Journal Entry - Hunger

Today I am fighting the fear . . . crying over my hunger . . . I am starving here. I have lost everything. I have become a nothing. I am lying on the ocean bottom and the world is sailing by above me; right over me. They don’t see me. They don’t look down. They don’t know where I am and they do not ask. No one asks. I am alone. I am alone. I am completely alone in myself. And I am trying with every ounce of energy I can gather . . . with every seed of faith I can find . . . with every bit of hope still left within me . . . I am trying to rise up . . . to understand that my invisibility may be what saves me – saves me from the sharks. My separation may be what saves me – saves me from the numbers’ fate. And when I am saved will I be bitter towards them in their ignorance?

Will my arrogance also rise with me and claw at the humility that has robed me and kept me naked at the same time?

I was once a part of something . . . and now I am apart from everything.

I was once one of them . . . and now I am none of them.

I was once happily of this world and now I find myself left behind and stranded on this world waiting for the familiar to forget my name. Is that what is happening? Am I being forgotten, as I have wished?

Or, have I pulled my hood down over my face? Could it be that I am responsible for my own disappearance? Is it my eyes that cannot see them?

Was that the sound of a coin dropping to the bottom of a can? My God, what have I done? Have I done it again? Have I gone to the extreme?

Why can’t I simply read the words in the lines? Why do I insist that the message lies between? What if, all these years, there is nothing between the lines but space? Have I only been fooling myself?

I am here because I am. I did not veer right or left as the road offered. I went straight into the crackled clay dessert, sure of myself that I was headed for the Emerald City.

I am here because I chose this route or non-route - as it appears now to be a detour.

I am here because something in me won’t let go . . . won’t let go . . . won’t really let go of the pain.

I am here because I won’t let in . . . won’t let in . . . won’t really let in the love.

All I can do is accept where I am and what I alone have done to myself.

All I can do is ask God for the grace to be transformed from a nothing into nothingness and pray that my house of mirrors will pack up and close its doors forever - not just for the off season.

(Will the bearded lady and the world’s smallest man miss my exhibit? Will I miss them? What will I be when not brightly displayed between them?)

All I have left is the hope that God’s light does shine brightest through nothingness.

I know it does. I know it will. When is the question. When?

Echoes of Hunger

I am alone

I am alone

I am alone

In myself

Won’t let go

Won’t let go

Won’t let go

The pain

Can’t let in

Can’t let in

Can’t let in

The love

Am I invisible

Am I invisible

Am I invisible

To all but myself

Am I forgotten

Am I forgotten

Am I forgotten

To all but myself

To myself

I cry

To myself

I weep

To myself

I curl up and tuck away

My stomach

My heart

My body

All ache

You give me your coins

I want your hand

I want your hand

I want your hand

To help me up

Mondays at Midday

This is the first posting on my newly changed Sacred Footing blog. I have given Sacred Footing a new direction as described in the title section. I wrote a few lines to get her started . . . to give her the first breath of life . . . to get her blood pumping. I've waved the magic wand . . . I've invoked the goddess . . . I will write her story, my story your story. We are all in this together. (Now I must cook dinner and clean the house like a good woman.)

Did I age ten years in one night? I've heard it said (in humor) that it takes ten years to become accustomed to one's age . . . and by then . . . another ten have passed.
Maybe it's the time of year - Autumn - the ending of summer and the beginning of the end of the annual cycle of seasons. Maybe it's all me and my mid-life madness. Maybe it's the fullness of the moon. (Maybe I can find someone to blame it all on.) But, whatever, whoever . . . I feel older today . . . but not any wiser. Maybe if I put some makeup on, dressed up in a cute outfit and danced around the house to some upbeat music I could fool myself into thinking I am gorgeous today! But, I'll probably stay in my sweats (the ones that make me look ten pounds bigger), keep my hair in the messy ponytail and leave my face to its natural, pale skin . . . and I'll simply accept that I'm having a yucky day. So what.
Tomorrow is another day in my roller coaster ride through my forties. Tomorrow might show me an awesome panoramic view. But for today . . . I'll do what I have to do to muddle through.

Potions, Lotions and Magic Charms:
For today - water, water, and more water . . . I don't drink enough. (Even though these past few days have been hot and humid) I feel the dryness of the cooler weather approaching - the changing of the seasons (and my seasons) and the waxing of the moon into her fullness . . . pulling at me - stirring something up inside of me. Drink it up, wash it out, soak it up, clean it out.

This is what I now know:
For me, one of the scariest places on Earth has always been that which lives just below the surface of a smile. Coming from an alcoholic home (and this is not a pity statement, a sob story or a unique dysfunctional family memory - it is a simple fact) I learned to never trust a smile or a laugh, for moods can change in a heartbeat. It took me years to understand why I would "freak out" inside and have feelings of unexplainable paranoia whenever someone's words did not exactly match his or her body and facial language.

He said/ She said:
A woman who cannot be ugly is not beautiful. ~Karl Kraus