Please Excuse My Time In Use

Please excuse my lack of calls. I think of you often and I miss you as well.
Please excuse my unanswered text. The response was lost but, not the words left
still ringing in my head as I cash out a guest with a wom-wom, “Thank you” I think left my lips that also left you to feel dismissed. I’m sorry. Please excuse my absence at the party. I wanted to be there but again, priorities. Not saying you’re not a priority. My life in double negatives, I begin to feel sorry. My practice in meditation diminished. Longing for a future that we give a cheeky kiss, sit down over coffee or tea or a beer and hopefully my mind won’t start wandering about things I haven’t held dear or who else is left I’ve shunned to sit down with over coffee. I’m sorry. Please excuse my self absorbed state where I cancelled our week-in-advanced date. I wanted breadsticks while we waited just absorbing. Please excuse the next week that comes. Or the next month, four packs of fresh breath gum I’ve been giving to strangers touring. Please excuse me of the mess. Of my house or of my dress. I turned the iron on but it went again unused just this morning. My hair was giving me a day and two little boys that need me most, well… I am first, their host and for that I’m not sorry.

The problem with me is my list of many things…to do and things dead before I’m dead to get ahead. Please excuse me while my time is taken. I’m sorry.

The Sense in Being Senseless: My Weapon for Depression

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I am in control of the life I lead, the body I reside in, the mind I put to sleep when the day has burned away its use.  “When the moon wakes up, the sun will go to bed.” I tell my son all-knowing, “and then the opposite is just as true. So life should make sense to you at 2.” 

If only life were so simple. If only I carried control like a remote of direction – I’d click through my guide of televised episodes concluding day’s ends – moral lessons by the channel.

But life is not so simple like the moon and sun appear to tell.  My dear children, I  won’t be able to explain it all and that’s the honesty I promise to always give you.  I promise to break your hearts when necessary, because it is my motherly and decent duty to never bend lies beautifully, so that you will grow up well. 

Life will sometimes hurt and control will slip your grip and mudslides of mistakes can ensue if you allow them to when the rain does not stop pouring.   You are not the makers of weather. Do not fight the storms as if you will turn them dry. Enjoy the sights of light striking fear into your hearts because, while such bolts of flash deem terrifying,  they’re real and will remind you of the many different ways possible to feel.  Be thankful you’re alive and please, do not dwell.  The storm will pass.

I am just having  one of those weeks and the rain is paying some visitation .  I watch the clouds roll in and listen for the growls of angry sky to arrive all while sitting on a swing beneath the blender.  Sunshine dimmed by white skies and in the distance,  black.  I sit beneath it all so that I can see, today I am outside myself.  Today, I am out of my control.  There is no sense today.  And that’s okay.

Queen City Kait

Are We Dead Yet?

“Charleston Church Shooting” keeps blasting on my screen 

my phone, my laptop, and my TV

I hear the phrase from those shopping

a radio host talking

once again, how do we understand a stab to the gut kind of story 

when another racial matter stops loaded chests from their rising and in people we

 fail to show compassion

When I first heard what happened, I thought, “of course again this has happened” 

and then a thought 

something has happened

something inside of myself has horribly happened.

I am stone

veins frozen

where is the blow that this news brings my heart of what I thought was always warm?

Why am I so unmoved by the earth shattering broadcast that is supposed to cause a knee buckling sensation and why are my hands not shaking?  Have I gone crazy or is this world beyond a cure- a saddening acceptance I’ve been carrying 

& how long?  Where is my hope – the one on my sleeve I preached proudly?  Did it wash off like a tattoo’d thumb or was it stolen from me when I was – oh how long was I 

sleeping?

That sort of loss when you cry so hard you can’t cry anymore type of break up – with an American hippie’s dream, “peace, love, and unity” – my patience 

a desert run dry from too many rainless nights to water its kindhearted intentions.

“Charleston Church Shooting” please pinch me from this sedated-by-news-gorging slumber and help me feel again, so to speak

up for other mothers grieving the loss of loved children because of something so irrelevant in meaning 

like color.  

No, I can’t sit back any longer and let the world my children grow up in be flooded with hate, crime, and hate crime then keep saying, “We’re doomed so why must I bother?”

It was Nietzsche who once said that famous phrase, “God is dead”, but not for the reasons our atheists hold certain. 

The phrase was not a winning statement but, a heartbreaking murder of greatness 

we killed the almighty argument because we stopped caring for the questions that kept arising from such beauteous wonder.

And so what would Nietzsche think?  If he never died from the wretched green

would he say, “We are dead” just the same?

Climbing Clouds

Silly, we beings for hating the ground – caving to our self-conscious callings & climbing the clouds.  What was wrong with the grass and the dirt and the bugs that with seeds provided a living?  What’s in the sky but a lack of easy air and a degree of cold that makes breathing hard to do freely.

Has our compass gone haywire? Lost its moral traveling course – a child brings home a baby bird in a shoebox – “Mama save it or crush my heart, I won’t sleep or eat until we do” – A dire love to all living things that as adults we seemingly forget to move for.

What happens to our simple souls when we wish to travel into the sky? Our obsession with the rise, never fearing a fall but bitter when we crumble, unexpected – it’s the risk we take before our leap, the lack of thoughtful possibility – it’s hardly even worth trying at all not having wings in the first place.

How silly, we beings – never wanting where we’re born – always trying to fly like the birds our children yearn to save – we’re all so busy climbing clouds we lose interest in our ground’s wanting of our stay.

Find comfort in knowing, we’re fine where we lay – no need to climb the heights of wonder, when wondrous life is not about rising to another place but feeling at home in our heartland instead – a cumulus bed of sky not made for sleeping, but seeping – back to our soft grass padded bed.

Stop fearing the ground, the depths in its face.  Explore what we’ve already been given – learn to run instead. Save our bored feet from our dreaming heads – put purpose back into the life we’re already living.

Queen City Kait