a juggling act at times. My weekends are insanely busy. Then - the big commitment in this category is the band a few of my girlfriends and I have recently started -- That's What She Said. I have much music writing to accomplish and I want to get it all done yesterday. :) Oh then there's the cello I've been craving. I found a probable teacher in South Minneapolis, but due to a lack of funds, I have to wait until at least next month to be able to rent a cello and start learning my souls-instrument. Boo.

* Friends! -- Before leaving my husband and moving back to Kato, I sincerely believed I had no friends. What? Why? I know -- it seems insane now. I don't really even have enough time in a day to keep updated on all that is going on with everyone that I care about, much less keeping tabs on which of my friends know what about my life and keeping all interested parties updated. I apologize to you guys for being so scattered - life is speeding up at an exponential rate and I can barely keep tabs on all that's going on in my own life. Good thing I'm blissfully happy (since almost everything keeping me busy are things that I truly want in my life) or I'd most likely be back in the hospital with at least one new batch of scars.

* Riding lessons -- This is the one that actually pays me. Far from being enough to live off of, it does help keep my animals in treats and me in "going out to see my friends play live music and going out to coffee or lunch" money. So that's good. I teach beginner riding lessons to two lovely college-age ladies each Saturday - it's fun and I think I'll be adding at least one other student in February.

* Physical health -- I've been working out with my mom several days a week - she utilizes the treadmill and I rock the elliptical. I would really love to run the inaugural marathon in Mankato next fall......so there's that. I've been dropping weight since moving home, but I think I've hit the plateau of what's just going to melt off due to happiness vs. misery. Time to actually watch what I eat and exercise. Oh - which reminds me -- fire swings. :) I am now part of the Good Cooks dance company, and we're looking at putting on a show in June, and part of the show will consist of fire-swinging. I've been swinging fire now for probably 5-6 years, but I had quite the hiatus in there when my wrist was broken, so I need to muscle up on that and practice on a much more regular basis.

* I know I'm forgetting things. Oh - the divorce. Duh. That still hasn't happened and it needs to. Grad school application and all the financial paperwork that goes along with that. My finances. Don't get me started because I'm almost-successfully avoiding this train of thought and tonight is not the time for me to delve into that one. The dozen books or so that I'm in the middle of reading. The fact that the government is beginning to push me to get my ass back to work sooner vs. later -- I'm working with a local employment agency so I don't get booted off of my disability before I'm ready and able to deal with that. Being a good friend - friendships take time to nurture and I'm all about it.

That's enough, right? I may even be forgetting more things I'm working on, but that list alone is enough to push me close enough to the edge of the "icky panicky feeling" that notoriously sets me off down the path I'm trying so hard to steer clear of. (That would be the path of self-destruction, if you were wondering.)

Hm. Alright - well - 2 a.m. and I'm wide awake (since I took a several-hour nap this evening), so perhaps I'll dabble in something quiet and yet productive. Memoir it is. :)

Dabble.

Love to you all,

~Q~

Reasons to be Grateful - Now

I used to sit and write in one of my journals for hours on end. Sometimes I was all hopped up on Sudafed (legal speed) and so my fingers could rush across the page even faster than usual and I was able to keep that pen clutched in between my thumb and first 2 fingers long past the point of cramping - where the pen left an indentation on the pads of my fingers. Yeah, so my jaw was clenched and I'm pretty sure my heart was racing - what's your point? This wasn't always the case by any stretch of the imagination. I wrote while sober quite frequently as well, just so you know...

The point here is that one of the things I used to write about were things that I wanted to be grateful for -- things that I had not achieved, primarily. I picked up this trick from watching "The Secret" more times than I can keep track of (not that I even attempted to keep track of this count). The entries always started with "I am so happy and grateful now that..." and I would list at least one full page full of my wishes for my life, as though I was already at that point. I'm not at home right now, so I don't have immediate access to those journals, but I imagine that to look back at those lists would be quite the eye opening experience.

