Shabbat Community Tarot Reading #4

wow, what a crazy week it's been for me - how about you?  so much upheaval and emotional drama!  even though we're 'through' the eclipse, we're still feeling its energy, and will be for a few days (weeks, months), and as we all know, the cosmic reverberations just keep circling out forever...  

I'm not sure where to start this week, as the reading I did was very personal, and specific to my circumstances.  I feel like if I'm going to read for the community, I can't pretend to be 'love and light' all the time, and like nothing ever goes wrong in my life because I'm claiming to offer to help people focus on doing their own deep work, so I have to show how I do mine.  

 

so - let's just say my child needs their community now in the form of a strong support network to help them navigate away from their current situation into something healthier for them in the long run.  the evil rage monster that lives in me has decided it's time for them to be free, rip off the band-aid, they're ready, I've done my job of preparing for this day well.  why postpone the inevitable?  they've embarked on their own underworld journey now, plumbing their own depths...the astrology would blow them away if they cared to look.  it's not my job to tell anymore, it's my job to love and let go, now.  but they don't want to leave, is the thing.  they wants to make demands of me, threaten and lash out.  they want all the benefits I've always provided - few though they may be - and to act indignantly while taking advantage and bringing so much conflict into our daily lives, I've been triggered back to my father throwing the kitchen table at me when I told him I was moving out (with a great deal more resources than my child has at the moment, though his daddy certainly had a lot less).  

the running away started with the tenuous stirrings of what might become first love.  now that there's 'someone else', I've become obsolete overnight, and have been shut out, and shut down.  so the arguments have escalated to where we're both teetering on the edge of violence, neither of us wanting to cross that line, and for years now, I've been sending them outside to deal with those feelings to get them away from me - it's my house, I won't be disrespected - and get them moving to physically help cycle that energy through.  so we argued, I told them to get out, and they demanded a therapist, so I called in mental health.  they called in CPS.  so now I'm under investigation for abuse, exacerbating an already intense housing crisis (impending homelessness), and did I mention my mom died two months ago?  it's fine...I'm sure I deserve all that and more, don't I?  but the bottom line in my opinion is that they've hit their wall - as have I - and it's time to figure out how to get them what they need from the support network they will build with the help of the authorities they've called in.  we can't live like this anymore.  it would have been nice to have the clarity to handle it on our own, but...oh well.

yeah, it's time to get out of their way, and leave them to it.  I caught a bit of a reading a day or two ago (I wish I could remember where!) that spoke to a wisdom coming in from the side, somehow...that it was important to pay attention to snippets that may come from random sources, and that was the kid yesterday - three times in the midst of the chaos they spoke honest truth, though I doubt they recognized the importance of what they said.  and between my own shadow work, Lorelai Kude's talk of overwhelm, and protecting what you've mothered, and Sasha's speaking of needing to let go of something anything, and 'where do we go from here' energy aligning with true direction and drastic change that has been a long time coming...I'm hearing this message loud and clear.  as hard as it is to focus through all the emotional turmoil, miscommunication, power struggles/control issues, change/liberation/chaos cycles, I'm doing my best to simply survive each day, which in the moment mostly looks like me trying to drink enough water, and failing, repeatedly.

so some cards for me.  some wisdom on how to step out of this dance.  help the kid get what they need to move forward and move along.  there's no coming back...things are irrevocably different and damaged now, so it's time to change course, and let life flow on by without me.  for this reading I used my oldest deck,  and this spread Meg @3am.tarot posted for the New Moon & Solar Eclipse in Gemini (June 10).  here's what we got:

 

image shows an antler, a crystal ball, a small metal goddess figurine, three cards from The Tarot of the Witches tarot deck (The Lovers/The Magician/The Chariot), a quartz crystal, and a garnet on a pastel colored cloth with silver stripes.

 

reflect on:  The Lovers - one rose reaching towards the sun, while a briar entangles the moon.  such a strange card...look at the two of them, dispassionate mannequins entangled in her weird hair, that half dead-or-alive hill they're standing on.  a meaningful relationship...aside from all the love, beauty, harmony, deep feeling, trust, honor, physical attraction, there's the dynamic of sacred vs. profane, and a testing of theories.  an expansion - taking what we've learned, and re-centering from a new vantage point in a spiral progression.  widening the heart.  coming out of isolation into exchange - an act of radical vulnerability; a moment of truth.

revisit & explore:  The Magician - creative Source.  imagination, self-reliance, skill, willpower, curiosity, cleverness, unity in thought and feeling.  deeply connected to, and aware of, the resources surrounding us as well as the magic within them.  an expanding sense of possibility, the first step in a journey - packing The Fool's satchel.  confidence, awake to possibility, throwing open the doors.  expansion, opportunity, courage, tapping into potential.  knowing we are the magic.

seek truth within:  The Chariot - as soon as that expansion happened in the The Lovers card, the fool on their journey recognized their power, and met adversity with resolve and determination.  alert and ready for battle - horses charging forward, his foot on the yoke, he's prepared to balance his mental and physical strength in working towards greatness, as soon as he can get his emotions under control.

there is great significance to me in these cards, considering where my teen is currently holed up, and with cards 6 & 7 - The Lovers and The Chariot - showing up together like that, with only the Magician's spark between them.  there's that pattern of being pushed into things too early, before they're ready, because I'm already holding more than I can safely handle, and something's got to give.  this is my child, born three weeks early.  this is my child sliding down my leg because they won't hold on, they simply trust that 'I've got them'.  this is my child selling off their trains to pay the car insurance that one time.  this is my child's path to freedom - their first steps out on their own.  I'm not going to read their birth chart, or check their horoscope or anything because they didn't ask me to, and I respect people's privacy...but I can see what I see, you know?  all that trauma I tried so hard to avoid passing on, that I made sure to pass on.  our ancestors' hard-won aspirations now crushed beneath my personal failures, and it hurts to live here.

 

thank you for coming along, commenting, and sharing - this reading is for anyone who wants/needs it!  as always, I hope there's something in here for you, personally, and feel free to contact me for a private reading.  

