Kallisti

There was a nervous energy to her, always fidgeting, tapping the wheel.
The kind of woman who woke from a dead sleep, three hours early.
Who anxiously browses missed connections for a flitter of inspiration.
History’s Bend. Love letters to ghosts. To angels.
Countless hours spent studying the stars, mythology, metaphysics, physics, trying to find a connection.

Just then a moment of true serenity envelopes her busy mind, a pause for beauty, a deep breath in.
An oasis in an empty parking lot.
In that moment, shoulders loosen, hands fall from face,
and focus shifts to grace surrounding, exhale.
Fixations in solving life’s mysteries fade, she looks around, smiles.
A silent humming floods her mind, it seems these moments never last long enough.

She checks her Facebook, watches Youtube, or types in her favorite astrology website.
Curiosity expands as eyes ingest more knowledge, filling an exhausted soul.

Why?

Is it Neptune? Jupiter? Pluto? What’s declination have to do with it? Or is it all of it?
An answer for her awkwardness, the hunger in her soul,
a quenchless thirst for knowledge.
Certain relief is just around the corner.

Or is it?

In matters of the heart, she’s less skilled.
Pushing those closest to their limits.
Overstepping boundaries.
Assuming hers, is the only truth with logic.
Until it crushes him.
Tears stream down her lover’s face, now truth seems less important.
What if this knot in the back of her throat never goes away? Or the fire in her belly?
What can she do when he’s got nothing left to say?
When he runs out of reasons to stay?

Her eyes get warm.

A moment returns, and as quickly as it arrives, off she goes.

Yellow lines and tire marks...

His name is Clayd.

He lives in a cream and yellow striped mobile home off of Sunderland, near the correctional facility on line 70 in Portland Oregon.

He has five cats that he treats like queens, I could tell he didn't often speak about the loneliness he'd feel without them.

I asked for their names, "Crazy legs, Baby mama, Shanty, Bruiser, and Princess." He smiled.

Normally I have about thirty minutes to hang out at Milwaukie Transit Center, plenty of time to grab a snack and use the restroom. Today I met up with a road supervisor and a passenger to discuss healthy boundaries, for example waiting in the same spot every week to take my photo, with or without my permission.

When all was said and done I'd have fourteen minutes to make it happen. Instinctively I located the closest restroom nearby that didn't require a key, because let's face it, I don't where the hell mine went.

ABC Chinese food, my trusty fall back from my first preference had failed me by closing an hour early. Looks like I'll be buying some spring rolls. This especially irritated me because I had twenty bucks until payday and I didn't want to spend five on take out, but I couldn't justify using their restroom without compensation.

When I arrived at Sunderland Clayd was sprawled out under a bus shelter in a Carhart Jacket and pants, I knew he was displaced by the look in his eyes as I pulled up smiling. A displaced heart lives for eye contact, a reminder that they're not invisible and there is a connection to the conventional world. A sense of belonging previously denied to them. Home.

The last I chanced the opportunity to learn someone's story, we shared a couple spring rolls. It was amazing and filled my heart with a feeling I can't describe with accuracy. The realization that we'd experienced a rare connection, warms my soul.

We discussed alternative options for upward mobility, the power of perception, and capitalism. In a new age sense, we totally vibed.

I'd dropped him off with the impression he was off to stay with a friend for the night.

My last trip out I picked him up in the middle of Columbia River Highway, he flagged me down and looked like he'd been walking for a while based off of how wet his jacket was. He asked me to grab a drink with him, his tone changed. I politely declined but I felt a completely different energy off of him and it honestly made me sad. I stepped back and listened to his statements. He was rambling on about finding another part that might fix his trailer, that maybe this one would work. As if he had found his wings. Initially I'd asked him what kept him from ditching the trailer and embracing a free lifestyle full of untraveled paths, he explained that he had cats to take care of.

