Finding the "others"

I didn't know much about Timothy Leary until today, and even now I'm not sure I know all that much about him, (I do wonder what XDell thinks of him!))...but I found a quote today which struck deeply into my heart.

“Admit it. You aren’t like them. You’re not even close. You may occasionally dress yourself up as one of them, watch the same mindless television shows as they do, maybe even eat the same fast food sometimes. But it seems that the more you try to fit in, the more you feel like an outsider, watching the “normal people” as they go about their automatic existences. For every time you say club passwords like “Have a nice day” and “Weather’s awful today, eh?”, you yearn inside to say forbidden things like “Tell me something that makes you cry” or “What do you think deja vu is for?”...

Who knows what you might learn from taking a chance on conversation with a stranger? Everyone carries a piece of the puzzle. Nobody comes into your life by mere coincidence.
Trust your instincts. Do the unexpected. Find the others…”
-T. Leary

"Find the others..."

This morning when I awoke, hours before I read the quote above, I decided to spend more time on my blog and less time on FB- it's kind of a New Years thing, except it's a birthday thing.   I realized, after reading the quote, that I had ALREADY found the others.  Here.  In MY blog world.

The funny thing is that I blog weekly for WORK.   It's not that what I write isn't interesting, but it's all work related and written to generate content and online traffic.  There is no following.   No one in their right mind is going to check in with me on a weekly basis to find out what I have to say about vehicle wraps, or window wraps, wall murals, floor graphics, pool art, building wraps, or how best to wrap an elevator.  The blog is informational, and if you are a company in need of such things the material is helpful, but it does not attract "others" the way Mayden's Voyage does, or once did.  (you are always welcome to leave me a message though :)  http://www.capitalwraps.com/blog/ )

FB is an easy thing to default to because I can do it from my phone.  I believe it is also possible to BLOG from my phone, but I haven't quite figured it out.  I will.  I expect no one to get upset if I start using my blog like a fb page...but please don't POKE me :)

I've had some big life changes happen in the last 6 months, which I have not posted on my fb page, but I will write about them here.  Obviously there are some stories I'd like to tell, and honestly, some bloggers I simply miss having conversations with.  I'll be around to visit soon.
I am so fortunate to have found "you"  :)

Islands, Ducks, and work...

  NYD was asking/writing about how none of us are an island, except we are exactly like an island in that we are trapped within our own bodies and minds/imaginations.  In the comment section, I compared us to rubber ducks floating in water...bumping into each other, but mostly floating alone.  Mom's are different to some degree because our little ones paddle along behind us, but mine are quickly leaving the nest...

I wrote:
We are like islands in the way you wrote of...individuals trapped in our own little worlds, yet floating around independently, but covered in a sort of membrane (much like a blood cell) which is permeable. We receive information and energy, as well as give information and energy. But rather than being an island, I more think of us like rubber ducks in a big tub...surrounded by water, bumping into each other on occasion :) We ARE all in this thing together, but also, at times, very much alone. (Perhaps the blood cell idea is actually better than rubber ducks, but the ducks are cuter!)

I wish, often, when I'm alone and thinking of someone one far away (blog friends, dead loved ones, or people who live in Alaska :) that there was a way to break through the barrier of time, space, and location and simply communicate. Sometimes I do speak, almost prayer like, to the person I'm thinking of. The alternative, of course, is texting- which is almost as good, except it doesn't seem to work with the dearly departed or bloggers in other countries. I guess this is why we have computers and email? ;)

Above all- what I read and feel in this post is about connection, as well as lack thereof. It's the thing that tickles my brain too...wondering how and where I fit in, especially now that my "place" in the world is radically changing as I watch my kids go and emerge into adulthood. My baby rubber ducks aren't paddling behind me anymore...

The best question I should be asking is, "WHAT do I want to do now? and How?"

Super Awesome Chocolate Chunk Ice Cream

                                                        

              "Sadness is but a wall between two gardens."

                                        -Khalil Gibran

I love the hope of the poem above, but even gardens aren't free of difficulties.  Most gardens have blooms as well as thorns, buds as well as bugs, and beauty as well as mud.   It seems lately my garden/life has been full of dying plants, drought or flood, and a sad absence of honey bees.  No doubt there are some things I could manage better, but much of what's happened in the last 18 months has been the work of mother nature- and she is a force over which -even I -have no control.

