My Life Is Totally Getting In the Way of My Enlightenment

Everything I want to know I might already have learned and forgotten over and over and over.

It's incredibly frustrating.

I remember reading once that Scorpios- me, I'm Nov. 10th- go through periods of intense withdraw and transformation throughout their lives. I do, I do, I do. I drink and drink and drink until I am so full of the world that my eyes are drunk and sick and I am spinning and miserable and then there is a volcanic shift, always painful, sometimes dangerous, and I am stepping fresh from the fire like a daisy never burnt. It's slightly romantic. It's definitely productive for my writings. It's hard on my relationships- my husband, my children. It's hard on me. It's childish.

The phrase Mr. Curry and I mock and yet use because of it's inevitability: It is what it is. And what it is is when you take a Scorpio child, a writer by DNA and by sensibility, and then you add a terrifying Father and painful childhood, and you get The Pirate Queen. That's the name of my poem novel. It's all done. I'm waiting for a cover from someone wonderful. If he's reading, no pressure. Ha!!! I can't apply that to myself in the slightest. No pressure. No pressure. Like oxygen for me. I spend much of my life trying to relieve the constant pressure in my soul. Buddhism says that this is the path of the un-enlightened. That we experience only isolation, lonliness, worry, fear- interspersed with moments of joy or freedom. Enlightenment is when a person lives inside freedom.

Why don't we all spend all our time trying to be enlightened?

I can't answer, it's too embarrassing. The answer is I'm too busy trying to remember to take my vitamins. Or floss. Or sign Lola's homework sheet. You know. Life, or my version of it.

I spent a year of my life learning about Buddhism once, and practicing, and meditating, and I was the best version of myself I'd known in a long time- maybe ever- but I can't stay. I can't keep.

After a baby I am an other for a year, maybe two. Yes, two. For two, I'm not of. I'm other.

This post has the most I's of any post I've written in a long time. iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

I'm sick of I.

If there's anything else I want to say, I don't want to hear about it!
ps
I'm going to dedicate myself for one entire more year to meditation and .. you know, other enlightening stuff.

pss
I'm serious!!!

psss
I mean it.

frances bean cobain

The Crowds Cheered as Gloom Galloped Away

By Matthea Harvey b. 1973 Matthea Harvey

Everyone was happier. But where did the sadness go? People wanted to know. They didn’t want it collecting in their elbows or knees then popping up later. The girl who thought of the ponies made a lot of money. Now a month’s supply of pills came in a hard blue case with a handle. You opened it & found the usual vial plus six tiny ponies of assorted shapes & sizes, softly breathing in the Styrofoam. Often they had to be pried out & would wobble a little when first put on the ground. In the beginning the children tried to play with them, but the sharp hooves nicked their fingers & the ponies refused to jump over pencil hurdles. The children stopped feeding them sugarwater & the ponies were left to break their legs on the gardens’ gravel paths or drown in the gutters. On the first day of the month, rats gathered on doorsteps & spat out only the bitter manes. Many a pony’s last sight was a bounding squirrel with its tail hovering over its head like a halo. Behind the movie theatre the hardier ponies gathered in packs amongst the cigarette butts, getting their hooves stuck in wads of gum. They lined the hills at funerals, huddled under folding chairs at weddings. It became a matter of pride if one of your ponies proved unusually sturdy. People would smile & say, “This would have been an awful month for me,” pointing to the glossy palomino trotting energetically around their ankles. Eventually, the ponies were no longer needed. People had learned to imagine their sadness trotting away. & when they wanted something more tangible, they could always go to the racetrack & study the larger horses’ faces. Gloom, #341, with those big black eyes, was almost sure to win.

“The Crowds Cheered as Gloom Galloped Away” © 2004 Matthea Harvey. Reprinted from Sad Little Breathing Machine with the permission of Graywolf Press, Saint Paul, Minnesota.

