Temptation

 The slithering, seductive serpent of self-pity courted me this week. More time at the doctor's office, more medication, more restrictions, a bad tooth demanding a percentage of my attention and an all but empty wallet are fertile ground for thoughts of self-pity to flourish. The vile creature slithering ever closer need not waste energy setting me up by whispering doubts and fears in muted hissings. I had taken myself the first steps into the vortex of self-pity. The loathful serpent, tongue flickering ever closer to me, had a deeper intent, an ancient intent bathed in a hatred nurtured by the fires of hell. I stood teetering on the precipice of the vortex, soaking in the familiar moanings of "why me", "no hope", "no one cares". For an instant in time I gloried in the angst of my situation, my despair, my loss. I began to drop to a kneeling position at the altar of myself. The serpent's head hung swaying slighly from side to side. He felt a victory. He seemed to smile and thrust out his body in a posture full of pride and viral hatred. Ah, sly serpent of the damned. I was doing well enough on my own. You showed yourself in all your unholy confidence and, my soul, recognizing the truth in the revelation of your dark joy, cried out to Jesus. "Jesus, help me!" Jesus, help me!"

The vortex disappeared, the serpent slithered off, smaller now and broken for the moment. Self-pity slipped from my mind as a shadow fades in the light. Peace held court in my spirit. A vestige of the horrors I had courted hung for a moment in thoughts. I asked for forgiveness. Yes, the serpent of death met me on the path I had chosen but I chose the path. I chose to live outside of the love of my Father and take my own fate into my hands. Yet, my Father's love and eternal grace instantly covered my sin. He rescued me. He removed the filth of the sin. Again.

Wondering

I cannot help but wonder what possessed me to blow at least 13 years of my life on drugs, alcohol and any number of choices that stemmed from those habits. I don't stare at this line of questioning for long periods of time. Insanity lies at the heart of tearing apart the past to explain the future. Reaping the benefits of a life packed with extreme stress and mastering the art of being invisible is tough to accept. I wonder if anyone saw me and thought of interceding. There is the better than good chance that I would have run like a scalded dog. The "aha" moments in life follow suffering at one's own hands.Maybe it took every step of my journey to be who I am today. Indulging in believing I might have chosen another path had someone shouted out to warn me of the road ahead is deep  indulgence indeed. As I remember those days I remember that I was invested in the life I chose at the time. I also remember that I saw only the moment, felt only the consequence's of that moment, saw no tomorrow and had no plans past the here and now. Looking back I am amazed at the darkness I walked in, the tumbling, changing, ever evolving scenes of my life. Was innocence part of the equation? More than likely it was the scars of what I do not discuss here. More than likely I was numb yet brilliant in my masterful disguises. I believe there were a few people who caught a glimpse of me and, after some thought, turned away. I had an answer for everything. Through the morass of depression, despair, confusion and utter lonliness I stepped out in public as a woman without a care. Recently I found out that the world has not changed. Most folks don't see and, if they catch a glimpse, they find fault with me for having shown myself. I am not a victim. There are many people like me hiding in the shadows of what is not spoken. My anger and need to hurt myself through self-destructive choices have gone. But I wonder if someone had seen me way back in the day if I would have lent a ear.

The Comfort of Being Heard

One visit with my doctor rips denial from my grasp replacing it with a truth I find difficult to accept. All day I yearned for a calm, supporting conversation. I could not think of how to make that happen and, true to my nature, bowed to the solemn quiet place of solitude. I could not trust a conversation to be supportive when I run from my reality...a child running from a call to come inside and take my medicine.

 

There are times and places when I hang in a balance that is solely mine. I become Calvin with my own personal Hobbes. I find a quiet place to spend time together. A place deep within where I can talk and my Hobbes will listen.

