My paper floor

I was dwelling comfortably on a paper floor. Much as you are now.
The room was small, but cozy. The floor looked hardwood sturdy. It seemed to be made of solid stuff: My relationships, my loves, my attachments, my place in the world, my hard work, my merits.
I drew confidence  from that solid floor.

Until
the whole damn thing came apart. Thin paper ripping and tearing. What a panic ensued.
I struggled, fought like a Mo-Fo , Kicking!  Flailing!  Striking out! Striking in!  Behaving BADLY! What didn't I try, to hold that disintegrated floor together.
But it was  paper. Wet tissue paper. There was never a real floor there at all. Never.

So here I am falling through the air grabbing at tiny shreds of  paper as they float past, as if they would break my fall. White-knuckled.

What a predicament!

I hate to tell you this, but you are also living on a paper floor.. You wont believe me, of course, because your own floor looks great. You reassure yourself, that unlike me, You've paid your dues. Your hard work will pay off. You've been walking on the sunny side, always on the sunny side. You dress for success. You pay your insurance bill with regularity. You eat right and exercise. You're as young as you feel. You have a seamless retirement plan.  You eat an apple a day. You believe in You!  You visualize success. YOU are a winner. You're in good hands with Allstate. You change the oil in your well-maintained automobile every 3000 miles. You have the love of your friends and family. You're loyal. You have worked hard to get where you are. You deserve good things.

And you DO!
 You've taken care. You built that  floor, and that bastard is SOLID.
.

You may never come to know you're walking on a paper floor. If you walk very carefully, it may hold up.

But even now, you occasionally see a weak spot. A little rip. A rend in the grain. Can you feel the unspecified cold gray clench of fear in your belly when that happens? Its hard to put a name to that unease.  You scurry to cover over the weak spot with crispy insurance policy statements. Mend that tiny rip with  positive affirmations that you've been keeping in a cheerfully decorated jar . That'll work. till the next time.

You can get along this way, so long as you find a way to get comfortable with the clench.

But there may come a time when despite your efforts, the patches no longer hold that paper floor together. You may wake up one day to find your floor in tatters. You, falling through the air, struggling to grab onto anything, ANYTHING to break your fall, only to find your fists full of paper. None of that solid stuff in your life will hold you.

But you'll still be here. Breathing. Falling and breathing, and as alive as ever.
Its very odd.

Your task (and mine) are  to learn to live while falling.
Its hard because one tends to try to build new improved paper floors. That urge is useless but it dies hard. and the effort involved may be comforting, but its paper your working with.
Even now my new paper floor looks pretty good. Its tempting to believe in it.

Wishing

My Grandma taught me to make a wish every time I saw a white horse.  and make a wish on the first evening star, and make a wish  and then blow the fluff off a dandelion.

I gained insight on the white horse method of wishing. White horses are often in advanced age. You better wish fast.
For a year or so, I greeted my own special wishing horse every day. He dwelled with some other horses, in a pasture, I passed driving to work. He was thin and swaybacked, probably ancient with the burden of many many wishes. He was white as snow.
One day, in the pasture of my wishing horse, there was a man in a back hoe, digging a hole. The white horse lay beside it. That beautiful white horse, full to capacity of life, and wishes, was being as  respectfully sent to Heaven as any horse can be.
As near t heaven as he was, none of those wishes I sent ever came true.

I dont make wishes anymore. I still nod at the first star, and I still blow the fluff off dandelions.....(The object is to get all the fluff off in one blow, otherwise it wont work. One can game the system by selecting a dandelion head which is depauperate ,a botanical term for , way more than ripe.)
I hav'nt had a wish for a couple of years, but I still do it, wishless, for Grandma, and because, nodding at white horses seems right.

Nowadays, I dont dare think of a wish, because I can't bear the disappointment of  it unfulfilled, and those old white horses have enough to do just keeping their legs under them.

This week, though, I made a wish.
Not a big one.
No. I'm not telling. It does'nt come true if you tell.