💙💜💙

 

resources:

3am.tarot

good vibes binaural beats

Tuesday Afternoon

I didn't write a blog post this week, as in, I didn't have a running theme that I engaged with on the page for several days in a row, that I polished up and edited to post on Monday.  I have a big event coming up, and most of my time and energy has been taken up by planning and prepping for that One Thing, and the weather has been hot and humid, which exhausts me, so I've been pretty wrapped up inside myself and my daily to-do's to get everything done on time, or at least demonstrably close.  one thing I DID do this week was write a letter to a local person who is the administrator for a facebook group that I was blocked from for standing up for my people, my family, and myself.  so, I decided I would post that letter here, and call it a day (night).  feel free to contact me if you want your name added to the signature line, or if you find any typos or anything.  thanks, and enjoy ~

Letter to: Jim Dougherty

Email: jdoughertybroker@aol.com

website: http://www.lenderassetsolutions.com

and: Ulster Publishing – Woodstock Times

PO Box 3329
322 Wall Street
Kingston, NY 12402
845-334-8200
(Fax) 845-334-8202

Brian Hollander, Editor: wtedit@gmail.com

Daily Freeman

79 Hurley Ave.,
Kingston, NY 12401
845-331-5000
fax: 845-331-3557

Tony Adamis: Managing Editor, ext. 01095

Chronogram

Brian K. Mahoney, Editorial Director
(845) 334-8600 ext. 103
bmahoney@chronogram.com

Lower Hudson Valley Chapter - NYCLU

297 Knollwood Road, Suite 217
White Plains, NY 10607

Telephone: 914-997-7479
Fax: 914-997-2936
E-mail: lowerhudsonvalley@nyclu.org

Following is a letter to Mr. Jim Dougherty, the administrator for the online Facebook group 'Woodstock Bulletin Board'.

Mr. Dougherty -

I was distressed to learn that I was blocked from the Woodstock Bulletin Board facebook group because as an educated Romani woman, I chose to bring attention to the fact that a White woman was appropriating my culture, and using an ethnic slur for my people as the name of her business. I learned of this 'blocking' on August 2 - the 74th anniversary of the liquidation of the 'Gypsy Camp' at Auschwitz-Birkenau, adding further insult to injury. There were two businesses in the town of Woodstock who also used this slur in their names, both closed, now, and while I didn't patronize either establishment, I did make it clear to others how it made me feel to see those hurtful words every day, and used them as examples to explain the ignorance of others to my young son. While there are many businesses who use the word “Gypsy” as their name, as we evolve as a society and culture, there are quite a few business owners who have realized that this is an inappropriate practice, and have changed their business names out of respect for who we are, and what we have faced, as a people. We have a right to live with the same dignity that is afforded to every individual in this country, this state, this county, and this community, and by blocking me from a community group, it is made it clear that there are those who don't think my family is entitled to the same rights as others, that my son doesn't deserve to be treated with the same respect as other students in our schools, and that we don't have the right to know when events are happening in and around the community in which my family makes its home. This thoughtless act clearly states that I either agree to being demeaned, degraded, and silenced, or I can’t be in the group, so I feel I need to speak up for both my family, and my people, before this misinformation disseminates any further, and is allowed to spread its hateful poison throughout the beautiful Hudson Valley, which has long been home to many cultures and religions, as well as minorities and refugees.

It is infuriating for us when non-Roma choose to impersonate our culture with their swirly-skirts and tinkly-bell jewelry to be seen as mysterious and exotic, while we suffer the slings and arrows of “dirty gyppo, go back where you came from thief/beggar/liar – Hitler should have finished the job!” We have been accused of kidnapping little White children while it is our youths who are systematically removed from their families/culture/language, as with the recent case of 'Maria', a blond girl 'found' among darker people, and taken from her foster family, later found to be of Roma decent. The news story prompted a rash of officials across several countries to go out and conduct a witch-hunt against dark-skinned people with light-skinned children...of which I am one. Given the recent horrific events endured by immigrant families that have been savagely ripped apart by Draconian government policies, it seems we are slipping farther and farther into allowing the kinds of hate-speech and prejudicial attitudes that brought about the Holocaust, and there are a great many people who are willing to stand up and demand that it Not be allow to happen Ever again.

Would the town of Woodstock, the all-inclusive hippie-love-fest, peace and understanding art colony of years past not gasp openly if a shop using an ethnic slur for Jews, African-Americans, Latinos, Asians, or Native Americans opened its doors for business? Or would it be tolerated? What if it was insulting the Whites? The slur to which I am referring is one you may not even know is a slur. The word is Gypsy (please note the capital 'G' – a lower case 'g' perpetuates disrespect for the exonym). The word is highly controversial, and some of us use it among ourselves with pride, though the preferred term – for those of us who grew up having epithets hurled at us – is Roma, or the more specific names of our subgroups (known as vitsas), some of which include Kale, Manoush, Romanichal, Dom, Lovari, Kalderash, and Sinti.

In all fairness, I'm sure the owner of said business is probably a lovely individual, and my intent is not to cause them any harm or embarrassment, but to give them the chance to openly acknowledge their mistake, make the proper apologies, and perhaps even do their small part to make sure their customers are informed as to the truth about our people, rather than just taking our name and using it for the benefit of their own finances. Another business owner in a similar situation some time back agreed to keep books about Roma and some printed materials with information in the store, and on their website – would these local folks perhaps agree to sell products or disseminate information in the same manner? Would they consider sponsoring an essay contest, donating books about the Romani people to the library, or sponsoring a forum? They are creative people, and I'm sure they can come up with a way to use their success to open a dialogue and engage positively with those who find offense with the slur under which they chose to do business.

The term 'Gypsy' comes from the erroneous belief that our ancestors originated from Egypt. Our language, customs, and DNA kits tell the true story – we originated in India, before being spread in a Diaspora across Europe and the Americas as slaves and servants, without rights, who have been systematically oppressed and slaughtered to this very day. In many countries we are still barred from schools, ensuring that our children will not be educated, and therefore perpetuating the cycle of poverty we have been held in for centuries. On the other hand, many of us have managed to overcome great odds to become educators, doctors, lawyers, artists, musicians, and bastions of cultural literacy. We bristle at the Halloween costumes cultural appropriators don every year. Our children are confused and shamed by those who dress up as caricatures of our grandmothers, while we ourselves fear to don our own cultural dress as it gives us away to a society that has made it clear they only want us as models for their own romanticized version of what being Gypsy means, which is usually so far from the truth, it hurts.