Tonight, however, I don't want to live encased in dreams for the future. Yes, I am a dreamer and I will likely always remain a dreamer. I'm with you in spirit on this one, John, my second favorite Beatle. But lately - I'm living the most beautiful dream, one I couldn't even imagine this past summer. So here -- these are the things that I am so happy and grateful for in my life tonight:

* serendipity
* my amazing family, who have really shown their true colors to me since I left Jason -- they'd do ANYTHING to help me because they LOVE me, and I no longer harbor any feelings of doubt about my worth in our family system
* my incredible friends --- when I turned 30 this past July, I refused a birthday party because I was certain that nobody would make it, and that even if some people DID come to it, it would be awkward as ass because I'd be trying to make everyone happy and it would have been quite impossible -- as I was personally miserable. Now? It's amazing. Not only did I learn that my friends who have loved me this entire time still do, but I'm less concerned with possibly being rejected and more interested in exploring the world around me, including getting to know all sorts of wonderful, creative, beautiful souls --- so I'm making friends with individuals that I feel honored to know at all.
* my babies -- Tyra, Trinity & Maya -- and now my newest addition to my little Q family (which is getting more expansive all the time) -- Lyric, the most beautiful horse I've ever laid eyes on, who was flat out GIVEN to me on the night I met him because the connection between us was so intense
* the community that I live in -- I moved all over this damn country in search of myself and happiness, trying to find that feeling that I actually belong somewhere - somewhere that inspires me. Turns out? It's where I grew up. I love you, Mankato. :)
* Music - oh the music.......it's running through my spine once again and shooting out of my fingertips and the soles of my feet. It churns in my gut and spills out of my mouth, my ears, and my eyes. I've been introduced to an entirely new world of local musicians who continue to blow my mind away each time I hear them and I'm finally to the point that I feel comfortable enough in being Me that I'm willing to put my soft belly out there and open up as well. A few of my new friends and I are starting a band, by the way. It's a girl band. We just tonight came up with the name (kudos - brilliant Esther) -- we're going to be called "That's What She Said". Once the holidays are over in a few weeks, we're going to get this going. How exciting!
* Root beer and Wild Rice Pot Pie at the Coffee Hag, because holy crap -- if you haven't tried these sumptuous treats (especially this pot pie thingy) -- you just haven't lived a full existence.
* Esther -- you get a special 'shout out' (holla!!!!) because you just showed up and now I'm going to sign off and enjoy my fantastic evening with you!

love,

~Q~

Really? One month? Where have I been?

Wow - really? One month?

Ok, so I actually had a reason for not writing for an entire month. I still haven't finished the necessary paperwork to file for my divorce and I'm afraid he's reading my blog and I don't want him to have access to my world anymore. Needless to say -- one month more of living as myself and I'm once again feeling light-years ahead of where I was only a month ago. 4 months ago, I had an entirely different outlook, mental state and life. My entire life has literally changed.

Does that scare you or excite you? That your entire existence could be entirely rewritten in less than 4 months? Ok - so not 100% entirely, I suppose. You have the same parents and siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, & grandparents (should you be lucky enough to still have one or more living). You still have the same past, although 4 entire months have now gone by that did not directly include him. Funny how you're single and happy. Finally happy. It's not that I don't have difficult days, dear internet friends -- today was one of them and I was questioned by more than one person as to what was bothering me today. Was I sad?

I suppose I was a bit, yes. Interestingly enough - this is no longer cause for a meltdown, no longer an excuse to slam my entire body against the panic button and wait for someone to soothe me, to save me. I was perfectly content today to keep myself company for the most part, and to take my own happiness into my own hands (no, that's NOT what she said this time, actually). No matter how difficult following this thread through life turns out to be - I can really only worry about right now - and right now, I'm feeling happy and content. I'm running with it.

Still - I was sad earlier today, it's true. I talked to my best friend this morning, caught her up on my life over the past few days (since our last conversation), caught up with her life, and asked her opinion on my life at this point in time, basically. Since we live half-way around the world from one another and are not always able to communicate whenever we feel so inclined, we've learned to get to the important discussions almost immediately, so we can get to everything we want to talk about most fervently. She thinks I'm self-sabotaging again, and I tend to agree with her.

Why do I do this? Where on Earth did I ingrain this deep-seated belief that I am unworthy of unconditional love from those that I admire and respect most? I suppose it's been worse - I used to be unable to accept the love and companionship from platonic friends even -- and now it's just the concept of a soul mate that eludes me.

Meh. I'm sleepy now and I still have probably 70 more pieces of lefse to make tomorrow.

Night!

