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In the small places in the world sound exists. Sound simply being waves that translate into what we reconize as sound.
Tonight I killed a carpenter ant, and as I did, I could hear it scream. I feel horrible. To some, that may mean nothing, but like sound waves, life exists all around us. And in the eyes of the universe I am no more or no less than that ant.
Our genetic structure is just different is all.
We all come from star stuff, and that includes the ants and spiders and frogs and other strange creatures of the world that make many people squeemish.
All I saw when I saw that ant was that it was invading my space,
the great indoors. From it's perspective it was doing what it was ment to do. And when I squished it, and hear it screaming in pain, I realized I'd done something terrible.
I had stopped it's life. What if some giant creature saw me like I saw that ant?
Would it's reaction to me be the same? I'm invading it's space and serve no purpose and so death was the only response it could have tord me?
What a terrible thought. What a terrible thing, to belive that we have the right to distroy life because it's invading our space.
What is our space really?
The only answer I've been able to come up with is the skin I exist in.
I'm only passing through this life, I don't own the land or the sky and I certianly don't own the places where the ant lives...
Life being life and equal in a universal sense, how can I play God with another species?
The answer is I can't...
But it hit me when I heard that tiny screaming, that every time I kill another creature that's exactly what I'm doing.
I don't know how to deal with this knowledge.
I don't know how to have compassion on things that feel free to crawl on me simply because I'm in their path.
I don't know if I can adjust my view to accept that the ant has ever right to be here as much as I do.
I know that when ants bit or bees sting it's not because they hate me. They do it because I'm seen as food or a threat.
That is their view.
It's simplier than mine.
I tend to see them as something that needs to be outside.
And not in my "space"
I don't love ants. I fear bees. Cockroaches make me crazy with the creepy crawlies, and rats and mice make me jump.
Cows scare me when they get too close. Their head is huge, and when they look at me with thoes big eyes, it intimidates me.
Horses do the same.
And both of thoes have the potential to bite me. Or kick me and inflict serious injury.
I wonder if they see me and fear me as much as I do them.
I wonder if they see me and think I'm just a stupid human, a part of that species that takes over everthing it sees as though it owns it and makes slaves of everything it can, including it's own kind...
Someone made a comment to me tonight that made me realize that several things that I used to struggle with are really gone.
Really and truly.
Like the end of a long dark night that lasted most of my life. Dark dreams that bled into my waking hours....
I grew up in what could only be refered to as a house of violence and control, and fear.
Fear of not being loved. Fear of doing the wrong thing or saying the wrong thing.
And being expected to do what I was told when it came from anyone older than me...
And if it was wrong I had to bare with the punishment.
Two types of punishment were the norm, one following the other.
Beatings with brushes, shoes, shower hoses...
followed by time facing a wall for up an hour, or sitting perfectly still on a chair...
it didn't matter.
The person administering the punishment never delt in reason, only in the anger, that would rage...and rage, and rage.
That is part of my past. My history.
I can't change what happened.
I can only look at it from a distance now.
In my past there was sexual abuse. It started when I was aproximately 4 years old and ended when my mother walked in on my brother doing his thing, and draged me upstairs and proceeded to beat me and then get in my face and tell me my body belonged to me and God and my husband and no one else...
The effect of this caused fracturing. I would loose time. Do distructive things.
Not remember things.
I was obsessed with food. I would wake up at the refrigerator and not know how long I had been there or how much I had eaten.
After my father died, things began to break. It was the beginning of my healing.
More and more the breaking happned. Then one day something extrodinary happened.
I became aware of one of the fractured parts of myself. Parts of me, very distinctly unique, very much different from the me I knew.
I had in effect compartmentalized who I was in order to survive.
I began to notice intense headaches would come on just before time would disapear.
As the awarness of the parts of me grew so did the awareness that when one of the other parts of me would surface, I could watch, but from a distance.
After I left the place where I had spent most of my life, things became more surface, and stronger.
Especially the anger. She would show up, and do and say terrible things. And then leave me to deal with the after math.
I began to realize I couldn't live with that anger anymore. It was getting more and more ugly, and one night I prayed that the anger would die.
After a long night of war, it did. In the morning, I felt differnt.
I felt whole.
In the months that followed my relationship to food changed. The needs that were addictions fell away.
Then tonight when someone said that I used to have compulsive disorders...it hit me. They are gone.
I remember things of my past, both good and bad now, and it's ok.
