Kindness does not have the right-of-way!

Was I not listening to the bazillion times my mother responded to me with “Life’s unfair – get used to it!”

As the travesties of injustice build and gain momentum, I am child-like indignance, mounting frustration, bordering on anger.  As I begin to slowly comprehend the “crazy” people of the world who just snap one day, having had far more than they can live with peacefully in ignorance…and more poo after poo piled on their head. Far more than they could ever shovel through or shower off! 

I do not have it so badly.  People are people, with their self serving ulterior motives and it’s-all-about-me attitudes.  Of course…that is the way of the world and I confess on occasion, it is my tendency as well.

My lesson here has been in trust…do not trust…anyone.  The more you find yourself buliding trust in another, the faster you should run from them and maintain an attitude of suspicion. People are not innately trustworthy.  They aren’t to blame; it’s just human nature.  The modern day version of survival of the fittest.  Only those whom can create trust with others, while simultaneously caring for their own best interest, are the very people sitting comfortably in the cat bird seats.  They know they have the edge over the naivete and desperation of the rest of us.  And apparently tunnel vision, while cruising through life, is by far the best perspective.  I’m going to be a much happier person if I can tell myself that stepping on someone’s toe in the grocery store was that person’s fault…after all, they got under my foot!!  Right?  It isn’t that I should be watching where I’m going, taking others around me into account.  No, it’s more fitting that I just lolly about my own way and righteously expect others to stay out of my way.  It’s perfectly appropriate for me to sneer and/or swear at them under my breath should they choose to not follow this rule.

Likewise, friends who screw you over for their own gain cannot be blamed.  Only the fool who puts themselves in a close enough proximity to get screwed over can be blamed.  They are the one’s going the wrong way down the one-wa streets of the tunnel of life…it’s walls plastered with indignant red graffiti screaming, “ME, ME, ME”  “It’s my world, the rest of you just live in it!” “ME, ME, ME” “Don’t forget to look out for number one – ME”

I realize that my growing resentment and frustration results merely from the silly presumption that we are morally responsible to the other human beings on this earth.  It is my fault after all.  If I were going the correct way down this tunnel, were my tunnel marked with the appropriate graffiti, then I would not get under other’s feet on their way through minding their own business…others would get under mine of course!  Perhaps then, I should even be completely unaware that I’ve trampled anyone and the few who dare to point out that I did, I would release my furiously righteous indignance that they had the nerve to get under my foot.

I am a slow learner, but I do believe I’m starting to learn this ugly truth.  Kindness does not get the right-of-way on these streets and tunnels.  Kindness merely gets underfoot of the righteous people doing their own thing, watching their own backs for survival of the fittest, which will clearly never include the kind-people.  They get trampled first..and while they are busy apologizing for getting under another’s foot (GASP- the NERVE!), they get blindsided by the next truck cruising along looking out for Number One.

Will I fully comprehend and have the ability to utilize this lesson in life before I’m 80?  Or am I going to continue to insist that since I have it morally correct, then I should continue to ignore reality and merely plan for the high cost of regular, chronic medical attention to help  me put all my pieces back together after the tramplings?

Someday, I will learn.  I must.  Someday, I will scrub away all the graffiti of kindness mantras plastered all over my tunnel and replace them with screaming reminders of ME!

Nomadic descriptions

Lovers

Lovers

Always that feeling of unrest.  The sensation that I need to get going, move away, move on…the perpetual deep sense that I can’t allow roots to settle into the ground.  This has plagued me always.  Never wanted to be married or settle in and yet I have desperately always wanted that at the very same time!  My fear of this has been a source of my permanent inner conflict.  The very thing I want the most is the very thing I run from in terror…confounding most who develop genuine feeling for me and all who seek to understand my motivations and aspirations.  I am lonely at my core and have always sounght to somehow quell that unease.  While I simultaneously seek to be alone in every situation…always.

I have always been lonely.  My earliest memory is that of loneliness and a sense of disconnect from my surroundings.  Until Dave.  I realized yesterday that the game I play with myself of finding the perfect descriptive word finds its match in my emotions for Dave.  As I seek to frame my feelings into word(s), I’m frustrated that I can’t find the word.  I flail about and throw titles on it, but nothing fits.  Like some feelings can only be like music which settles one into a frame of mind – a phenomenon which I can’t explain.  Sometimes in a melody, I’m struck with that’s it!  That’s how I feel!! …leaving me still with no tangible description. 

I’ve struggled lately with the source of my love and devotion.  I sometimes feel so overwhelmed with love for the universe and the masses, that I want to marry myself to God.  And I realize He is the only suitable place for my overwhelming devotion.  This is frightening and wonderful all at the same time.   Does that not further my sense of loneliness and create a marriage which will define the very nature of my conflict?

Every time I start to feel I’m settling comfortably into the concept of that marriage, then I’m hit straight in the physical heart with my love for Dave, which can only be defined by music which causes you to suck in your breath and obtain a sense of relief when the song is over and you realize you’ve just resumed breathing.  There are those moments which are so pure and so beautiful that you want to cry from joy: a conflicting sense in itself.  Perhaps pure joy dictates the need for release….and can release only in tears?  That is the feeling.  A similar feeling when music plays that prompts you to feel something and you’re not exactly sure how that happened or how musical notes flowing together can create these emotions.  That is the feeling I have for Dave.  It’s a love like for my children.  It is not jealous or expectant or conditional or trapped in the surroundings of earthly love, it is spiritual and pure, and at moments, I feel (hope?) that is what it is!  But then I have moments when I’m swept away with the passion in which it soaks itself.  Obviously far different than my feelings for my children!  I don’t understand it…  And why do I feel I must or should?  Maybe some things are not intended to be trapped in language?