~Q~

4 years later & I still Love

I'm having a bit of a dilemma right now, and I feel the need to write, even if I don't end up even publishing this post. In fact, if my knuckles on my right hand weren't bruised from smashing them with my fire swings last night, making it painful to physically hold a pen and write, I would probably simply go to one of my many, many journals to find my best friend in the world. Well, the best friend I have constant access to, anyway (being myself and all).

What is it about vocal harmonies - any harmony really - that rips my heart half out of my chest and stretches my being out to infinity? Seriously - because it would definitely be a LOT easier to focus and write, maybe even work on the memoir that I've been neglecting lately, if I could just hit the "stop" button. Just when I think I can do that though......*sigh*.............it inevitably changes key or another song I must listen to is on next. Or maybe not even that much - maybe I just have to hit the "back" key just one more time, I swear. Uh huh. That's what you said an hour ago, Q.....

So what's the big dilemma, lady? Oh - it really doesn't go any deeper than that tonight for me, I don't think. Writing now vs. music now. Although, now that I'm thinking and typing.............. I continue to wait patiently for the fear to set in, to rob the present happiness I'm wallowing in, as it always has in the past. I used to be extremely uncomfortable whenever I would even catch a glimpse of life not sucking-ass for me. Lately though - I don't know what happened to me, and I want to figure it out, if only so I could tell other people in the hopes that it could be repeated for someone else. I am just so............content. It's weird, but in that very great way. The fear just isn't there.

I was rummaging through old writings from several years ago, and I came across this description of one night in my old apartment in South Minneapolis, in 2005. This was almost exactly four years ago for me now - November 18, 2005, to be exact. Wow - four years to the day. I didn't even plan that. Huh. I wasn't attempting to write in any sort of form at all - I was just in agony - I remember this night. My arms were on fire that night and I didn't call anyone - maybe because there was nobody I felt comfortable calling, maybe because it was super late at night, or maybe because I was being stubborn - that I don't remember anymore. I was sitting in my brown chair in the corner of my apartment with one of my notebooks, just........god that was a shitty time in my life. Anyways - please don't snicker at me, even under your breath or to yourself, because - well. Just please don't. Here's what I wrote exactly four years ago tonight:

So deliberate it can't be called an accident
So painful it couldn't be deliberate
but it was.
153 red lines marking a semi-decent night
that ended
Right
where the day began.
Alone.


I hear the hiss of the steam radiator
and the persistent tic of a kitchen clock otherwise known as a leaky faucet
into week-old dirty bowls and plates.
I see sixteen inches of paperwork to be filed,
an empty bottle of Premium beer,
and the bloody razor blades from last night's escapade.
I feel the warmth of sterile cotton sleeves,
taped on either end to hide
the violent map of repressed emotion sliced up both arms.
I smell a year's worth of animal life
that the occasional cleaning can't mask
and faint lingerings of opium incense and smoked resin.
I taste organic cheese ravioli,
my last Diet Mt. Dew,
and unbrushed teeth.
I am with pets in a human's world
inexplicably sad and existentially tired.


Hm. Maybe that doesn't make you want to cry when you read it, but that was a pretty accurate description of way too many nights for me at that point in my life. I don't ache to cry anymore when I read something like this, but I do want to somehow get to her, the girl who wrote these things that night, and assure her that it IS going to eventually be worth all the pain. Eventually, my love, you will no longer question your existence, curse your parents for bringing you into this eff'd up world, swear that having children is pure evil knowing how reality is, and you will smile - for real. Unfortunately, she still has to wade through several more years of hell and it's only going to get uglier before the nightmare ends. But it is worth it - I promise.

This is exactly why I want to write and talk with others and do everything in my sphere of influence to help. I owe it to her. I promised a long time ago that I wouldn't off myself if it would just stop hurting SO bad - just sometime, please. I didn't even demand immediacy or, shit - I didn't even specify "soon". Just - it can't be like this forever. Please take it away someday. Even when I compiled a document outlining my desired funeral plans, down to what I wanted to wear, what food I wanted to be there, and who got my beloved pets and music (Emily got the CDs - I think the pets went to my parents) and what music (including the all important lyrics) I wanted played during the service - even at that point, which was admittedly pretty low - that can't all be for no reason. I can't believe that - I need to believe that good, beauty and love can grow from where I've been and what I've survived, and what others have survived as well.

