Sure I was a twelve -year-old child, removed from the custody of my mother who was mentally ill and just doing things she thought was 'living' I knew she wasn't doing it to me, this 'living' although at that time, I thought she was actually born without the capacity for love, but what did I know, I was a 12 year old child then. Now, I can see for miles and miles and miles beyond now. Or maybe not as we still have a lot of dysfunction going on...I'm living now and she thinks I'm doing it to her. Funny how the tables turn. Anyhow, I heard a lot of stories from many people....lots of strange childhood stories that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy....but no one I knew could help me bring peace to my story or make sense of it so I checked into years of therapy, dove into every spiritual practice known to us humans and also tried every tonic under the sun and moon to heal up. I remember most of my life doing this and when not in the movement I'd lie in bed “howling like a wolf” . Nothing seemed to work. Anyhow, I'm writing again as I'm way down in the deep South on my childhood stomping grounds, seems I somehow got myself out of Los Angeles before I slit my wrist and immersed myself in a hot, fragrant pool of lilac bathwater. I guess you could say that my instinct that is always on my side knew when enough was enough and so what if I had grown accustomed to the black dogs of melancholy that have chased me most of my life, I will always love the romantic haunted idea of them but since I'm a strong creature, not to be messed with in many ways I said enough is enough and just lie that I left the dark to bask in the light.
Looking in the mirror I know that no matter what the pain of being separated from my pack for so long almost killed me, but it hasn't gotten the best of me yet. OK. The only thing that comes to mind when I hear the word 'pack' is a pack of Marlboro's as a girls gotta have some sorta true love, some sorta vice, right?
Meanwhile, I will be writing more and smoking more as I know Jesus isn't coming to pick me up. The divine lives in me, gotta be something to what my Irish grandmother once said "you gotta pull yourself up by the boothstraps!" so I'm once again finding my voice through my fingertips, trying to soften the tone (my grandmother Sibyl, afterall was a music teacher!) voice tough in purpose with emotions in check and if I do become a bit emotional (as I've been known to be unpredictable and scary to lots of men and women alike!) it's only because I feel and often I feel too much. However, you better bet these blue eyes are gonna challenge any viewer with raw vulnerability...a snarl to a whimper then back again in a syllable maybe...don't know...meanwhile how about I be me (and you be you)?
It's a risk to love if it doesn't work out...but then what if it does?