Several Roma recently wrote in to Hudson Valley One about an article written about a performance of Macbeth performed at Opus 40 in which the director of the Dzieci Theater Group misrepresented our culture, and we were treated to dignified response stating that they were 'misquoted', and would be changing the way they presented the performance in the future out of respect for us, and our cultural heritage. That is how to “be a good neighbor, and work to make things better daily”, a quote taken directly from Mr. Dougherty's facebook page – not by blocking community members from community groups. We call upon the business owners, the town, the community, and activists of all stripe to choose to do the same, and be on the right side of history with this issue. Racism, xenophobia, antiziganism, and any kind of racial intolerance is on its way to oblivion – let us use this as an opportunity to advance together, and move into a more inclusive future where the town of Woodstock can reengage with the statement made on the Woodstock Chamber of Commerce and Arts website, “...where the individual is always welcome and new and creative beginnings are always possible.”

Sincerely,

(several people whose names I removed to protect identities)

Links: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Romani_people

http://www.romarising.com/

http://golden-zephyr.com/

http://romaniarts.co.uk/

http://romani.humanities.manchester.ac.uk/virtuallibrary/index.html

http://artists-for-roma-net.ning.com/

http://domresearchcenter.com/

http://www.baxtfilms.com/

https://www.facebook.com/pages/World-Of-Gypsies/504889382957306?sk=timeline

http://www.opensocietyfoundations.org/about/programs/roma-initiatives-office

https://www.facebook.com/Junioryouthgroupagiassofias/timeline

http://romani.hu/

www.apeopleuncounted.com

http://www.searchingforthe4thnail.com/

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Positive-Romani-Stories/390354817677859?sk=timeline

www.lolodiklo.blogspot.com

RomaTransitions.org

www.RomaReact.org

http://www.romanimusic.org/

http://therumpus.net/2017/05/on-making-wishes/

https://medium.com/@ninaszarka/when-you-are-ready-i-will-tell-you-bc92ac12e0b8

https://now.org/blog/the-g-word-isnt-for-you-how-gypsy-erases-romani-women/

https://www.thedailybeast.com/american-gypsies-are-a-persecuted-minority-that-is-starting-to-fight-back

https://kopachi.com/

https://thenorwichradical.com/2017/12/29/a-beginners-guide-to-antigypsyism/

https://onmilwaukee.com/dining/articles/gypsy-taco-new-name.html

http://www.playbill.com/article/actors-equitys-gypsy-robe-will-get-a-new-name

https://www.dallasnews.com/business/retail/2018/02/22/retailer-decided-time-change-name-store

https://www.bitchmedia.org/article/gypsy-slur-netlflix

https://femmagazine.com/the-g-slur-whats-in-a-word/

https://maineethics.com/mainemusings/whyyoucantsaygypsy

https://abcnews.go.com/Nightline/story?id=128696&page=1

https://www.npr.org/sections/codeswitch/2013/12/30/242429836/why-being-gypped-hurts-the-roma-more-than-it-hurts-you

http://www.jimchines.com/2016/11/racism-and-the-romani-people/

https://www.newsarama.com/32801-reconsidering-dc-s-gypsy-name-as-a-racial-slur-in-light-of-her-upcoming-debut-on-cw-s-the-flash.html

Warning: Possible Triggers for Abuse and/or Childhood Trauma

I'm not even sure how to start this week's blog.  I had a subject I wanted to write about, and even tagged the page a few days ago to leave myself a prompt for where I wanted to start today, following the theme I have been working with, but I had a conversation this past weekend that scrambled my mind a bit, and I guess I want/need to deal with that instead, even though it's rather disturbing and personal, and involves some hard, possible truths about people other than myself, as well.  or maybe it doesn't - I'll have to see how it plays out, and decide whether or not I need to 'protect the innocent' after it's all written.  so hang in there, or duck out now...it may get ugly. 

While visiting my mom this weekend, at some point in our conversation she asked me if I remembered being 'molested' by one of my babysitters.  Now, I'm not entirely sure what we had been talking about that made her ask that, but I have an idea...it had to do with my brother and his friends, and their ways of behaving towards me, so that in and of itself was weird enough, but I had no idea what she was talking about with this alleged molestation, so I said as much, and asked who it was, and what happened.  She gave me a brief sketch in hushed tones, because my teen was across the room, napping peacefully in a comfy chair.  She asked if I remembered her friend So-and-So, who had the two sons, one of them nice, the other one not so much.  I remembered the friend So-and-So's name, but only because of her gorgeous dog - an Irish Setter; the first, and possibly only, I had ever known - whom I adored for her soft, pretty red hair, and lovely name that seemed to suit her so well.  I have no recollection of the friend herself, nor either of the sons.  Apparently, one of the sons babysat me one night, behaved inappropriately, and what I told my mom about what happened caused her to never speak to that friend again, end of story.

So here's what's fucking me up about this - or rather, I have some questions...who was this guy?  What was his name?  How old was he?  How old was I?  Where did this take place?  When?  Where were my folks that night?  Where was my brother?  Where in the house did this alleged abuse take place?  What did he do to me?  Why don't I have any memory of it...or do I?  Was I taken to a therapist?  What did my dad say or do?  Did my mom ask my brother about it?  What did he say?  Was he aware it had happened?  Was it ever addressed again, or was it forgotten about entirely?  Did I have any issues surrounding it?  What were they?  Should I ask my mom for more information, or should I leave it in the past?  Should I seek counseling?  Has it had any long-term effects on me?  What the fuck?!  I mean, there are obviously people in the world (way too many) that know exactly who did what to them, how often, and for how long (who have my deepest sympathy), and next to some of the horrific abominations that happen in this world, my tiny issue is an insignificant little nothing, and it is with bearing those atrocities in mind that I think it's worth my time to just brush this little 'factoid' off and move on, but it doesn't seem to want to leave my mind right now.  It may well in the future, with some time between having this nugget of truth dropped on me, and the rest of the important facts of life going at speed all the time, but for Right Now, I can't help but feel like all I want to do is love and nurture that poor little child that may have been violated, and hold her, while reassuring her that she's ok.