I do believe it. I'm living proof that healing is possible and that life is what you make of it. I've been asked by several people "what happened to you? what made you change so drastically? How did you get the strength to leave?" I think that trying to define this in one answer is a ridiculous undertaking, but not being one to shy away from the ridiculous - I'm going to go with this: I gave up control. I stopped believing that I could man-handle my life into fitting into how I thought I needed it to go. Giving up seems to insinuate something sad, negative or depressing, but I've found it to be just the opposite. I stopped lying to myself - I stopped pretending that reality was something that it wasn't - and I stopped pretending I knew how the rest of my life would unfold. I still don't know, and I don't really even want to know. I have a few vague ideas of what I'd like to work towards, but I prefer the future to more or less take care of itself, to keep myself surrounded in possibilities for the time being. I'm not saying that I won't make any decisions anytime soon. Hell - I decided to start selling lefse just 3 days ago, and now an entirely new avenue is opening up in front of me that I have never even considered, and I'm running with it.

Anyway - if any of you are in that shit place right now - oh honey child.....I've been somewhere in that neighborhood before, and I promise, I promise, I promise - this too shall pass and it WILL be worth all that you're going through right now. Oh - and you CAN write an entire post with great music playing at the same time. ;) I just did.

Much love,

~Q~

I *heart* Mankato

Dearest Mankato,

Why was I so adamant that I never move back to my hometown? In my heart of hearts, I've always known I'm a Minnesotan - in all the states I've lived in, I never did change my residency, my driver's license or my license plates for my car. Every year I filed taxes in another state - Missouri, Vermont, Nebraska or Kentucky - I filed as a "non-resident".

Still, after fiance #2 dumped me and foiled my plans to move to Savannah, Georgia, to live happily ever after with a man I barely knew, I was dead-set against moving home. It took a road-trip to Florida with Ro, Tyra and my old car, Big H to change my course. I actually ran into a guy I went to high school with at an Against Me! show in Gainesville (or actually - in front of the venue - it was sold out and none of us got in) and ended up talking for hours with RoRo and Jake before I figured it out. I didn't even know Jake in high school. He's a few years younger than me, but we had mutual friends and both went to the same punk shows for several years. Actually, when I first thought I recognized him on the sidewalk, I disregarded it because the only people I thought I knew in Florida were old horse people from my job. When he passed by me again, however, I had to say something. Turns out, he WAS indeed from Minnesota, he DID indeed go to my high school, and I DID know who he was. The three of us went to coffee and he invited us to crash at his and his girlfriend's place for the night. We did that, and the next morning, after waking up to coffee brewing and breakfast cooking, the three of us sat around for several more hours and just talked, talked, talked, talked. (His girlfriend had to go to work early that morning.)

I will never forget what he said to me towards the end of that morning conversation. He said, "you know Sarah? I know I really don't know you all that well, but the more we keep talking, the more it seems like you really just want to go home. So.........why don't you go home?"

Huh. Good question Jake. Up until he said that to me, it hadn't even occurred to me that this was a possibility. Yes, I have a fantastic family. Of course I would have somewhere to go in my hometown. Yeah, my dad did have fairly serious heart issues in the recent past. Of course I missed out on a lot of family gatherings - watching Adam play in his various bands, going to watch the Twins, watching great movies with Emily, and even though I emailed with Mom quite frequently, it's not quite the same as sitting in the same room as her and talking shit to each other, or watching as she goes breathless from the "wind-up laugh" that Emily is so good at provoking in her.

I couldn't acknowledge it to myself back then, but of course I was afraid to come home because of what I had waiting for me here, emotionally. Ye ol' geographic fix does NOT work, by the way. Years of drugs doesn't help either. Trying to gloss over an infected wound and JUST BE HAPPY, DAMMIT is also pointless. At this point, I wasn't even really riding anymore - I was so bitter about choosing the horses over my life in Mankato (and the ex-boyfriend) and then being completely let down by the world as I had imagined it - I didn't even WANT to ride anymore. That's very unlike me, the girl who read every single horse book in my middle school library - twice - and didn't buy a car in high school, but did work two jobs to buy a horse and take riding lessons.