Buy or borrow this book:

Source: Sad Little Breathing Machine (Graywolf Press, 2004)

Poem Found @ Poetry Foundation

Collective Remembering 9-11

on Talia Carner

on Smacksy

on New York, Lost and Found

on Rotten Mom

on Mommyhood Next Right

on Clarity in the Chaos

on The Moon, Worn As If It Had Been A Shell

on Jew Eat Yet

on Just Another Manic Mommy

Brown Out California

The power outed at 3:27pm on Thursday, the same day that had already been so hot we couldn't take the preschoolers outside for their afternoon play. I was cleaning in the infant room, Ever and other babies crawling around my feet, and Dakota had just left angrily. Things aren't good. If you pray, you can pray for my son. He came back in, his phone cracked and hot in his large 17 year old hand. I broke my phone Mom, he said. So you can't call me. I nodded, that's all. He left and the power shut off. Fans stopped the incessant whirring over our heads, the EXIT light came on and a loud, fat beeping noise began it's endless repetition. Once every three minutes.

Outside, I plugged Ever into the carseat and her forehead glistened already with drops of sweat.

I drove by Dakota, walking home, shirt off. He's so tall. He's 6 foot now.

At home I pulled Ever out and told Mr. Curry about the day. The power might stay out until tomorrow afternoon, he said. Are you sure? That's what they said? He was sure. That's what they said. Dakota came home. Things happened. Mr. Curry and I did the best we could. We did a good job, a much better job than we knew how to do two years ago. Dakota left. I called out I love you to his receding and unresponsive back. Because sometimes there is nothing else that you can say, and you want to be sure that you said it. Lola was in tears. I sat with her on the couch as she sobbed. It's OK, sweetie, we both told her, it's OK.

In the middle of the street, I took our neighbors cell, trying to call my Mom. The signal didn't go through. Lola stood next to me, Ever in Mr. Curry's arms. The air was yellow and thick. From our position in the cul de sac, looking down the street, you could see neighbors sitting in lawn chairs on their front yards, standing in the street talking, kids running around. Looking at the vaguely threatening sky, my eyes scanned for something. I realized I was feeling the absence of electricity. The absence of internet signals, cell phones, computers, televisions blaring, phones ringing, movies playing. I could hear my neighbors voices. Kids playing. I could hear the wind in the palm trees. And I could feel the resting of Nature into my body, without the strange skin of electrical noise between us and the elements.

The grocery store was crowded with people. The parking lot like a fish packed river, gleaming car tops. The water aisle half cleared completely, the other half picked through. Each register open, the lines of irritable, hot, worried people poking back into the food aisles. Mr. Curry was looking for a small alarm, worried how he would wake for work. We bought hot dogs, beans and water. Ever wore only her diaper and a tired, bleary interest in what was going on. I stayed quiet.

Mr. Curry made dinner on the grill and the darkness set completely. We lit candles and had our camping lantern on, plenty of light. We ate dinner out front. The moon was full, the stars beautiful, and a completely wonderful cool breeze had begun steadily blowing. I cried, until Mr. Curry reminded me my responsibility was to the girls. I stopped crying. I wondered where he was. I thought of how glad I was we lived in suburbia; no where for him to go to dangerous. Just 'little pink houses /for you and me'.

We all lay together in the bedroom. Mr. Curry had a battery powered radio working, and we four lay listening to it with a candle lit until we fell asleep.