Without knowing what happened, it's hard to make a judgement call on how 'bad' the actual incident was, and I'm not sure that matters at all.  Does it?  This is an area in which I have very little experience, and maybe that's why I'm so fucked up about it.  I know a great deal about a lot of things, but I'm also quick to admit when I'm out of my depth.  This feels like a big, empty, dark room without any reference points to me, and I'm not used to being lost, because I've always managed to find myself, wherever I am, and get back to where I need to be, but I may need a map for this one.  I can answer some of my own questions with basic deductive reasoning, such as...okay maybe I can't, but I'm here to work through it, so I'll go through them one at a time.

"Who was this guy/What was his name/How old was he?" - well, he was the older of the two sons of my mom's friend.  I don't think there's any more to be said about that, but I guess if I wanted to know more, I'd wonder where he went to school, who were his friends, did they know he liked to do the things he did - did he even like to do those things?  Were there other little kids he did them to, or just me?  Was it just a thing he did to see if he could get away with it?  Was it a real problem?  Did it continue throughout his life, was it once, what was it?  Does his name matter?  If I find out, will it change anything?  I would like to know how old he was at the time, because I feel like it will give me some clue as to what he was thinking...or...something, I don't know.  Well, that just brought up more questions, so let's move on.

"How old was I/Where did this take place?" - this I would definitely like to know.  I can assume it was in the house we lived in during the years I was 4 through 12, because I think that's when my mom was friends with that woman...but it could have been the house before that (which would mean I was less that 4 years old when it happened?).  I know for certain it wasn't after that, because we didn't have babysitters anymore by the time I was 12.

"Where were my folks that night/Where was my brother/When/Where in the house..." - the first part hardly matters, I'm just curious (were they out with the babysitter's parents?).  Maybe wondering how much my mom remembers, or how late a night it was.  The rest of the questions are really important - I assume we kids were both home (why would they have taken my brother with them?), so the 'when' question is more about whether the babysitter put us to bed in our respective rooms first?  Was my brother asleep in his own room when it happened in my room?  Or was he awake for the incident, and possibly watching or involved?  Did the babysitter send my brother to bed first, then keep me awake?  Did it happen somewhere else in the house?  Did it happen early in the evening, or in the wee hours of the morning?  Does it matter?  I think the timing has a lot to do with my questions surrounding my brother's presence/possible involvement, which leads into my statement above about how he and his friends later behaved towards me...you see? 

"What did he do to me/Why don't I have any memory of it...or do I/Was I taken to a therapist?" - Mom said I told her 'his penis didn't taste good', so...I guess he had me put my mouth on his penis, but is that all he did?  And how much of 'that' did he do?  Just make me touch it with my lips and/or tongue, or make me (convince me to) put it in my mouth?  Did he climax?  So many questions around this...  I must have blocked it out, because that's obviously a normal and frequent response to this kind of thing, but I feel like that for so long I was not into touching a man's genitalia during sex, that on some level, I must have had some kind of aversion-response.  And there was this weird dream I remember having as a kid that involved some disturbing sexual imagery of masked people touching my body in ways that I felt were probably wrong, but if I was just quiet and let it happen, than I would be 'good', get rewarded, and be celebrated.  At the end of the dream, I remember having my hair washed and styled, tied up in a new ribbon, and being carried on the shoulders of the two men I loved most at that time (who seemed grim and wooden), like I was some kind of hero for having endured the 'treatment'.  I doubt I was brought to a therapist, because of the next question:

"What did my dad say or do?" - I'm going to say with 98% certainty that my dad was Not told, because he would have murdered that babysitter.  I mean literally.  It would have taken a great deal of convincing, and several large, strong men restraining him to get him to Not kill the babysitter.  I mean, given the way he trained the dog to kill anyone who attacked us violently, he would have been beside himself for failing to protect us from people who appeared to be friendly or kind.  How could the dog have known I was being molested?  If I didn't cry out, or if there wasn't violence, I don't think the dog would have known to react, which also suggests the babysitter wasn't inherently a 'bad' person, because that dog Knew bad people, and protected us from them more than once, when they weren't doing anything more than being friendly (their 'crimes' only became apparent later).  There's no way in hell my dad ever knew this happened.  There was an incident in our family involving another young girl who Wasn't me, and given the way he reacted to That, well...nope.  My mom kept this a secret.  If she had taken me/us to therapy, our dad would have wanted to know why.

"Did my mom ask my brother about it/What did he say/Was he aware it had happened?" - again, it seems like my mom just chose to sit with this herself, and either convinced me/us to forget it, or that it didn't happen.  I'm Really curious as to my brother's level of involvement, or knowledge of what went down that night.  Was it only that one night?  How many times did that loser sit for us?

"Was it ever addressed again, or was it forgotten about entirely/Did I have any issues surrounding it/What were they?" - I'm gonna say no, yes, probably, and varied.  Seeing as how I have no memory of the incident, it was probably swept quickly under the rug, and never discussed again.  My mom probably thought that was best for herself, and possibly for me (and my brother) as well.  I'm sure there were issues.  There had to be.  As I mentioned, I had a pretty strong aversion to oral sex when I became sexually active - at an age I think of now as too young (though not ridiculously so), and go figure, given this new info.  I've had lots of sexual encounters with men who treated me inappropriately, and I'm beginning to see why, maybe? 

"Should I ask my mom for more information, or should I leave it in the past/Should I seek counseling/Has it had any long-term effects on me?" - I want to ask for more info, but it's really uncomfortable, and knowing my mom, she'll be reluctant to discuss it, which will once again make me the bad guy for forcing a conversation she's not willing to have, even if it involves my own healing.  I will most likely seek some form of counseling, just to hash it out in a manner other than overeating, or punishing myself in other unhealthy ways.  I'm sure there are effects, as mentioned above. 