I did come home though. I took the insanely obvious hint from the Universe (I went to Florida to check out a free apartment I was offered in a barn; it didn't feel right and that very night I run into Mankato, MN - in Florida, for crying out loud.) I moved back in with my parents for 8 months and attempted to pry the scar tissue off over my deepest wound so I could clean the infection out and let it heal properly. I left Mankato in 1997. I moved back in 2004. Seven years of running, basically. Eight months later, I decided that I wanted to teach English instead of working with horses (still bitter), so I enrolled in grad school at Augsburg up in Minneapolis to get my Master's in Education and my teaching license for secondary school. Almost half-way through the year, I remembered how much I really didn't LIKE high school, and....well........it ceased to be interesting to me, so I stopped going. I was working full-time for the American Heart Association at this time as well, and I was also getting acclimated to living in a new city. I was freakin' miserable.

By May 2005, I had started cutting myself to deal with the emotional pain that just would NOT leave me alone. That's an entire book's worth of stories in and of itself, so I won't get too into it at this point. Suffice it to say, I once again found the drugs and I was really, really unhappy. Really unhappy. By the Fall of that same year, I started going in and out of the psych ward at Abbott NW. Station 48 became my second home, somewhere I felt safe and comfortable, when I wasn't safe or comfortable anywhere in the world. By January of 2006, AHA let me go because I couldn't stay out of the hospital and they felt I needed to take the time to truly heal. I was put on short-term disability through the company and a whole new chapter of my life started.

Anyway - I'm not at all in the mood to talk about that chapter right now, so let's just jump to August 20, 2009, when I moved out of where I was living with my husband, and once again came home. This time around, I'm not looking at Mankato through my high school eyes. I no longer see ghosts on every corner, in every park, or driving down familiar streets. I see a town that has exactly what I'm looking for. There's a great vibe in this little city, and I'm excited to be discovering all the nooks and crannies that fit me NOW, not me at 17. No, I do not intend to live with my parents forever. I'm pretty sure we'll all be excited when I'm sturdy enough on my own two feet again to get my own space in my hometown. I absolutely adore seeing my mom and dad every day, and I do realize how very blessed I am to be in this situation right now, but dude. I'm 30. And I live with my parents.

A great friend of mine, Mooshey, sent me a link to a job she thought I would be interested in last week sometime. I WAS super interested in it, and extremely qualified for it as well. It was for a barn manager job at a therapeutic riding stable. It's not PRECISELY what I plan on doing, as this facility dealt almost exclusively with physical disabilities and I'm looking to have a facility focused primarily with equine facilitated mental health services, but still......a wonderful experience, no doubt. I was very, very excited when she sent it to me (do I not have the best friends? They think to do things like send me job postings they know I'd love....) but something in my gut stopped me from calling them immediately to find out more information. And then it stopped me from making that phone call the next day as well. Finally, on day 3, while sitting in the waiting room of the clinic while my mom had an appointment, I figured it out.

I keep a small, felt-covered journal in my purse at all times, so wherever I am, I can write when the mood strikes. There often ends up being like 4 books in there as well, a few CDs, and sometimes even my laptop. It's ridiculous, really. :) Anyway - as I'm writing in this little journal of mine, I realize that I have no desire to leave this bend of the MN river. The job I was interested in is southeast of Kansas City. Nothing against Missouri, but I've already lived there, and it just doesn't DO it for me like Minnesota does.

As far as MN goes, I tried being a "City person", but I'm just not. I hate having to be in the car for at least an hour to get to the countryside. I really, really like visiting Minneapolis (and even St. Paul is finally warming up to me) and I'm glad I lived there for awhile but...........I just don't belong up there. I tried, I really did. I tried to be "hip" and live near all the wonderful coffee shops and music and interesting people to watch. I'm just not. There are fantastic coffee shops in Mankato (where I almost ALWAYS run into at least one person I know and like, if not more) and just tonight I was at an open mic at this place called Professor's, where yet again, I ran into someone I vaguely know from mutual friends, and I was seriously just blown away by the talent I witnessed. Two hours of beautiful souls sharing their art with us - it was so fantastic. So fantastic.

So, dearest Mankato - I'll stick around indefinitely and see what the Universe brings to me, or perhaps what the Universe brings me to. There's such good juju in this town - certain neighborhoods and streets being even more appealing to me than others. I dig it. I certainly do. :)

Love,

~Q~

I'm going with....Moth......