Stop, Drop and Roll

Remember the routine to follow if you should ever find yourself on fire? Stop, Drop And Roll? I believe this would be an effective stress reliever when life becomes a wee bit too much and stress feels like a burning fire. I may try it next time I feel an overwhelming sense of pressure. At times folks say their stress is so high they feel as if their hair is on fire. So, if you see a woman looking distinctly like a coastal woman, and there is that look, y'all, if you see that woman stop in mid-step, drop to the ground and begin rolling back and forth; think of this post. At that moment you will know something no one else knows, that woman is not crazy and she is not on fire. She is stressed beyond her limit and her hair is on fire. Let her roll. Do not mistake this for a Pentecostal moment of divine fervor! Yes, she could be Pentecostal and from the coast. There is no divine event taking place at that particular moment. Well, maybe if she has her hair in a large bun on the top of her head. Should that be the case there is a tiny chance you are witness to a holy roller who has lost her sense of decorum and dropped into a passionate spiritual roll without processing her whereabouts. There is a .00010 percent chance this is the case. Well, if she is wearing a dress that is below her knees and covers her arms and is up to her neck and has on thick stockings and no make-up the percentage goes up significantly. Putting that aside as a rare event assume the rolling woman's hair is on fire from stress and let her roll. Lord knows she is worth it. As a famous country song says, "Just walk on by. Wait on the corner."

PTSD - A Flame Thrower

The butterfly flew too close to the flame last night. A flight of fancy, a dream of normalcy, of memories thought dead as the butterfly emerged from her cocoon into the illusion of a new life; all these and more brushed the flame of remembrance, flashing into ashes leaving a fanciful beauty grounded by the ashes of decay.

 

 

 

 

THE LOUSY, ROTTEN BASTARDS DON'T DESERVE THE FORGIVENESS OF THE INNOCENT...BUT THE INNOCENT DESERVE THE FREEDOM FORGIVENESS BRINGS.



 

Car Kitty Gets A Home

Car Kitty, who has spent part of the winter in my car and part of the winter in my bedroom, has found a home. I may have mentioned Car Kitty in earlier posts. He met me a few months ago as he showed up time after time on my mother's porch. I discerned early on that he did not have a home. he was well fed by various people in the park. He was not afraid. He was clean and sure of himself. He moved back and forth between my feet purring a steady, contented hum. This is why I now have him. He likes to move back and forth between feet when someone comes home. My mother was terrified of falling. She planned to call the animal shelter to come and pick him up. My plan to save this self-possessed male kitten developed and expanded into attracting him to my home with food and water on the deck. As the weather grew colder I placed him in my car with a blanket and food and water. He did well. Who knew? The kitten roaming our neighborhood was special, inner directed, expressive and responsive. He rode with me when I went shopping. Clerks at the take out window at McDonald's could not believe their eyes. "Is that a cat riding with you." "Yes!" I would reply. "This particular cat rides very well in the car with me."

The weather grew colder. The wind blew. The car did not remain warm. Car Kitty moved into my bedroom. Food, water, litter box; the accoutrements of feline ownership.

Car Kitty reached down into his deep calm, settled in, found his spot and made himself to home. In the process he won my heart. Tomorrow he goes to his new home with a wonderful new mom. She is going to love him and he is going to begin the process of checking out his new digs, trying out his new mom and claiming "his" home perfect in every way.

Deep satisfaction fills my heart and soul. Car Kitty has a forever home. In the fine tradition of mothers all over the world, I let go. A piece of my heart travels with him. Good-bye my friend. Make me proud.

Just stuff...

A winter storm has come to eastern North Carolina. Of course, the coastal folk, of which I am one, were spared the ice and snow. I rarely consider snow a hindrance. I am told, by those who live in wintery climates, that snow, as it begins to melt, re-freeze and melt again holds no beauty. The delicate flakes coming down quietly, transforming the world around us into a winter wonderland lose their form and beauty over time.
 One winter I travelled to Pennsylvania on business. I saw for myself the truth of a snow gone bad. Pennsylvania was new to me. The effects of a long, dreary winter were new to me. Buildings, sidewalks, streets and plant growth were a dingy, gray of melted and refrozen snow. Car fumes,over time, darkened the refrozen snow to a listless, shade of grey with dark streaks running through. No sign of the beauty of snow remained. I remember thinking how sad to live where dingy, gray dominates the color palette. Gray skies mocked a hope of spring to come. My spirit was overwhelmed by the dark, cold, wintery days.
I wanted to head south for home, on the coast,where the chance of snow draws fits of giggles and redneck drivers abandon their common sense recklessly speeding down icy highways. Two days later the sun pops out, the snow melts into the ground, Carolina blue skies stretch as far as the eye can see. No gray in sight.