the old-school guestbook archives
my amazon wish list... my favorite astrologer... my favorite artist... yerba mate revolution! erowid: a travel guide for interior journeys... no more war: MoveOn.org United for Peace and Justice True Majority seek the truth: Common Dreams Unamerican Activities The Nation people I adore, diaries I read: rev.raikes ariana cubiclegirl epiphany glitter333 laurakay wammo the music: the asylum street spankers backyard tire fire blue highway bill camplin wendy colonna freedom tribe joules graves guy forsyth band hamsa lila hanuman libby kirkpatrick leftover salmon pamela means medeski martin & wood the motet the nice outfit nickel creek open road rose polenzani railroad earth south austin jug band string cheese incident taarka tha musemeant the devil makes three tim o'brien band trolley wild sage keller williams yonder mountain string band |
why this mountain? why this sky? this long road, this empty room... ~ 2001-03-15 - 22:58:27 if you haven't read the last entry yet, please read it first. there's beauty there I'd like to share with all of you, and an awful lot of pain in the place I'm in at the moment. beauty here too, yes, as always. but the grief is hard. as always. don't need water I hate this. more than anything. I have hurt someone I love. someone I love more deeply than most. someone who was among the spare few who I held to my heart when death came for me on a colorado highway, in the middle of a snowstorm. I can't go yet. I need to be here, for them. and she was there, keeping me anchored to this world. she is my touchstone, my password, the one I call when I find myself on dark and empty stretches of road. the one I called from that hotel room in colorado when I told death it would have to leave me be and come again another time. for the first time I have deeply, truly wounded her. and the really fucked up thing about it is that I had no choice. or, rather, the choice was made, a ways back on the road. to live, always, from the heart. to give as much of myself as possible in every possible moment. healing is a powerful gift, and not one that can be withheld. ever. if I had it to choose over, I don't see how I could choose any differently. I was born to be the woman I have become. this is the road I walk. these are my torn and blistered feet. these are the choices I make in this world. it makes me want to claw my heart out of my chest, sometimes. sometimes it makes me want to go back to that dark colorado highway and choose differently. but not really. really there's nothing I would trade for the magic of walking through the world with open eyes and heart and hands. for the ability to draw light into a broken soul, a damaged heart. in a world of so much pain, I could not have been blessed with a greater gift, burdened with a heavier responsibility. it's the pain in her eyes I cannot bear. the coldness in her voice and the set of her body when I walked in the door last night. it doesn't help to know that the wounds are not mortal. that the real depths of the darkness she carries in her chest right now already lived inside her, before I opened the door and it came flooding out. that I did not invent this pain, and that the pain I did inflict was the inevitable consequence of actions that were touched with grace and light. to know that we both may be more whole in the end for walking through this storm. it helps a little to know that she will never stop loving me. that I am one of her forever people, one of only two. that she let me in the door last night in spite of herself. that we found ourselves giggling together by the time the sun came up, just like it does every day. that she made it clear that her need to have me out of her space was not permanent. that she didn't ask for her keys back. that this morning she finally ate the oatmeal chocolate chip cookie I brought for her. I used to look into her eyes and see reflected all the best things I want to believe about myself. in many ways her belief in the goodness of my heart and the trueness of my path have made it possible for me to become the woman I am. a year ago, I would not have known what to do with that damaged boy who came to me in the night. I would have sent him on his way as he was, closed my heart to the possibility of change, my role as a catalyst for his healing. now I know that there are things that need to be done, and that the universe requires that I do them. and now the reflection I see in her eyes is a person I would never want to be. a druggie, a whore, a bitch. words she would never use about anyone, not even me. those words come from the dark corner of my soul that finds it hard to believe in the sunrise and in the goodness of my heart. but still, she loves me. still, she kissed me goodbye when she left with another lover of hers, one I was meeting for the first time as I packed up my things and prepared to leave the closest thing I have to a home in this world. I would have liked to have met you when you might have had a better opinion of me, I told the lover, and she hugged me in response. don't even trip, she told me, and I love her for that. I am living with the memory of a time when she believed in me, and clinging to a blind faith that when she finds her way through her pain she will believe in me again. that she will come to a place where she will see what happened that night as a right thing, where she will wish nothing less for him than what I was able to give. that she will feel again the warmth of the light that flows through my arms and fingertips to soothe the scarred and savaged hearts of those I meet on the road. sometimes I wish for too much. even in the most terrifying darkness, I can't help having faith in the sunrise. in spite of myself. even when it's so desperately hard to believe.
(((rings))) |