One of my very best friends in the world took this photo just this past weekend. Her name is Heather Handyside and even though I already know she's a great photographer, I'm always pleasantly surprised when I see her latest images. I'm told this is a moth, because she had to wait forEVER for it to open up it's wings for a good photo. I briefly looked for what it's name is, but I was quickly overwhelmed and obviously in over my head, so let's just say it's a Moth. With a capital M.

We'll (hopefully) return to Moth down the page. I don't think these posts out ahead of time. I just start typing and go with it. This photo struck me when I first saw it (and when I look at it again) and I actually said "holy shit" out loud when I got to it in the online photo album. So - let's see where we go, shall we?

You know you're on the right track when things in your life are flowing so smoothly, it's hard to keep all your loved ones updated on the latest and greatest. :) That's my way of apologizing for not writing a post for over a week, by the way.

Since I was blown away by the Monsters of Folk show in Minneapolis, life just continues on getting better and better. The very next day, I met with the woman who is leading this - I don't even know what it's called - this class about self-growth, basically. We took the STRONG inventory several weeks ago, and she had each of us come in to go over the results one-to-one. The STRONG inventory, if you are unaware of this (as I was) asks you a bunch of questions to see what you're interested in and then it matches you up with possible career paths that you would probably enjoy. It's based on comparing your answers with the answers of others who are happy in each of these fields. The woman who I met with, the group facilitator, I also happened to graduate from high school with. We weren't friends over there at West. We ran in entirely different circles and if you had told me that we'd end up having SO much in common, I wouldn't have believed it. Not for a second.

Since I've actually figured out what I want to do with my career, we compared the results of this assessment with what I'm looking at (which is Equine Facilitated Mental Health) and lo and behold - it fits. :)

We spent the next hour or so just talking about everything else that is important in life. Although I'm enjoying the 10 week class she facilitates, I'm really looking forward to the end of it so she and I can actually be friends. Right now, that's an obvious conflict of interest, so we just don't go there. Anyway - this woman (who I will not name at this point) - she told me about this place in town here that I had never heard of before. It's called the Hope Interfaith Center and already - I'm madly in love with the place. I don't even know how to explain how cool this place is, or how at home I felt being there. If I wasn't fairly used to surreal experiences, it might've even freaked me out a bit, going to my first service this morning. Not even taking into account the vibe in the room that was so warm and inviting, friendly and - well - logical, to me - the service itself somehow managed to address the issues I've always had with the Christian church that I've always known (and I mean all Christian churches here - not the specific church I grew up in, which I still quite adore) - but without me giving any input, here was the type of service that addressed these unspoken issues. Apparently I'm not the only one who has taken similar issues before.

For example: Communion. It has always irked me in just the slightest way that we needed an ordained intermediary to "be forgiven" by God. Not only do I have issues with the concept of "sin", but I also have problems with the idea of not being to talk it through with God without someone with a degree coaching me along, telling me what God says. Isn't it supposed to be a personal relationship? Ok - well, anyway. I realize that I'm probably offending at least half of my friends and family, if not because they're Christians, then because they're atheists or at least agnostic. I can't honestly apologize for that and mean it, however, because this is my authentic journey. It doesn't have to be something you agree with for it be valid to me. And these are all real, honest thoughts and emotions. If you've known me for any amount of time, you already know that I have no filter on my words, so none of this should really be that shocking to you.

Anyway - communion at the Hope Interfaith Center was totally different. We ALL blessed, or consecrated, the bread. There was no talk of it becoming the body of Jesus, but there was room for that interpretation, should that be your belief. Once the prayer was said, we passed the baskets of bread along each row, each taking a piece and then passing it on to our neighbor. I liked that. A lot. It was like partaking in a family feast and feeling grateful for all that Earth gives to us. Awesome. There was no wine and it wasn't needed.

So that's just one example of the differences I noticed. Do you remember a few weeks ago, when I talked about how no language could possibly encapsulate the feeling you get inside when you meet someone for the first time and you've always known them? That's what this was like. It was like walking into a crowd of maybe 50-60 people (I didn't count - the chapel place was full though) and immediately feeling... at home. I had to leave directly after the service was over, because my mom's choir was singing at our own church today, along with a visiting choir, so I wanted to see that. I'm glad I did - they did a fantastic job. :) Still - my gut was not wanting to leave when I did, and I had to silence my instincts and remind myself that I could go back again, and that it wasn't cool of me to be selfish. My family is very important to me and I wanted to be there to support both Mom and Dad. Dad was playing in the band. He also did a fantastic job. Great job parents, great job. :)