"What the fuck?!" - why would she tell me Now (maybe she's been repressing it, or is just able to deal with it herself)?  and so casually...did she think I'd just be like, 'oh, haha, never mind, it was all so long ago, la-de-da!'  Was it because of the discussion we were having?  So fucked up on so many levels, and makes me wonder even more about how much my brother knew, or was involved.  I can't help but wonder if this incident is the impetus for everything that's ever gone wrong in my life because I wasn't given the opportunity to deal with it, or decide for myself how I wanted to handle it (again, how old Was I?), or I'm overreacting to the news of it as a way to make it the 'all-encompassing excuse for everything'.  Not that I need any excuses, I'm fully willing to accept 100% of the responsibility for the poor choices I've made over the years (as well as the good ones, because I've made plenty of those, too), but could I be staring into the abyss of what helped shape my sexuality, and my perceived inability to form lasting romantic relationships?  I thought it was just that I'm such a bitch, and have impossibly high standards, but...it could be more.  It could go deeper.  It could have something to do with the ways in which I allowed myself to be violated over and over again because I was taught/learned/surmised that my worth was tied up in how men valued me sexually, and that my role was, as I mentioned earlier, to keep quiet and let them do what they wanted, no matter how it made me feel, in order to earn some reward, like being valued, or celebrated as a Queen should be by her King.  Problem is, I've never had a 'King', or even a 'noble' boyfriend - just a series of Jokers, with one enlightened yet highly damaged pauper who may have actually come close to loving me, as much as he was able, for a brief period that didn't last as long as our short relationship.  It's a wonder I learned to enjoy sex, though I finally did - just in time to not ever have it again, as my age, weight, and refusal to settle for less has rendered me undesirable.  Selah ~

ABC Wednesday: O is for...

"aahhh...October."  the last word of the song Autumn Sea, by Robyn Hitchcock, posted below:

I'm not gonna do the Photo a Day Challenge anymore, I decided it was too much effort for too little return.  I like the ABC Wednesday share, because I can handle posting once a week rather than every day.  The Sunday Whirl is also nice, because I was looking for more writing prompts as well.  having an out of town guest for two nights put staying on top of posting way down the priority list, and once I fell behind, I didn't feel compelled to catch up.  my out of town guest was a cousin from my mother's mother's side of the family - she lives in Seattle, and is of my mother's generation though she's younger than my mom.  check out this lovely gift she brought me:

Mirjam Barnholtz Horowitz + family

the robust matriarch in the center is Grandma Miriam - Mirjam, to her husband - beloved mother and grandmother to my Aunt Ruth (to her left), my grandmother Gertrude (to her right, on my grandfather's lap), and two sons who I can't identify in the picture, if they're even there.  my cousin's parents, who introduced my grandparents to each other, are also in the picture.  my mom was very close to her grandmother, and she used to tell me that after her grandmother had died, she knew that if she had a daughter one day, that she would be named for Mirjam - and so I am.  I suppose that story had a more comforting tone to it before I found out I have a half-sister a few years older than me...and while I begrudge her nothing, it made me wonder if some of those faraway, dreamy looks I used to spy on my mother's face when she would utter this conviction from her past wasn't so much for the grandmother passed, but for the child lost - the Real Namesake, leaving me feeling a bit like an imposter in what I thought was my own story.

but no, say those who believe the Universe knows its work, the Name landed where it belonged.  while I am not the 'balabusta' Grandma was (stereotypical Russian-Jewish grandma, who cooked mountains of the best food ever, and radiated love in all directions), I have my skills and talents - I pass in the kitchen, and we surely don't starve over here.  That's basically all I know about Grandma - an angel, taken to early, greatly mourned, died before I was born, gave me my name.  I don't know who her parents were, if she had any brothers or sisters, or hopes and dreams.  I don't know what she died of, but I have a few of her handkerchiefs.  her husband - affectionately known as Grandpa to the great-grandkids as well - was a part of my life until I was a young teen, probably fourteen or so.

Grandpa came from a large family, he had 12 or 13 brothers and sisters if I recall correctly - I know I've seen a picture of them all together, with their little old mama in the middle.  he was a tailor, belonged to ILGWU - the International Ladies Garment Worker's Union - my mom still has his old foot-powered sewing machine.  I have several cassette tapes of him talking about his life in Russia before he came to the states, and it occurred to me to write some of those stories down, when I realized I no longer have a tape player...bummer, I'll have to figure that out.  I remember the stories about how some pigs drowned in his vats of bootleg whisky, how he had all his teeth pulled to avoid serving in the Czar's army, how he once escaped arrest (though I can't remember the crime, it may have been for bootlegging), and how he met and married his wife, my matronymic namesake.  He said our family tree began when Genghis Khan swept across the Steppes raping peasant women.  Grandpa was an ornery old man, but we all loved him, and he loved dogs.  He was the second person whose death I experienced - the first being Ruth's, his and Mirjam's youngest daughter, when I was a child.

the story of how my great-grandparents met, as I remember it, goes thus:  there was a big party in Grandma's shtetl (small village), where lots of folks from all the surrounding shtetls also came to celebrate - must have been a wedding, I'd guess - and that's when she and Grandpa met.  they didn't see each other again until that day at the train station (I don't know how long later) as they both fled the country for America.  he claims they got married on the spot, and 'laid together' that night - he would demand loudly with his finger in the air, "the first time!  I got her pregnant..." in his backwards, old-Russian-Jewish-guy syntax.  Grandma, you may recall, died before I was born, so there was no one to refute these claims, but I'm sure we were all too busy trying not to be grossed-out to worry about it.  so Grandpa ended up in New York, and Grandma went to meet up with some family in Missouri (Missouri?), where they told her they had a nice man for her to marry.  Grandma says, "remember Shike from the shtetl next to ours?  I married him at the train station back in (somewhere near Odessa), and I'm pregnant with his baby.  he's waiting for me in New York."  Grandma goes to New York, lives and dies there, and I am what's left of her.