And then I struggle with the worry that I love Dave as God (??!!!!?) NO!  That can’t be!!  It is so very similar and yet it is not because it seems tangible at times…

No, the description can only be obtained in music.  As though I could/should/must immediately go write a symphony of my love for Dave…  If only I had an ounce of musical talent with which to describe it and perhaps safely release it…

Juggling

Juggling, juggling, juggling….

Juggle at work…juggle to get everything going in order to go to work and act  normal…and deal with all the things that go on at a workplace….

Juggle to be a mother, provide support and nurturing,  as well as daily care, suppress my own challenges in order to appear to be juggling effectively and be a half-way acceptable role model…

Juggle to be a person..  juggling the challenges of human relationships, spiritual challenges, juggle painful loneliness that gnaws on my insides and get significantly worse the longer I’m surrounded by people, juggle depression, juggle to keep going in spite of exhaustion, juggle for optimism in the path of broken-ness, juggle to get an annullment with the millions of mountains of hateful people to climb over, juggle to find balance, juggle to find peace, juggle to be the best person I can and remain moral and true to myself but never tread on another, juggle to remain constantly thankful for all my good fortune…

Don’t even the best jugglers have to stop for a minute once in awhile? I’m not even very good at this juggling business.  I’m a struggling juggler to begin with.

Sometimes I need to just let the balls drop.  Sometimes I can’t juggle for one more second.  Sometimes I am  exhausted and can’t juggle anymore, but I still have to juggle for my children and juggle for my dad because that’s where I’ve put myself in life.  There is no me.  I am a mother.  I am a daughter.  That’s it. I am a care-giver.  I am a good human being.  That has to be juggled in spite of the exhaustion.  I am not allowed to be myself ever, unless I want to fight and scratch for days just to get 18 hours of that freedom, which saturates me in guilt and frustration, further exhausting me and un-doing ANY good those few moments of freedom might have tried to  create.

I was born a prisoner and I remain a prisoner.  Once freedom was dangled in front of my nose…  held there tauntingly and I was cruelly allowed to believe I was FREE..  After 32 years of living in my prison, accepting my place in the world and learning to not dare ask for more, I was permitted to run through the fields and laugh, skip and jump, love and live…  Then I woke up and it was so painful I can only want to go back to sleep, but that dream will not return no matter how much I beg for it, believe in it,  remember it….

It was sheer cruelty to give me that when I had already accepted that it wasn’t possible.  Had already accepted that it did not exist and had learned to be grateful for the blessings which were contained in my prison.  I had learned not to hope for more and accept what was given.

I  don’t feel sorry for myself as much as it might sound I do here.  I spend days counting my blessings and striving to find the good in all the challenges, desperately seeking the good in the world in spite of what I experience.  I spend weeks, sometimes months, choking back my tears, juggling on, acknowledging that I am not entitled to feel any of that while surounded in such blessings, choking and stuffing every other emotion I have down, down, down….  I feel I might suffocate and I’m not sure I don’t want to do just that, as scary and uncomfortanble as it might be, it sounds almost appealing to the alternative. 

Yet,  I realize that if I suffocate I cannot simultaneously say thank you.  So if I do so, then despite all the years of my efforts, I’m still an ingrate at the end of it all. After talking the talk and walking the walk for so long, I’m still very little other than the best example of the worst contradiction.

Gratitude

Yesterday, I came across a person I know professionally and not all that well at that.  Mostly I run into him when I’m in court.  It’s brief.  Typically, “Do you have a copy of my report?”  And either he does and that’s that or he doesn’t, I give him one and that’s that…  However, he is one of those people who I get a strong sense from.  Not exactly sure why, but I always have and it’s a positive sense. 

So in a moment of absolute chaos and confusion last week, I contacted him at an inappropriate hour to ask a relative professional-type question in a personal regard.  It was strange because his name had come up in conversation earlier and later in my horrifying “moment”, I just reacted by calling him.  After some thought and gaining my balance back somewhat, I later realized this as inappropriate and wasn’t sure how to handle addressing and correcting my actions.

 

Last night after work, I stopped in the Home Depot to grab a few things and there he was!  How truly serendipitous!  We were able to discuss the situation and to my surprise, he was not judgmental or strange about the incident at all.  In fact, I was very much reassured that the only concern he conveyed about the entire issue was a willingness to help me!  In addition, I discovered that he had actually checked into the situation to be sure I had help (unbeknown to me).  He also repeatedly reassured me that I should not “beat myself up” for the situation.

Wow!  I’m very grateful for this man’s reaction and reassurance, especially as I know him in a professional capacity.    He shares the same first name and last initial as my satan.  It’s always been an odd feeling to write his name as “Dave K.” since that provokes the stangest feeling for me personally.  That is just an odd coincidence!

I am so overwhelmingly grateful for this kindness and respect.  Due to various recurring issues with the other “DK”, I’ve almost forgotten that I’m not to be judged and condemned instantly and chronically by every person.  And in this situation, I actually feel as though he could rightfully do so and  could not blame him for such an assessment, given his limited knowledge of me on a personal level.

It’s remarkable to realize how over time, certain “others” for reasons probably all their own, can strip you of feeling worthy of respect, compassion or just mere consideration and after chronic battles and an incessant need for self defense over anything and everything, you might not always realize how deeply that has affected your perspective of yourself, until the random genuine kindness from another.  

So, I want to be sure to give much thought and credit to this event and this kind person for opening my eyes to a few things and reconsidering my perspective of myself and the world around me.

Thank you Dave K.!!!  ~Namaste~