So what does this all have to do with Moth up there? Good question. Maybe it has to do with trying to classify what Moth really is. I saw it and instantly thought it was a butterfly. Heather informed me otherwise, and when I went online to find The Truth about Moth, I faced so many choices - all with similarities and obvious differences, but none quite fitting my Moth here. Perhaps it doesn't matter how you classify the Spirit or God or what have you in the Universe. It's still beautiful and it can still cause your heart to swell with Love in an instant. That's good stuff. I'm excited for the future and yet I'm entirely content right here, sitting on the couch with my little laptop, good music streaming, my cats hanging out with me, and that darn caffeine keeping me up too late, yet again. :) It doesn't get much better than this.

much love,

~Q~

Some ponderings on the indefinable

So I've been pondering things again. I think that perhaps this is simply part of being human - we ponder. We're looking for answers to questions that are still undefined in language, and I believe a lot of us get impatient when the answers aren't lit up for us on our own personal electronic billboard.

"Hey you -- do _______________ and you will be eternally happy."


Well - there is that giant yellow billboard on both Hwy 22 and Hwy 169 (and maybe elsewhere) that I get such a kick out of reading to whoever I'm in the car with. If you've been down either of these highways, you'll know what I mean. There, in HUGE BOLD BLOCK LETTERS is one word:

JESUS.

I'm pretty sure the period is there as well. I love to scream this one out each and every time we drive by - in my best Southern accent, no less. It generally gets everyone to laugh - once they're sure nothing bad is happening at the moment. Most people tend to think I've seen something scary on the road when I shout. Interpret as you will.

Anyway - back to my ponderings. :) I've decided that the questions we're seeking answers for are never going to be defined in any language. Language, while utterly beautiful when crafted by skilled minds, is simply unable to encompass the depth of life. How could it? There are no perfect words to describe the feeling inside when you meet someone for the first time and you've always known them. I have yet to read anything close to the feeling of peace that comes, for me at least, from deeply inhaling the breath of the trees. For that matter, language doesn't do gut-wrenching panic or fear any justice either. I used to be so frustrated with my inability to express myself, to get that damn demon inside of me OUT, I got quite literal with it and tried to cut him out. With a razor blade. Imagine the terror when, in the dead hot center of a psychotic break, I hallucinated that the demon in my stomach (where I saw him), did not seep out of the cuts I had made for his escape. I only angered him and watched as his scary little fetus-demon body thrashed around inside of me. I was completely sober. How can language encapsulate THAT experience?

How did my mother, who lived in Mankato (I was living in south Minneapolis at this time), instinctively know to call me at that exact moment? I think I was supposed to be at work. She had no reason to guess what I was in the midst of, or what the previous 24 hours had been like for me. It wasn't language that she heard, telling her that her middle child needed help. I didn't call her or send her an email. I firmly believe that she felt my terror, and instinctively she knew that I needed her immediately.

Call it God, call it Buddha, call it Allah, or Jesus or whatever you want to. Heck, call it Frank if that makes sense to you. Whatever this great energy is that runs throughout the Universe - whatever word you choose couldn't possibly contain THAT which makes us alive.

The answers to these unspoken questions, then, will also not come to us through logical, rational, clear-cut words. It's a feeling we'll have. It's an innate knowledge that the path we're on is exactly the right path. Richard Bach, whose book "The Bridge Across Forever" I poured through last night, says "there are no mistakes. The events we bring upon ourselves, no matter how unpleasant, are necessary in order to learn what we need to learn; whatever steps we take, they're necessary to reach the places we've chosen to go." (It's the first paragraph of chapter 11, should you care to find it..)

I don't regret anything in my past. I don't resent my scars, physical or internal, and I'm not angry at anyone who has "done me wrong". I will never become a "man-hater" or a bitter person just because I've been forced to survive trauma. We all have, to some degree or another. It's part of the human experience. Anger and hatred, moral superiority, or negative self-talk or whatever hurts the soul - these things will never bring true love, peace and contentment. If I had the chance to go back and make different choices, I wouldn't. I am exactly where I need to be right at this moment, or I would not be here, learning life's lessons and nurturing my soul. And I'm quite happy to be here at this point in time.

much love,

~Q~