I worked through the hate I had for my father. And now when I think about him I see him as a product of what he learned growing up, and it got more twisted with him.
I don't miss him. I didn't grieve when he died. There was no reason to.
The only thing I grieve now is that I missed the man who he was.
Somewhere under all the illusions, somewhere under all the manipulation was a person I never got to know.
His brothers and sisters knew him.
But I never did. I was terrified of him growing up.
I suspect that I will never greive for the man who fathered me.
And as for my mother, well, it took me almost a year of being gone before I could talk to her.
The only person I have contact with that is still alive is one sister, and I can't spend alot of time with her.
She needs to control everything.
The other members of my blood family I won't ever have contact with outside of the death of my mother.
Any need I had of them died along with my anger.
The family I have now is by choice. I have yet to experience "homesickness".
I've been gone for 3 years now, and outside of keeping in contact with my children who are grown, and a call every now and then to my mother, I have no desire to see the town where I grew up.
I do miss my children, but I know they are fine. And happy. And alot happier since the woman who was their mother, a torn angry wounded person left.
I think it would be ok to move a little closer to where they are, but I suspect that even if I did, they wouldn't have alot of desire to make the trip to come see me.
I accept that.
I've appoligized for how bad of a parenting job I did.
And I do grieve over the hurts I casused them and have appoligized to them again and again.
They seem to think they had a good childhood. I attribute that to the relaionship they had with their dad.
If anyone had told me back then that there would come a time in my life when I would be free, I would have just looked at them and thought they were nuts.
Even with the wall I hit in august which almost cost me my life, I'm ok now.
I don't wake up at the refrigerator anymore.
I don't beat the walls anymore.
I don't loose time anymore.
I have a past. But it's my past. I'm not that person anymore.
And that's a good thing...no it's an awesome thing.
When I get angry now, it's not out of control.
I eat when I get hungry, and stop when I'm just full.
I don't have the overwhelming need to hord things anymore.
It's ok to change my mind now, and I don't have to do something that doesn't set right with me anymore.
The only good thing my father ever did for me was die...I know that probably sounds horrible.
But until he did, I couldn't get free.
I was too scared to live, and too afraid to stand up and say no I don't want this, or this is wrong.
The few times I tried when he was alive, he just ignored me.
The only time I ever heard him say that he loved me and knew he ment it, and was not just playing some head game, was 15 minuets after he died, when I felt him touch my shoulder and then wisper in my ear that he loved me...
He could no longer stop me from getting healed and being whole.
I was free at last.
It was a long road. Not as long as the road of pain I had been walking in, but long non the less...
I'm free now. And that is really all that truely matters anymore.
About an hour ago I took some nightquil, because the onions don't seem to be doing anything.
I suppose an explaination is in order. There is a very old remedy for illness and it goes like this: you put oinions in your socks and then put them on and they will draw what ever sickness is in your body out.
My mother told me about this. Years ago she had phenumonia in her chest so bad that she couldn't touch her skin because the pain was too bad. So she did what her mother did when there was illness. She sliced some onion up and put them in her socks and went to bed.
In the morning, the onions were black and her chest was clear.
She felt fine. A trip to the doctor confermed that the phenumonia was gone.
Now there is scientific basis for this. Onions have very strong drawing power and so it makes sense. Besides being very high in vitamin C.
So, being tired of fighting illness, which has made doing much of anything an exausting process, including going to work today and almost hitting several cars because I almost fell asleep at the wheel.
I decited enough was enough. So I got an onion and sliced it up and put them in my socks and put my slippers on and passed out on the couch.
I've checked them a few times and nothing. I still felt like shit, only now I'm restless.
So I decited about an hour ago, that since my fever is back on the rise, that nightquil was in order.
At least I could go back to sleep and when morning comes maybe the onions will be black and I'll feel ok.
here in lays the problem. The oinions feel weird. the nightquil hasn't knocked me out. It's made me feel like I'm riding in an elevator that keeps comming to a jerking stop.
So I figured the best thing to do in a situation like this is journal.
So here I am. I feel real weird tonight. Walking on onions to get here feels like walking on slimy bits of stuff.
I know I should probably take the onions out and maybe go for some fresh slices and just lay there until sleep comes,
but I'm restless.
I feel like I'm drunk, and I can't sleep.
I think I'm so over stressed that my body has taken to spasoming because the muscles are tweeked out from being the recipients of my stress.
So, knowing that my stress level is off the grid, my body doesn't know how to relax anymore.