Grandpa lived until he was 86 or so, and he married a few other ladies along the way.  Mirjam was his true love, though, and he would call out to her near the end, during those strange times when he would be sitting in our living room, and the dog would become agitated and raise his hackles.  Grandpa would look up from where he was dozing on the couch and say to nothing I could see, "go avay, I am visiting mine fambily.  not now...".  the chills running up and down my arms told me his end would be coming soon - he was a tough old bastard, but even Grandpa couldn't back the Angel of Death off forever.  I wasn't sad when he went, because I figured his energy would be happy to be free of the confines of the old, decrepit flesh and brittle bones, to go find and join with its love again.  it seemed like a life well lived, to me, and I am grateful to have know him.

it is the later part of October, and the veil between the worlds is thin this time of year, so the dead haunt me, and I become agitated and eat too much dairy.  and it's cold and rainy today, too, so while my muse wants to huddle away in the dark behind her long, sad, hair, and drink illicit beverages while pining away for Oscar Wilde's wardrobe, I must insist on tie-dyed pants, a yellow umbrella, and rubber boots.  and so I've honored my great-grandparents on my mother's mother's side, which is the oldest known branch of my ancestry to me - Russian Jews, from somewhere near Odessa.  of my grandfather's family, I know next to nothing - only that they were from Poland, and there were several uncles, aunts, and cousins I once knew, a handful of which I can even name, and none that I still know.

there were no great-grandparents on my father's side, the grandparents were lucky to have escaped Europe with their lives.  they all went to Israel, and then on to Canada, where their children and grandchildren still live.  my father is the ancestor who calls to me the loudest, though, and while I hear him, I'm not sure what he's trying to say, if he's saying anything at all.  maybe he just wants to be here, to come by and visit when he can, to see the boy, and I feel the stir of his presence.  like Robyn Hitchcock intones in the last two words of the song posted above, "aahhh...October."  with all its dark and bloody ghosts howling through the bone-chilled nights, it's time to light the fires and pull out the woolens to cuddle up with warm, spiced beverages until winter puts us all to sleep beneath the gentle blankets of her snow.

ABC Wednesday - M is for...

my boy, in morning meditation (♥) 

we were out running errands and I forgot to schedule lunch (read:  I hadn't planned on the boy staying home from school sick), so we popped in somewhere we hardly ever go, but for a mobile lunch, beats the fast food places by a landslide - Mara's on the Way!  I love them because the first time we stopped in was on the way back to our previous place of residence after getting the boy registered for school in our new town, just before we moved in.  the lady who took my order, on discovering we were soon-to-be new arrivals, spent the time while we were waiting for our food giving us directions to local points of interest. to me, that kind of customer service should be common sense, though it tends to be rather rare, so I cherish when I find it.  thank you, Mara's!  

Mara's menu...

...and a cute little mushroom dream altar at the window!

oh, and of course...me!  I'm an 'M', too!

thanks for visiting, and have a happy Wednesday!

Some thoughts on 'drama', and social networking not working...for me

I'm not an overly dramatic person, and I tend to avoid the spotlight in favor of maintaining my lone wolf status, but I will admit that my recent Crackbook post was a bit over the top.  I got waayyyyy more involved in the online community than I ever intended, and my real life personal relations suffered for it.  Truth is, as it has so blithely been pointed out time and again, the illusion of having so many friends can be deceiving, and can fool one into thinking people are there for you, when they simply are not.  I send thanks to those who attempted to reach out to me when they feared the worst.  I also temper those thanks with the question, "where are you today?  Where were you before then?  Where will you be in the future?"  Great, so I didn't die that night, but what about the next?  And the next after that?  How many of you actually know what I go through in a day, a week, a month?  How many of you actually care?  And is that caring about me, or about an extension of yourself?

For those of you who pay attention, I addressed many of the questions and attitudes I have about suicide in a previous post, and any of you who actually READ this blog don't really have an excuse to have thought I would actually kill myself.  To be sure, if I were going to check out of here, I would make sure my son was safely ensconced with his father, first, and not be lying in a pool of blood on the living room floor for him to find when he gets off the school bus.  So, thanks for the vote of confidence, I really appreciate it.

CALLING THE POLICE, OR ANY MEMBER OF MY FORMER FAMILY IS INEXCUSABLE AND UNACCEPTABLE!!!  I know you thought you were doing the right thing, but I want to make clear for any future concerns that this is not the approved course of action.  The approved course of action is to calmly let me know either by phone or by email that you care deeply for me, and are willing to help in any way possible.  Coming to my house and knocking on my door is also acceptable.  I don't care how far away you live - I once drove 15 hours straight across the country for a friend whose parent had died.  (To my friend who called the cops - that's 12 1/2 hours farther away than you were, Monday night, and they were merely grieving a passing that was expected.)  I would do so again, without a second thought for most of you.  Ask yourselves if you're willing to do that before you jump all over any of my posts again - not that I'll give you the chance, I learned my lesson the hard way...

So, enough with the social network, and back to the blog.  Read it or don't.  If you feel moved to comment, which some of you sometimes are, PLEASE comment on the blog, not on the link to the blog.  I'm not interested in 90% of the crap that gets posted on the 'book'...well, maybe more like 50%, I'm not sure.  I really dig the science tidbits from my science teacher friend, and the music links from my DJ/musician friend, and some of the interesting news articles I wouldn't otherwise have noticed from my newshound friends.  Some of you are downright amusing, some of you are flat out annoying (but you get deleted, so you won't be seeing this!), some of you I just love so damn much I don't care what you post!  My email and my phone number are listed on my info page - please make note of them if you want to continue communicating with me out in the world of forms, okay?  Okay.

Enough about that , and we get up and move on.  Shit still sucks.  I'm still embroiled in what looks to a be an ugly, ongoing legal battle with my 'mother' without representation, I still have to move post-haste (ANY AND ALL OF YOU ARE INVITED BEGGED TO COME HELP.  PLEASE.) to I-don't-know-where yet, and my car is still smashed up beyond my ability to fix it.  If you have any solutions, feel free to contact me by the traditional methods, or leave a comment here.  Thanks again.

M

Today is the day...

...I tell the landlord I'm only mailing him most of the rent.  Today is the day I tell my advisor where I am with my project.  Today is the day is go to the mall with my resume, paint on the smile and get a crappy job.  Today is the day I finish my degree in one last jet-burn of 'can do'.  Today is the day.  Today is the day.  Today is the day after Halloween, or Samhain, as I liked to call it, back when I was making a point - a bright, cold, clear morning, I sent the boy off to school with a hat and gloves, still stinky and unwashed from last Winter, but wearing them, nonetheless.  I'll add it to the list...