For years here (at Mayden's Voyage) I have tried hard not to "journal" my actual journey, but rather I have written reflections on situations, events, and even people who have touched my life, for good or ill, without giving away details of the back story.  I have kept a journal since I was 8.  Being able to find a place where I can write all the sordid details of my life has been an important outlet, but a very private one.   I suppose if you knew me in day to day life you might be able to read between the lines and fill in the blanks, but honestly, each of us have enough burdens of our own.  Details are heavy.  It should be enough that I find a poem I want to share because it spoke to something in my life, and then I hope it touches something in you.  If it does, beautiful, if it does not- you don't walk away concerned with details you can do nothing about.  

Currently the sadness in my life deals with connections, and wants vs needs.  Some of the connections are faulty and tremendously painful.  When you were a child, did anyone ever let you "have as much as you want" of something, like a favorite ice cream, or candy, in the hope that your over indulgent behavior would teach you a lesson?  My mom always let us have as much cake and ice cream as we wanted on our birthday.  I clearly remember feeling sick on several occasions after having more cake than I needed.   Curious how all these years later I would parallel a spiritual pain to a physical one-  both having to do with excess, and failing to be mature enough to know when to stop.   As an adult I almost never eat cake, I don't even care for it.   When am I going to mature along similar lines in the spiritual realm?  Why do I go after the emotional equivalent of 10 gallons of super awesome chocolate chunk ice cream and fail to put my spoon down when I've had 12 bites too many?  And then why do I weep when the super awesome chocolate chunk ice cream makes me throw up, stains my dress, and makes me gain 10 lbs?  It happens every time, and yes- I have done this more than once. 

I simply can't get enough of that ice cream, even though it's no good for me.  I'm spiritually lactose intolerant.  It spikes my blood sugar.  I can't just have one dish- I want the whole tub.  It makes me feel like a greedy little kid getting her way...until I don't get my way, and then I'm heartbroken.  Heartbroken for ever wanting it in the first place, yet craving it still.  The smart thing, like a person in recovery, would be to stay clear of the ice cream and cut it out of my life.   Admit I am powerless before it and that my life is unmanageable with my freezer full of the stuff.   I do admit I have a problem.  I also admit I'm not ready to fix it.   I realize this also means nothing is going to resolve or mature on my part for a while longer.   The wall of sadness between gardens is something I'm going to keep running into.   

I wonder if I can paint a mural on it?  

 

     

a last page...

It was mother's day.
The heavy iron saturated odor from his blood filled her nose, brain cells, and caused a chemical reaction in her body.   He screamed in terror for the sake of terror because he did not know the truth...he was not dying, but he felt as if he might.  She held him in her arms and looked at the face she loved beyond her own flesh, beyond her own soul.  His face, torn in 3 places, she tried to gently push back into place, trying to make his features familiar once more, but it was to no avail.  A plastic surgeon and prayer were needed, and needed soon.
He screamed, she shhhed, and he screamed above her voice in panic.   Only when she said, "Son, we need to pray." did he stop screaming, and immediately, with the epic faith of an 8 yr old, he simply said, "Dear Jesus, I need a miracle."

Unsure if there was brain damage, she sifted through her mental files and training.  She asked simple questions like, "What is your whole name?  When is your birthday?  Who is the President?  What year is it now?  Can you add 70 +30?"   He answered correctly and quickly.  A temporary peace settled over her as she thought to herself, "For now, at this moment, he is ok- at least for now- I will not lose him."

The Ambulance finally arrived.  All at once, when the paramedic came to take her son, her fear of letting go of him, and yet the intense understanding that she must trust the stranger in the blue jump suit, was a battle of wills like none other, all played out in her mind and heart.  A bloody white flag of surrender, and a faint hope her son would be in capable hands is what released her grip, but few realized how close she came to brink of madness in the seconds before.   No one ever imagined.

It was at this moment, as she stood up, she realized the blood from his head wound had soaked all the way to her flesh.  His blood.  His precious blood.  The child she knew so well externally...now she knew something of him internally.  It was awful knowledge. Red, thick, and sticky, the smell alone would leave a scar on her soul.