I'm so use to pushing to keep going forward. I feel guilty about resting.
I should be doing something.
But I'm so wiped out and at the moment a little weird, no make that alot weird in my head, that doing anything other than the occasional visit to the bathroom and now comming down here,
is the only think I seem to be able to do.
I want to win the lottery in the worst way. I want to get past all this expectation I have of myself that if I'm awake then I should be doing something constructive, because if I don't do it then it won't get done, and that makes me a terrible person.
I am the person that has to fix everything....
But my body doesn't know that. All it knows is that I've been running it ragged trying to do shit.
And what makes it worse, is that at work we've got this thing comming up on Saturday, and if all goes according to plan there will be about 250 people who will be expecting to do all these different things that they get to take home with them, and the people who know their stuff, and I have asked to be there to help, my manager has decited that they are all working that day.
This was after I told him who I had asked to help me with this thing.
The fucker sabotoged me. Again. He's done this several times. I've worked hard trying to get things up off the ground and when I talk to him, he over rides what I've done and it ends up failing.
I don't know what it is with this person that makes this keep happening.
So as soon as I'm past this illness, I'm going back out there and looking for work again. This illness put a damper on my search.
There has only been one week in the month of feburary that I've felt decient.
What he doesn't know is that after I get another job, and get ready to quit, I'm getting ahold of the district manager and tell him what's been going on.
It'll be my parting gift.
I've come to the conclusion that this is the only way that change will ever take place in the place where I work.
If I don't let the district manager know, the next person who takes this job won't last in it either.
And there have been too many people who have gone through this same shit as I have that didn't need to. It's time all of this was stopped.
And being the kind of person I am, who is willing to go out there and do what needs to be done, it seems that this task is one that is over due in happening.
...the oinions feel so funky. But I don't care. If they do what they are suppose to, then job hunting will be back on the adjenda, that is of course, unless I win the lottery.
then I'm taking a long vacation.
And talking to the district manager and tell him what's been going on.
I'm going to stop for now. I need to go use the bathroom.
Sleep well everyone.
I thought that I was finally over what ever I managed to catch here not too long ago, but I managed to have something else invade my body.
So here we go again.
I'm tired of being sick. I know that because after the first bout of illness I was not completely well that when the bug decited to hit, it hit hard.
I'm exausted now, and I hope that what ever this is gets over soon. Everything aches again, even my hair. I feel so weird, and I'm sure I'm running a fever again. I took some stuff to help with the ache, but it isn't working so good.
The last time I spent so much of one month fighing illness was when I was a kid. Me and my sisters and brother seemed to be sick all the time. We caught everything, including several bouts of the three day measles.
My parents, both being in the medical field, would over load us with various drugs, and vitamins.
The house I grew up in was poorly insultated and being around that many sick people the illnesses would go round and round and round. Even into summer time.
I hate having to take anything. If I can ride something out with out the aid of anything I will. But over the last couple of years the family diseases of arthritis and algeries and other fun and entertaining things have forced me into taking over the counter meds so that the pain is manageable.
Anyway, I think the over load of stress I've been under for such a long time is very likely a deep contributor to how easily things can nail me.
I just wanna curl up and sleep for a long time. And wake up with no unnessary worries to have to deal with.
It would be nice, but that's not the world I live in.
I'm gonna go to bed now.
Sleep well everyone
For the last few nights, there has been a re-occuring theme in the things that are discussed here.
The frustration at the stupid madness that exists.
Acually it's been going on for months and months. The same patterns, the same unresolved conclusions.
And nothing is changed.
I woke up this morning feeling a little off balance. And as I struggled to make it up the stairs and give my self a chance to wake up, the taste of last night's discussion and all the other discussions of similar flavor decended in one big lump.
As I watched the sun rise and saw that the color of the sky was blue, and that today would be at least in part, a sunny day,
I realized that people can get stuck in the same unsovable holes to the point where even a sunny day in the middle of winter gets lost.
I've participated in several of these discussions and the person on the other end of them has usually been in a state of drunken haze.
I should know better. But they need to vent. They've needed to vent and vent and vent....
What we talk about, politics, teachers, the school system, corporate crap, and how angry these things make this person, never changes.
Last night, it started again. There was another person in the room who got involved talking about these things, and when I realized where all of this was going, I left the room.
I could feel the depression decend like a heavy blanket.
And the anger, and the madness that comes with seeing things go on and feeling the only power you have is to talk about it.