Today is another day in a series when I seem to have repeatedly written a theme, based on the timeframe of 'today'.  There's a certain mood, obviously, a particular feeling in a specific moment.  The day after.  Today.  What comes now, Titus Bird, what then?  What would happen if everyone came to me with that question?  What if a million people wanted to know what my opinion was?  I would probably run and hide, that's what.  I don't really want to blow the lid off of anything, I mostly just want to be left alone.  Today I refuse to be overwhelmed by the enormity of it all, because today is the day...

 

(not) the final cut

It seems like a stupid thing, but this song has been bouncing around my head lately, while I've been thinking about how to do this post that's been sitting in my drafts for awhile now.  A friend of mine tried to end their life recently.  I thought I should take a moment to process that.  But the more time goes by, the less sure I am.  Pink Floyd reminds me of being fifteen, and hormonal, and emo - sitting in my room cranking the stereo through my earphones, doing shots of vodka and thinking how sorry the world would be if I could only get numb enough to not feel the pain of the blade on my skin.  But that was dumb teenage shit, and this was crazy mid-life shit.  There's no way I could entertain thoughts of suicide at this point in my life, I'm happy to say, but to learn that someone I spoke to almost everyday was in that much pain and didn't think they could tell me was eye-opening.  My friend called to tell me what happened from the 'retreat', or whatever, probably a psych center, where they were 'til recently, when a bed opened up at a rehab.  Now, I've been through this with my friends before, in various scenarios, so I was able to take the news in stride - "oh, hi, you almost died?  Wow, that kind of sucks to think I may never have spoken to you again, thanks for calling!"  Which brought up the issue of, if this person had succeeded, would their family have thought to call me?  It's such a selfish act, but I think it's one that people have a right to perform, if they so choose.  And selfish - it seems hardly fair to call it that.  Who else has the right to decided what to do with one's own life?  It's selfish, sure, but we are in this life to serve ourselves in some form or another, aren't we?  Can't we decide that we would be best served, or that our community would be best served by offering up our own sacrifice?  What about the cry for help thing?  That they don't really want to die, they just want help?  I dunno.  I'm sure it's different for everyone, but in the case of my friend, I honestly think success was not the intent.  Maybe they thought it was at the time, and I'm just talking out of turn, but I think people get so far down, they just give up.  Or maybe they don't know themselves well enough, or don't have a strong enough connection to the Absolute, or have undealt with pain in their past, or just get addicted to the wrong drug.  Get caught in the wrong cycle, and it will bring you down.  I look at my own wounds, which are light years away from suicide, but they are the evidence of my inattention to my own inner conflicts, and my choice to continue to make poor choices on my own behalf.  Maybe what my friend lacked was a healthier option to say to the community, "Look, I fucked up!  I'm down and dirty and undeserving, and feel like the best thing I can do is die - please help me!"  Would that have helped?  Shouldn't we be allowed to 'just give up' every now and again?  Throw our hands up in the air and say, "fuck it!  I give up!"  and then walk off into the sunset for a few?  Or should I be looking at the stresses that get us feeling that way in the first place?  I think feeling like we need to 'just give up', is an indication that we may need to start talking to someone about our problems.  There have been times in my life when I have decided I needed some support and I got it.  I found it very helpful.  I may need it again, you never know.  What about my lingering doubts, though?  What about the cynical, jaded part of my nature that squints my eyes at criminal behavior to see it better?  What's the angle, here?  It makes my head swim to even go down that rabbit hole...  Though I was trying to process my feelings about suicide, not psycho-analyze the wonderfully sick and twisted people I hang around with.  I think it's stupid and wrong.  I think it hurts people, and if you're in that much pain and can't find a way to manage it, then write us a nice note and go for it, but be neat about it, please.  Don't leave a mess.  I think ether or morphine are ways to go, just trip out on funky purple clouds of sensual hallucinations (well, that's what I imagine happens on ether or morphine, but I have no idea, really...) or whatever combo of pharmaceutical cocktail will take you there.  I think if you attempt suicide and fail, you probably shouldn't be surprised if people get angry with you.  I can't help but think of what was going through my own head when I was an angsty teen, getting drunk and playing razors across my wrists, and it was more about punishing other people than myself - "I'll show them, they just don't understand what it's like!  When I'm dead and they're lowering me into my grave, they'll know the pain I'm in, but it'll be too late, I'll be gone!  Nobody cares, no one understands, I'm all alone in this world of pain, this hell of the soul!".  Okay, I'm overdramatizing a bit, but that's what it was like!  And I don't even remember what was so awful!  I guess it's just the hormones, weeding out the weaker links?  There I am again, in my superiority place, so I will fall to my knees and genuflect to the Universe for it's blessings and shed a tear for the beauty and the miracle of it all, and make another attempt to be more authentically a part of Life, and all it has to offer.  Either way, I'm a really good listener, if you ever need me...not to mention that two of the people I spoke to the most often are now less than accessible to me, leaving me even less socially supported than I already was.  Feelin' the joy.  Remember the Joy?  I believe I mentioned the joy ~

Year in Review

Wow, haven't checked in for awhile, but it looks like it's time to get with some 'learning documentation', so on we go...

First off, this blog is now a year old, and I want to go back and check in with what's been happening, and comment on what all's gone down this year.  Secondly, I want to talk about the experience of working on my first creative project of the semester.  I have a feeling that may end up being more than one post...

I created the blog and put a few words up on March 11, but the second post, the April 18th post, was an actual introductory paragraph.  I talked about why I was here; my employer thought I could write a blog for the orchard which turned out to fizzle after just three posts - just one more thing neither one of us felt like dealing with!  I liked the idea of blogging, read a few of my friends' blogs, and I thought it was a neat and easy way to do my evening journaling.  It sounds kind of like talking to myself, which, I guess, is what journaling actually is, in a sense.  But journaling is kind of personal, and while I had it in my head that this was the internet, and that gajillions of people use the internet, it never occured to me that anyone I know would read it!  But they did.  Surprise!  It's o.k., I'm an open book kind of chick, anyway...  A year later, I no longer work at the orchard, but I continue to blog.  There seem to be at least 5 people who claim interest in what I may write here, and I still can't tell where the boundry is between personal and private.

