What's the agenda

At work, providing safety type skills training to parent when parent spouts off with spiel on instilling his homophobic values in his kid.... My job is not to educate bigots. Although refraining from doing so.... REALLY REALLY fucking hard. I had to literally bite my lip to keep the words from cascading out of my mouth. "so in 4 years when your son tells you he is gay.... How you gonna handle that?"

Definitely need some supervision around that one. Ignorance.... Ugh...

I really hope for your kids sake that he is not gay... Or his 20's are gonna really suck.

Purpose

The steadfast idea that we are here as a result of a magical being's idea and preoccupation drives me nuts. Really sit and think about that a moment. Does our very existence and pursuit of happiness hinge on the need for an explanation regarding how we got here so badly that were really going to buy into this divine creation bit? Its all pretty far fetched. Perhaps if we put a little more energy into what we do with what we have, this place wouldn't be such a mess. Afterall, it seems rather self serving to act in accordance with a a structure instituted by man in the name of god with the root of its pirpose to please him and in turn secure our own ticket upstairs.  How about empathy? Why is it not enough to act out of simple understanding? Don't help the homeless guy  on the on ramp cause its what God would want you to do. Help him because, one seeing turn and it could be any one of us. Help him because he too bleeds, hungers, feels pain, feels joy. Help him because we all deserve dignity. Help him so that one day, should you find yourself on a street corner, a version of yourself may come along and help you.

Penance

There is a penance we pay, whether it be in this life or the next.
I can only hope that the energy I have coming back to me I have the opportunity to square away in this life rather than stave it over to the next. I am uncertain how limited my time here is and if nothing else goes according to my grandiose childhood plan, I hope to at least leave this life, squared off, face to face, staring it down, with a sigh of acceptance and some small fleck or recognition to a balance in my eyes.

I finally see myself for who i really am and have let go of the wistful idea of trying to peek through another eyes for the sake of some outsiders understanding. I do not wish to be liked or even necessarily accepted through others eyes. I only wish for some moderate sense of understanding. Without deeper understanding, one can not begin to claim acceptance. Perhaps I have just begun to understand myself in a more revealing light that I have made peace with all that I am and am not. I have very modest expectations for others perceptions and ideas. Understanding is not an exaggerated expectation to hold.

For all of this understanding, I have a deeper grasp on reality. I wish others near me could share this. It has a tenancy to make life a little smoother. There is so much others covet, my imperfect self included, that simply isn't real. As a result, truth and authenticity are too often lost in the shuffle. We over complicate the whole mess of it.

I didn't think when I started that I would be able to end this abruptly. I sit here, with my 4 legged companion, television on pause, his candle and ashes on the table next to me, and I am more calm and more content than I could have hoped for. Initially sitting with this, I expected pages to pour out. Its in there somewhere but these short bursts lately are leaching it out of me quicker than I can find the means to replace it.

I am trying to to numb myself this year and have probably failed miserably. I have stood up for, and followed through with my process, my grief that I only allow to sneak in and wreak havoc but once a year. I don't ask for much, I make great effort to push down any ego and selfishness. This one time a year, I ask for selfish things. I ask to be able to mourn, forget, or celebrate in whichever way my heart and mind need to in the moment. I choose to allow my few precious days to be free of intruding schedules and prying constrictions. I choose how, when, and where to cope, if I choose to at all. I choose to be in my home when the floodgates open. I refuse to let other guilt me into being disloyal to this process I have developed. Its too important, the events were too traumatic. I choose to be selfish, do what i need to do for myself, so the other 362 days of the year, I can go back to doing for others.

Writing to find not only the answer, but the question

Watched a fantastic spoken word poet on TED talks last night
She described using poetry to solve her problems or discover the answers to her questions
What happens when one doesn't even know the question?

I tuck the kids in bed
give them a tight squeeze
threaten that tomorrows liberties ride on their staying put
put on less annoying attire
position myself in my favorite corner of my tired overstuffed couch
balance my work issued laptop
(that has seen better days) on my thighs
neglect the switches that would otherwise illuminate the soft amber lights of my living room
and in a futile effort
attempt to make sense of the nonsensical vibrations
twitching about among the rhythms of sentiment
that flow between reason, expectation, and the
demoralizing loneliness of a well attended
but poorly attuned oblivious congregation
the clicking drone
gears of a cheap 3 inch clock
a hushed reminder of the dependable nature of time itself
moments pulsating
pouring the vitality into each sequential event....

(unfinished... ill come back to this tomorrow...)

Boiling under the surface

The internal pressure is too high to even begin to write. Maybe ill go back over some old stuff, expand it, turn it into some spoken word shit... Well see what tomorrow brings. The damn better break loose soon, I can feel it about to overflow

Always this time of year

Why does the universe seem so intent on not letting me have a day to just manage my own saddness without having to manage everyone else's stuff??

Aggitation

Ever so careful to choose my words. I refuse to let my anger get the best of me and resurrect the wicked bitch that feeds kindling to the small light of rage that burns quietly somewhere in the depths. Resentment is poisonous and feasts on unattended frustrations. 

(Thoughts never published from a few months ago)