Wounds

A majority of people suffer from a lineage of karmic roles/patterns. 

Through the years resentment builds, insecurity festers and the cycle continues. After developing my own scars through an intense desire to run away, I came to an understanding that my mother never intended to hurt or neglect, she had been tending to a very large wound open in her chest for most of my childhood. 

It wasn't until I moved away that she found the solitude necessary to process the level of hurt she incurred as a child herself.

Filled with animosity towards a someone who's arms I'd run to at the first sign of trouble, we'd go back and forth spewing toxic energy back on one another. Despite the bond we shared. Despite the love we had.

When I lifted that veil of hurt, and understood her heart's ability to show love, I realized the magnitude of our actions. Generations of hurt from an inability to heal. I remember going to her and holding her as she sobbed into that bloody hole inside of my chest. 

It wasn't until that moment, that we were able to fully heal and move forward with compassion for her, myself, and others.

1997

I can feel the vibration of our bedroom fan,
the buzzing of Susan’s hot tub,
my children sleeping, timing their breath.

Unable to sleep, I am taken.
Into the night of creative blogging.
What kind of road trip are we on today?
Should I bring up Jacksonville? Casa Grande? Maybe La Jolla beach...

 I was 9 years old, my mom quit her job unannounced and told me to pack.
We were moving to California and for some reason we couldn’t get there fast enough.
I remember packing my toys in produce boxes my mom got from the grocery store. Tangerines.

I envisioned us frolicking around on the beach listening to country music in white spandex shorts.
I got a 3 mile walk to a new school by myself, blistering heat, and an Abraham Lincoln book report.

After begging mom to take me back to Arizona, she said she had gotten a job offer in Oregon.
She needed to scout out a place to live over the summer and get situated. Off she went.

I remember writing her and asking her to send for me on cactus stationary. When I started school again that September I could hear my grandparents arguing about me staying there. Door slammed. Grandpa left. I could hear Elaine crying.

I went upstairs to watch Tv, peeking out the window to see him driving down the hill back to the bar. Just then the phone rang, and mom had sent for me.

I couldn’t wait to see my room and play with my cat. It was a nice apartment. We had a view of a lake, only she’d put all my stuff into storage. She forgot to mention we’d be sharing a room, and that she’d be working nights. I started out my first year in Oregon at a woman named Candy’s house five days a week. She smoked inside and made me go to bed at 7:30 every night.

Clutching a Felix the cat doll toy my secret crush in Arizona had given me from Taco Bell, I realized my mom had never planned to send for me. I didn’t know why, but it made me feel like I had nobody on this whole fucking planet, so I cried myself to sleep.

School wasn’t much better, turns out it rains all the time in Oregon past September. I dressed funny and had weird bangs, so Mallory Poff and Danielle Phillips decided it’d be best to call me weird and treat me like an outcast. I spent every recess and lunch break in the library helping Mrs. Warren re-alphabetize books. It gave me an excellent vocabulary and won me library helper of the year award.

Eventually I made a friend, but soon after she moved to another school 20 minutes away. That same weekend I got invited to Danielle Phillips’ sleepover. I just had to beg my mom to go pick up my friend so she could come with us. Deep down I knew I was her plus one, but I didn’t care.

When we got there everyone was downstairs eating popcorn, we sat watching movies for a while when somehow everyone else disappeared and I was alone. I went upstairs to discover they’d all trickled away and locked Danielle’s bedroom door to keep me out. I went to the kitchen to see if anyone else was there and recognized her big sister Anne, she made me a 7UP float, then kicked her sister's door down and called her a brat for being mean to me. After that things just got awkward.

Needless to say 1997 was not my year.

The Power of Words

Exceeding distance and time. Weightless yet heavy. Invoking emotions between strangers if discernment is forgotten. They can save a life. Or end one. They give meaning to symbols and inspire the masses. Revolutions grow beneath them. A paper and pen. A poster board. A fearless tongue. A penetrating mind. The power of words mean nothing without intent. A souls intent captured in ink.