Clayd helped me identify the one thing we've all been guilty of in this life experience, allowing others to serve as a hindrance to our ultimate happiness and expansion. Placing our personal power in the hands of another so they could fail and we could have someone to blame for our lack of bravery.


As I dropped him off to his trailer he shook my hand and stared deep into my eyes, all I saw looking back at me was a defeated spirit. He recognized that look and shifted his face away from mine.

"Don't forget about me okay?"

If only he knew how impossible that would be.

http://youtu.be/s6nB--66DtI

Opening up...

Borrowing an eight year old's mattress and floral sheets, can make even the strongest of character's question their decisions.

Shoving one of countless unfinished journals into the bottom of a hot pink Victoria's Secret bag, I started to wonder if I have the dumb.

At this point, I openly admit my faults, and chuckle at the chaos that is my life.
Every belief system I'd accepted to be true, questionable at best.

My daughter would tell you this stinks.
My son would update the current number of broken promises, to the decimal.
My husband would suggest I checked out a long time ago.

The truth is they're all right.

So, where have I gone?
Fifteen minutes down the road.

I currently wear two masks, crazy mommy and bus driver guru.
I struggle owning that last part, because I'm fairly certain a guru is a master of sorts.
Judging the proverbial flames licking the ceiling of our home life,
my shit is anything but together.

Let's get back to the mattress.

Often times I flitter around this city, observing people from all walks of life.
I take them to work, I take them to school, but secretly I take them to new levels of consciousness. It was only a matter of time before my own consciousness evolved, and with that comes major change.

I remember a fight I'd had with my husband months before I packed my bags, he was bent down leaning into the passenger side window.
"You talk about all these changes you're going through, but I honestly don't see anything different about you."
"Statements like that evoke change Brent, the problem is I'm growing at such a fast pace I'm terrified you wont be able to come with me."
"Come with you? Come with you where?!"
"Through life." I drove away in tears.

Fast forward three months, my children live with ghosts. My house is filled with a dark energy and I can't seem to shake the feeling that something has gone horribly wrong. This is not the way I envisioned my partnership. I want to share and laugh and play, but instead I'm hiding behind the keys of my iPhone and he's locked in a gaze on Youtube. We'd argued over everything, how to raise the children, how to put the silverware away, who's spending more money, who's making more money, but the truth is we were hiding from a painful truth. I'd woken up. He preferred the comfort of an organized life. Our paths were not headed in the same direction. Was that it for us then? I refuse to accept that.

Our children require so much attention, the amount of meditation I needed to overcome this storm was never going to happen. My partner was so comfortable he refused to move forward or expand his consciousness, while my consciousness had evolved, but not enough to tolerate our differences. I started scrolling craigslist. Room for rent. Single white female preferred. How about separated Native woman? Seemed easy enough. I tossed around ideas, counseling didn't seem viable considering we work opposite schedules and the times we had attended our therapist forgot our story. Perhaps it's time to rewrite ours. Many people assume separating from your partner is a pit stop on the way to divorce, the death of a marriage. For me it was about ending disillusionment, because we could achieve greatness, we have everything inside of us as people and all the love needed to kill it. I refuse to watch this fizzle out, to go down without a fight, to walk away. He had no idea it was coming.

October 30th, 2015. That was the day I found my roommate, an old friend from high school texted me. Apparently I'd answered her ad on craigslist. My whole spine tingled. I'd just found the sign I was on the right path, the only thing left to do was deliver a ball of pain to someone I've loved more than air for a damn near decade. That's all. Needless to say I waited. Initially I told him I would move as soon as I found a roommate, but the universe works faster than that and literally provided a safe comfortable place to rest my troubled mind as well as a ridiculously supportive mother to help afford such a large life decision. This is temporary, a time for reflection and care for my heart. I return to our home three-four days out of the week and I struggle every time I leave. Each residence holds part of my soul, I'm torn between self love and love of family.

Throughout this process I hope to construct a bridge, it must be firm, timeless, and carry me across the threshold of life.