Looking to Spring. Escorting Orion from the night sky

In order to get my Spring on ,I'm starting seeds. I'm going to make a Red-Runner bean tepee. I'm going to put it in an opening in my tree grove.......(It isnt much of a grove yet, because the trees are still small saplings, but I have faith!. There will be poplar, wild currant, Hawthorne, mulberries, apples, apricots, and wild shrubby roses. The birds and I will enjoy all that fruit. I'll sit in my bean tepee during summer nights when that bastard Orion isnt up therein the cold sky  waggling his dick at me, every time I go out under the stars.
Oh Yes he does! They say its a sword or a knife or something, but clearly, it is a dick.
If I had a dick , I would shake it at Orion every time I go out on a clear winter night.

  I'll make  some kind of arch thingy out of of stock panels, on which I'm going to plant moonflowers, jasmine and honeysuckle. Henbane and Datura will grow at the base, because they're spooky and cool, And red-flowered yucca for the hummingbirds. I'll hang a hammock in there.

I've started seeds of large gourds. Next Fall , when Orion and his dick, make their regular appearance again, I 'll carve and paint the gourds and make them into neat stuff.

And I'll be eating kale, and sweet melons.

It'll be just like heaven.

Link to related blogpost :http://darkergods.blogspot.com/2013/02/holy-trinity-of-abominations.html

Resolution

Resolution.
It really means seeing better. True! Look it up if you don't believe me.

I've happily managed to get rid  of pretty near all of my negative feelings over the past year, by telling them to 'Fuck right off'.
Of course, 'Fuck right off' is, itself, a negative sentiment.
I accept that without intellectualizing, because I have great faith in' Paradox'.
Strangely, Its all working out.

If you can't get with that, you can 'Fuck right off', but do not neglect, on your way out to totally dig, the exquisite paradox.

Paradox is the very stuff of life.

Giving Thanks

I got some Thanks to give!

I dont want to go all ooshy on yer asses, so I'll leave out some details.
But , hear this much : Without my friends , being there , giving a shit, listening to me bitch and moan , over the past year, I'm not sure I would be here now.
And that would be a shame , because I am enjoying here, and I am enjoying now. As much as ever.

What can I do for you, my good friends?
Anything you ask.
Anything you need.
I promise , I'll be there to do it.

I love you all SO much!

Get up and dance

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mz0GX-Tbqzk

Like I said< No one wants to hear about pedophilia

Apparently, not even Sister Mary Catherine.

I looked up my abuser's name on the internet. (I will not say that I "googled" him, because the thought results in dry heaves.
My abuser is a very important man.
He lives in Portland. He owns a business. His pals are mayors and governors.
He is well-to-do.
He serves on commissions.
He donates his money and time to civic good works.

He is the salt of the earth.
He is a pedophile.
He is a predator.

He is an important donor and volunteer with the Franciscan Academy of Very Young and Innocent  Children. (Not the school's real name .....maybe later.)

I sent the academy an email.  I named this man,talked of my reason for knowing he is a predator, and begged them to keep him away from children.
They said that Sister Mary Catherine would contact me by phone,on that very day,after 5pm.

What a relief. They HEARD me!


But, Lord! I was nervous.
I was an 8 year old girl, waiting to talk about exactly how and when, and where I'd been touched by a bad man. I'm still 8 years old.
Though I was alone, at home, I spiked my hair, I wore rattlesnake rattles, and studs, and spikes, and bones, and black, black, black...........Not for Sister Mary Catherine, but for myself, to remind myself that I am NOT any longer, a pliant 8 year old..
I
am
anger!

The nun never called.
I went to bed wearing snakes and spikes.

Maybe she was very very busy interviewing children and parents about contact with that guy.

Or maybe, like said in last blog post, NO ONE wants to hear about pedophilia.

He is a big donor to the school. Perhaps they rely on that income.

It continues.
Protect your children.
Teach them to protect themselves.