The power went back on at 4am. I woke to the fan whirring and the the television that had never been turned off blaring in the living room. I turned it all off and lay back in bed. I tried not to think about my life. I thought of the women before me, the mothers, the centuries of women protecting their families in the face of disease, death, starvation, poverty, loss. Potato famines, crop failure, floods. All the mothers for hundreds and thousands of years. I thought of them, and I fell asleep.

how cheerfully they sing

I'll tell you how things are for me right now: Mr. Curry, Ever Elizabeth, Lola Moon and I were shopping in Wal-Mart. The reason we were shopping in Wal-Mart is because our very nutty roomate moved out last weekend without any notice and without paying rent, so that we are $600 in the hole for rent this month, so that my mom gave us her Wal-Mart card and said we could buy some groceries and supplies with it. ThankyouMom. I was trudging in front of Mr. Curry, miserable because the night before we had the worst fight we've had in years, years, which ended with me walking around our neighborhood block in my pajamas and flip flops, in the rain, at 9pm at night. We fell asleep together after all of it, until around 3am when I woke and turned to nurse Ever and felt the soft deep tissue behind my chicken wing on the right side of my body softly tug and then with a big sucking snap, pop and fissure open. The pain went through my back up to grab my right ear and stake itself in my head. I slept sitting up and nursing Ever, and am sitting here only slightly better off. So back to Wal-Mart, and it's depressing lights and stacks and stacks of preserved Jello. I was trudging miserably, remember, in front of Mr. Curry, angry at him because he was telling me a joke, and I wasn't paying attention, and he was miffed/hurt and wouldn't finish the joke, and as I was brooding over this I felt someone coming up on my rear left. So I looked back as I went to move out of the way, and the old, white haired lady on her motorized scooter said loudly and in her best meanoldlady voice

That's right, you better move out the way.

I turned to look closer at her and said to her receding white old head, What a sweet lady, with as much sarcasm as I could muster. She sputtered without making eye contact. Then I instinctively went to put my hand on Mr. Curry's arm before he said or did something wildly inappropriate to the old lady, and did or did not stop him in time depending on what your opinion is of what he shot off at her.

Arriving home with our piles of stuff, I sat miserably on the couch and thought about what to do for Dakota. There is a problem. Those who coined the term loving detachment couldn't have meant parents. I dare you to be lovingly detached to your child. It's possible, but only in the smallest way possible, like in fragments of time, in moments, when you are meditating, laughing, being showered with support, having a strong moment, or are incredibly drunk. The rest of the time it's like trying to be lovingly detached toward your own hands while they are wedged inside of a door jam, broken and bleeding. I see you, but the fact that you are in distress cannot be my problem, I can help you, but I cannot feel your pain. Oh, laughter. You silly son of a bitch.

Meanwhile, our entire garage door handle broke off. Our bathroom door has a big sign on it that says DO NOT CLOSE ALL THE WAY which kind of defeats the entire purpose of a bathroom, and is placed there because if you shut the door from the outside, you can't open it again! Our air conditioner broke two weeks ago, right before this staggering heat wave and humidity. And this is my first preschool paycheck that will have Ever's tuition taken out of it!

Life's a piece of shit, when you think of it! Monty, where are you now. The best thing about that song is how cheerfully they sing of suffering.

how cheerfully they sing of suffering

how cheerfully they sing of suffering

oh, how cheerfully they sing

of suffering

love,
maggie may

charcoal me

drawn by yolanda, dearling

101 Ways To Smile: Do Something Ridiculous

Yes, please.

Other ridiculously fun ideas:

take a shaving cream bath

paint your entire body

buy water soakers and get in a squirt gun fight

do nothing but bake all day, filling your kitchen and table with plated goodies, and then invite your friends over, your kids friends, your family

every family member in a costume, all day, everywhere you go. no explanations

dye everyone in your family's hair the same temporary color
(then take a picture!)

go on a mud-hike in the rain (we've done this, so fun!)

clear out your living room and have a dance contest

!

all the world in a palm

i keep surfacing into the world, more real each time. further from bullshit. everything is exciting like this. when i am thinking and feeling all there is to learn and do i feel thrilled to be alive. the magic is fully in the moment but aware of all that lays untouched around me. somewhere between a grand adventure and the peace ms. moon talks about in the microcosm. we are the cell of a leaf and the entire breadth of the galaxy at once. i am full of swirling fluxing ideas and dreams and thoughts and emotions. here are some things on my mind.