I mean, if I'm journaling, then I'm talking to myself.  Getting down all the little things I want to remember about the day, or just sort of take a mental inventory before I go to bed.  It's processing my feelings around what happened in my day and maybe a plan for a better tomorrow.  Checking in.  But in the back of my mind, I'm keely aware that I'm going to put this out there for other random gajillions to read if they so choose, so I hold back - I don't use names.  If you know me, and you know who my kid's dad is, or who I mean when I refer to my BF, then yeah, you can figure your way past my attempt at protecting the anonymity of people who touch my life, whose actions have an effect on me.  That's been tough to reconcile to myself, but I will continue to work on it.  I feel it's my right to talk about what I need, to ask for help in processing a situation sometimes, and also I need to vent.  So I defend my 'tell most' nature, I think it encourages honest discourse.  Besides, if you've got that much to hide...I'm just sayin'.  Don't get me wrong, I have my stories I don't publicize either, so those of you who are close to me - no worries, your secrets are safe!

Another topic I hit the floor running with was the fact that I had reconnected with someone I used to know who I let myself believe wanted to be my Prince Charming.  Turns out he tells that to all the girls, and I was mad that I let myself fall for it at my age, in my shape!  It brings to the surface a lot of what's going on with me in terms of my weight, body issues, and need for companionship.  I know that people who love me love me no matter what I look like.  I know that a person who is going to be attracted to me will be attracted to my many other fine qualities.  I don't feel completely comfortable in this enlarged skin, and I don't believe I'll really let myself get into a relationship before I do.  It's funny, I wasn't going to have kids because I thought I'd never be able to give them what I call 'the white picket fence', but here I am doing an o.k. job at it anyway!  So maybe if I give up looking for love because I don't think I have the things I need to be a healthy partner, will it find me?  The yearly wrap up on all that is, still fat, still single, still chatting online.  Yay.  I'm starting to think that just knowing what I need to do to get healthy isn't enough.  I think it might be time to join some Weight Watchers type thing, where there are other people to help hold me accountable or something...
When I get my life in order - that's when I'll be ready for a boyfriend (in other words, when I'm dead!).  No, it'll happen when it's right,  I hope.

In that same vein, now would be the time to address the yearly review of the BF - for those who may not know, I mean 'best' friend, not boyfriend, when I speak of this elusive form of wildlife.  He is in the same place doing the same thing, and the only thing that's changed is me finally making good on my claim to just be done with it already.  As I read back over the blog, I realized that I've been saying how sick I am of the relationship we have since the second post - so I guess it shouldn't be any surprise that we had a huge argument and I walked away from it all.  That situation has been looking to blow up for awhile now, and I just have too many other things to focus on that are positive, to let this one big negative drag me down anymore.  It hurts and I'm lonely, but ultimately it's the right thing.  Sigh.  Good time buddies...what it is.  More energy to give to my boyfriend, when the Universe delivers him!

Oh my goodness!  A man in the house?!  No way!!  This place is a MESS!  I remember when Zev was a baby, and I was wondering how women had time to get everything done, and they told me, "let your housework go."  I thought, "no way!"  I couldn't do it.  There was no way I could do it.  Now, 5 years later, I look around my house and think, "this is what it means to let your housework go..."  I don't have one of those homes where there's decaying crap in poorly balanced piles to the ceiling and pathways through the clutter, just the ever-present pile of dirty dishes, and unmopped floors.  Too many jackets on the coat-rack, too many shoes by the door - that kind of mess.  Toys on the coffee table (which is really a trunk), a heap of laundry where I dumped all the dirty sheets, towels and blankets on the living room floor, and where they remain, mocking me as I walk past...  My bathroom and kitchen always need a good scrubbing, and if the laundry isn't lying around being dirty, then it is usually hanging around waiting to get dry, or clean waiting to get folded and/or put away.  I seem to always be in a state of 'between' dirty and clean, which, isn't clean.

On the bright side, I'm down to one more box to empty, and then I'll be completely unpacked for the first time in...I can't remember when.  I think I was fully unpacked for a minute when the boy was small, so just over 4 years ago?  This place was a dump when I moved in, much like many of my previous haunts, but over time and with patience, I have scrubbed and painted and decorated, and now it almost looks like something. Without a doubt, way better than it was, but still, the ongoing struggle with the mess.  Also, the garden looks like it's off to a good start this year, my pansies came back in abundance, and I built a pretty rock wall to replace the ugly bricks.  I dug out some of the giant old hostas to make room for more pretty flowers, and perhaps a shrub.  Just needs a bit of soil to fill in where the hostas were and some mulch, and I think we're good to go!

Well, there's a few more topics I wanted to cover still, but I wasn't intending to write an epic poem or anything, and I have other stuff I need to get to today!  I've spent enough time on this post, I've got the next one ready to go, and the one after that planned as well.  I just wish I had some more images to share...need to work on that!  Anyway, sending love and happiness out into the Universe on this Gorgeous Spring day!  Peace, hippies!  Dear god, I'm listening to Steve Miller...must...change......station.........

Huh.

All right, people, apparantly I fucked up...  The Grapevine told me that my RANTS of late have caused some stir some miles from here.  Interesting.  I feel like I try so hard to keep things anonymous, but that I didn't really see how the connection might have run (me, the conspiracy theorist).  Oops, sorry, my bad.  Spank me?  It won't be the first time my name's been thrown around the gutter of that town, sadly enough.  We all have our moments.

It's so weird, this separating of identities!  Or maybe I'm just doing it wrong, who knows.  Always, I feel wronged by some..one, by some thing, and I write about it.  And a bunch of people get mad at me.  But a few folks, just a few, they smile. 

I don't know what not to say anymore, does it matter?  I guess it does.  We all keep each other's secrets, or we're supposed to, how does that work out for us?  Perhaps I'm the one who's betraying a friend, godawful thing...

I really am trying to do better.