Here I am again...

Back in this place, back in her shadow, my shadow, our shadow

She always catches up to me eventually

Though I try to stay in the sun, avoiding all trace of her

I try to love my way past her, beyond her

But she lurks, waiting for her moment to remind me that she is 

Ever present

photo by KVanEmburgh 

My brain...

...is full of bugs. Not the creepy crawly kind...they are the kind I create in my code at work. They are due to misconceptions and illogical connections and relationships. The cause of all these bugs is the brain washing I was subjected to by being raised as a Christian. When you are raised Christian you are taught to strive for perfection at all times. See Jesus is "Perfect" and so we are supposed to be just like him, thus we are supposed to be perfect. At the same time, perfection is totally 100% unattainable. They teach you that too. And while you are supposed to strive for perfection at all times, being perfect won't even save you. Only believing in Jesus will really save you. So I spend all my time trying to be prefect knowing all the while that this pursuit will not even save me, only believing in something inane and illogical will do that.

This illogical brain washing has created a brain that can never be at peace. It's always measuring and comparing. Even though there is no longer any compulsion to believe in Jesus, the measuring goes on, day in and day out. Every glance in the mirror, or a store window displays imperfection. Every bite of every chip implies imperfection. Every missed day of yoga, or wrong turn on the highway signals imperfection. Every frown of my partner, every sadness expressed by my child, every wistful glance by my dog, every penny of credit debt, every book purchased but not read, every speck of dust on a shelf, every dirty dish in the sink....every bit of every bit of every day signals imperfection.

Its fucking exhausting.

So FUCK YOU Jesus, and FUCK YOU Mom for raising me with all these bugs in my brain. See now I have to unwind all of it and try to write better code, cleaner code, logical code that MAKES SENSE and makes me HAPPY. And I'm too old for this shit and I'm too old not to have figured this out by now and I'm too young not to try.

Rescue

It is dark in here and my fingers hurt,

holding on so tight to the side of this place

clinging to the cold

This place is familiar

I find myself here a lot

More than I should

I hear her calling my name

She says,

"LOOKUP! HEY UP HERE!"

But-

My fingers continue to cling

because if I let go I might fall

and it's a long way down

into blackness

the unknown

so I strain my head up and look at her

She is smiling down at me

She knows me, she knows where I am

She loves me

She IS me

So once again I let go

And once again she catches me

She holds me tight and tells me

It's ok, you are in the CLEAR

And once again, I hold on

Breath

and try again.

Photo by Isaac L.

Back in the Closet

When I was young, my Mom's closet was my favorite place in the world. It was full of soft, sweet smelling flowy things. I used to love to bury myself inside the tightly packed goodies and feel the softness surrounding me. As I got older I would sneak in there while she drank her morning coffee at the kitchen table. It felt like a shopping spree! I would hunt and hunt and hunt for the perfect accent to my outfit. For some reason, wearing her clothes felt like wearing my favorite blanky all day. Pure Comfort.

I spent some time in her closet a few weeks ago. But she wasn't drinking her coffee at the kitchen table. Her clothes were still soft and sweet smelling. I took something home with me from that closet. It's hanging in my guest room closet now. I can't bring myself to put it on.

Yet.

photo by Caseface123

Her

Her voice was the first thing I heard as I lay nestled up so cozy inside of her.

When her voice comes out of my own throat it stops me cold.

Before - it annoyed me

Now - it is pure gift

Perspective really does change Everything.

photo by .lisakimberly.

Security

It wraps itself around me like my favorite childhood blanket. The soft fibers fill in all the empty spaces, all the nooks and crannies that are shivering.

I hold it around me, let it envelop me with promises and reassurances and kisses on my forehead.

I pull it over my head, block out the sun, the voices, the answers, the questions.

I hold it tighter there until I no longer have fresh air to breath.

I peek out at the world around me and the blanket dissolves like cotton candy when you touch it with your tongue.

Photo by Erirkr

The Decider

Crossing over is a slow and tenuous process with moments of connection and even longer moments of abysmal thought. The hardest part about crossing over is that nobody tells you when you are truly over. There are no lines with signs separating us by last name ranges, there is no ticket booth or will call. There is a moment that you have to simply recognize, the moment is when you say enough of this silly school girl shit. The moment is when you know exactly how and where to touch yourself to bring a sly smile to your lips. The moment is just the decision. Nobody is standing over your shoulder.

Photo by Damien5