I heard bits and peices of what what was said, and the person who's depth of frustration gets unlocked and poured out was challanged to do something instead of just talking about it.
Now this comes out of the mouth of a person who talks about doing all kinds of things and never does anything about what they talk about.
A kind of crazy lets beat up what pisses us off without actually doing anything kind of thing.
I'm glad I left the room. I was exausted. I've been in the state of exaustion for months. And this morning I realized that one of the major contrubitors to this exaustion has been these kinds of discussions.
They have taken my energy, what there is of it, and have taken my life, and nothing is changed.
Except that I end up feeling worse.
I realized that I want to be able to enjoy the day. Simply for the sake of being able to see the sky. And feel the excitment of spring just around the corner.
I have my own frustrations that I deal with at work. The madness I see that will never end as long as the manager that is there is in power.
I'm looking for a new job. That's the only answer that makes any sense to me.
It's hard when you see things that are changeable and you challange them and are told that's the way the real world is.
I don't believe that down in my bones.
I believe that change that stays starts with one person, choosing to live different.
There is a time for talking. But that can only go on for so long before it becomes easier to bitch and moan than to do something.
And it's an adiction.
The problem arrises when the person who this pours out of is so entrenched in a state of depression brought on by frustraions that won't go away, so they end up drinking themselves into a stupor night after night, that they end up talking about blowing themselves away, or setting themselves on fire.
I've watched this person running head long into what is shaping up to be a huge wall.
I've listened and made suggestions as how to deal with the frustrations at things that arn't changeable, but nothing happens.
So this morning as I sat and this huge collective mass of months of this hit me and all I wanted to do was go back to sleep, I realized that all of the discussions have been completely pointless.
It takes a while sometimes to get to the point where you realize that nothing you do or say will help.
I want to see the world change, and thoes who have the power to change things from the top, have compassion and wisdom as the shoes that they wear.
But I realize that certian things have now gained so much momentum that trying to stop and do something different is like trying to stop an out of control plane that is about to crash.
I have the power to change my world by changing how I live in it.
It may not make any differece in how businesses run. It may not make the war stop. It may not do anything other than make it easier to live here.
But at least it's doing something. And that is better than just talking and talking and talking and getting more and more angry at everything.
It's going to be a beautiful day. I'm going to spend some time looking at it, and just enjoy the color of blue up there.
The first thing that hits you is the smell. Kind of a salty fresh fish smell mixed with cedar and pine.
That's even before the curtian of trees gets pulled out of the way and the end of land comes into view...
The ocean. That wild untamed lady who puts the whole of your world in perspective.
That's where my brain is this morning.
On a particular stretch of beach with one very large rock that goes up and then hits a slant. That's the top of this rock.
There are smaller accompaning rocks, almost attendants to the big rock and then there is the ocean.
When everything in your life feels like too much food in your belly, being there and seeing how it washes over everything puts what you feel, think and worry about in perspective.
The rythem of the waves is calming dispite the reality that they can wash away every standing structure in a heart beat.
If you look out into the blue grey mystery you can see it build.
Gathering momentum, and with each statement of water that crashes and sprays, it gets bigger and bigger.
Then it rolls, huge, white, and beautiful.
It slams against the rocks and makes this incredible deep bass tone that holds you.
It's so beautiful and so perfect. The life that exists in tidal pools has to be strong. There is constant motion when the tide is in. Thoes little individuals are stuck tight to rocks that stay submerged durring high tide and then, only for a brief time do thoes rocks ever get exposed to air.
Hermit crabs. Star fish. Sea anomies. Sea weed. Mussells. The occasional red rock crab. Even more strange is to see a dungeness crab bumping around in one of thoes pools.
Life. In a place where there is no calm. Tough. Existing. Living and dying. Making way for new life. And becomming part of the next generation of what ever species exists there too.
The feel of sand on your feet. The prints in the wet sand that show your journey as you wander. Home.
This place where life is carved out by water and wind makes you aware of something fragile about yourself. And it's ok.
She talks to you. If you listen. She tells you that you are part of her and she part of you. The same thing happens in the mountians by the way. They've been around for alot longer than any of us, and will be standing when we go.
She caresses your soul. Kisses tears away by giving you her's every time the spray of her breath settles on your skin.
She plays with your hair. And you feel her eyes setttle in on your heart.
And with the wisdom of the universe she will wisper to your heart "this too shall pass."
I wish I was there now. I miss her. I miss home.
This post was edited by harold_maude on Feb 22, 2005.