tattoos i can't wait to get another. on my back, i have Lola and Dakota's name in a blue star. now i want to add Ian and Ever, and i'm thinking of getting something smallish on my upper left arm or maybe behind there. i feel like if i get a beautiful tattoo there, i will feel stronger and magical. like Wonder Woman's armband. Mr. Curry thinks it's sexy. bonus. also, picking what to get is the most fun thing in the world. i have an idea and it's thrilling me to my toes

ever's first birthday party i am planning it. i think the theme is Forest Animals. i just want some cute decorations and invitations, an owl shaped cake and close family and friends, and great music. Lola is helping me. :)

our roomate that just moved out, quite unplanned. i'll tell you that story, soon. wow. for those of you going 'you have a roomate!?' yes, we did! i've mentioned it here and there. it has really helped financially, but now it's over.

halloween Lola is an Egyptian princess, Ever is a pink piggy. can't wait.

mr. curry's birthday september 17th he'll be my age now. he always teases me about being younger than i. ( can you believe that's correct English? no one says that. i'm trying to make myself but i don't think i can. ) for his birthday i'll remind him why i need a younger man to keep up with me. :)

romance i feel ridiculously romantic lately. i keep hearing Peter Gabriel's song and thinking how it perfectly describes mr. curry and i. ' i get so lost sometimes / days pass / and this emptiness fills my heart / i get so tired / working so hard / for our survival / i look to the time with you / to keep me awake and alive ' yes, yes, yes. this story reminds me of Mr. Curry and i. i have told him the last thing i want to hear before i die is his voice.

mr. curry's new job after a long haul he's gotten a new job with better pay and a better, happier situation for him for various reasons. i'm SO happy for him, happy for our family, happy to see us moving forward as a couple and as a family. we are a good, hard working team and i'm proud of us for that. he starts this coming week! :)

recommitting to parenting i feel like i forgot everything i knew. i don't know what happened. somehow getting Dakota through 15-17 almost killed me. ( gee. wonder why. he's doing AWESOME now, by the way :) and then having Ever and then and then and then. and somehow i ended up like this: what do i say when Lola won't stop talking again? that doesn't kill her self esteem? because she neeeeveeerrr stops talking. ever. and it's the age, the boys did it too. Nine is a hard age for me. they are just all over the place. boing! crash! boom! and they talk the whole time. and Lola, unlike the boys, realllly pays attention to see if we are carefully listening. with the boys, they were content to be allowed to ramble. but Lola is a girl. she must be HEARD. can't imagine where she gets it from. just stuff like that. i feel zapped of all creative parenting. i plan on reading a few old and true books that are amazing ( Dr. Sears, Becoming the Parent You Want To Be are two ) and maybe making a few signs to put up for myself. to remind myself, to refocus when i'm distracted...which right now is always.

my writing career is going along steadily and well. i'm making a small amount of money off Flux Capacitor which is awesome, and i have a huge blog redo ( long overdue ) in the works, and i've gotten hired for another freelance job. i can't reiterate how much we need this money, and how satisfying it is to see my hard work pay off.

planning our future life trips to take, what kind of area we want to move to, what our future house will look like, how i would decorate it, what we will do when Lola hits middle school, family travel, Dakota turning 18 next June (holy), Ever is crawling and thinking of her walking and hearing her sweet voice talking for the first time someday, where will Ian go to college and what kind of scholarships can he get, those kinds of thoughts.

giving back there is a woman i know who has metastasized breast cancer, a husband and two small children. i mentioned her here a year or two ago. she's almost on the last chemo she can use, and the cancer is in her brain, bones and lungs. she's still working full time. holy. i think about her all the time, and am at the moment trying to come up with an idea to raise money for her and her family in the next two months. last time i did this we just took donations. this time i'm thinking of trying something else. any ideas? links? experience?

What's on your mind these days?

Ever and The Orange: A Photo Series