Muted

I miss my librarian, the woman at information, the teachers who took their time to hear me. They were always there to answer the questions no one else took the time to answer. They helped me learn and grow. 

I was sitting here today looking for answers to whom I could talk to since librarians are now often in the back and part time employees or the computer scans you to check out your books. The information phone lines are now obsolete. Even calling the information desk at the NYC library changed many, many years ago.

My sense of community seems lost among the rubble of the past. I feel so alone without those friendly voices; the people that were always there for me when no one else was. They were the voices that helped me hear my own. 

Now the song I sing is faint and barely heard over the screams of hatred, anger, and rage in the world. In my sadness and isolation I can barely hear my own voice, let alone anyone else's song of joy. 

I so long to hear the song in my heart that has faded. I so long to hear the harmony that comes with the songs of others. I'm still listening for the remaining songs and voices of others through the current white noise; the buzzing, thud, thud of the needle at the end of the LP. 

I wish I could call to ask, can you hear me? Did I too fade away with the long forgotten past? Will there be another world in which for me to sing?

Trust--The Definitions and The Questions

"It is an equal failing to trust everybody, and to trust nobody." --18th-century English proverb

The Definitions:
-noun
1. reliance on the integrity, strength, ability, surety, etc., of a person or thing; confidence.
2. confident expectation of something; hope.
3. a person on whom or thing on which one relies: God is my trust.
4. the condition of one to whom something has been entrusted.
5. the obligation or responsibility imposed on a person in whom confidence or authority is placed: a position of trust.
6. charge, custody, or care: to leave valuables in someone's trust.
7. something committed or entrusted to one's care for use or safekeeping, as an office, duty, or the like; responsibility; charge.
  
-verb (used without object)
8. to rely upon or place confidence in someone or something (usually followed by in  or to ): to trust in another's honesty; trusting to luck.
9. to have confidence; hope: Things work out if one only trusts.

–verb (used with object)
10. to have trust or confidence in; rely or depend on.
11. to believe.
12. to expect confidently; hope (usually followed by a clause or infinitive as object): trusting the job would soon be finished; trusting to find oil on the land.
13. to commit or consign with trust or confidence.
14. to permit to remain or go somewhere or to do something without fear of consequences: He does not trust his children out of his sight.
15. to invest with a trust; entrust with something.
16. to give credit to (a person) for goods, services, etc., supplied: Will you trust us till payday?
    
The Questions:
There are so many definitions and types of trust. Why is it when someone, anyone, or an organization ruins the trust you have placed in them that it infects the trust in everything and everyone in your life? The confidence that we have in our decision making is affected and becomes questionable in our own minds. It becomes difficult to build it back up. The remaining lack of trust becomes a lack of trust in you, your own decisions and abilities to trust the right people. Some people are able to shrug this off, yet others just can't seem to shake it. How does a person gain trust in his or herself after a battery of assaults to his or her confidence and trust in others?  How does one know when to trust his or her so-called gut, the instinctive feeling that we are only slightly aware of at times? Sometimes that feeling we think is the gut or instinct, could be fear or paranoia of making bad decisions.  Sometimes it is the primal screams of knowledge shouting at you to get out of the way of yourself and/or the lynch mob.

The quote on the top of the note is important for us to remember, yet how do we know who to trust. We just throw it out there and hope that the people that we are trusting are trustworthy. It is a shame to have not trusted those who would have "had our back" because we listened to the fear and didn't realize it wasn't a warning, but just fear. It is also a shame to continue to put our faith/confidence/trust in those that are harmful and deceitful.

I suppose the only way we can have faith or confidence is to continue to put ourselves out there and hope that our decisions are correct for us; hope that the people we put ourselves around aren’t the people and organizations that are harmful and deceitful.  If we do find ourselves lacking confidence in our abilities to trust ourselves or others because of the barrage of assaults to our psyche, then hopefully, we have people in our lives to remind us that we have a reason to trust because we chose them correctly, and they do have our back.

...

Will I always be me?

Goodnight Moon

When I cannot sleep, there is a reminder in the sky that helps me feel connected.  It helps me realize that I am small in comparison. It is a satellite, but it is beautiful…The moon.  My infatuation with the moon started as a young child, way before I ever even noticed Orion, my hunter and guide.  The moon is something that many people stare at and wonder if anyone out there in the world is connected to them by the emotions they feel when they see it.  It is constant; a friend, a guide.  It shines so bright on borrowed light, yet it smiles back at you like it is creating it all on its own.

Sometimes I tell the moon my thoughts and fears. Sometimes I smile with it and feel sweet caresses from knowing that I am not alone. I watched the moon tonight.  It made me feel a little better. It allowed me to remember I am one of many who cherish that sight all over the world.  I can sleep now.  So, goodnight moon, my friend, goodnight.

The Beholder

"It's been days. I have to do this. It'll make me feel better," she said aloud in the empty house where no one but herself could hear.  As she turned the hot water handle to the highest setting and pulled the knob to start the shower, the tears sting her eyes as she realizes she does not want to take her clothes off again.  The nakedness reminds her of the past and she tries to push the memories out of her head. 

The bathroom starts to fog over as the thoughts continue to penetrate her mind. The pain of each movement and each thought as she slowly undresses is unbearable, but she is stronger than she realizes.  One sleeve, one movement, one breath, one moment at a time. She's left standing in her underwear and socks and is confused at which ones to take off last.  Both seem equally difficult as she loses herself in thought as to "why the socks?" She leans down to take off one sock at a time and the tears slow down.  She collapses in her underwear safely onto the floor of the foggy bathroom.  "Breathe!" she screams as she holds the damned socks and desires to set the clothes on fire.  Finally, the courage rises up for a split second as she stands up and throws her underwear into the trash. They were her favorite...

As she steps into the searingly hot shower, she breathes a sigh of relief.  The water is hotter than necessary; too hot, yet not hot enough.  She wonders how hot a shower would have to be to cleanse the soul.  How many times does she need to shampoo her hair?  How much soap does it take to sanitize her body? 

The tears mix with the streams of water from the showerhead and she feels for a fraction of a moment that she is not alone. There are others out there that are crying with her and the tears are cleansing each of them.  Within the scalding water amongst the soap and tears there was courage and bravery hiding which she did not yet see. That fraction of a moment was the beginning of acceptance.  Years may go by before she realizes that (if she can remember) that was the first moment of healing.  The first of many moments.

She scrubs harder than she should as she tries to wash the sins of another away.  She realizes no soap nor will any amount of hot water cleanse her soul. With this knowledge, she curls up on the floor of the shower to feel the heat singe her skin until the water runs cold and the tears run dry.  Slowly, she turns the water off. Shivering, she leans over to wrap herself into the towel.  She whispers, "I wish you were softer," and she is not fully aware if she means just the towel or both the towel and life itself. 

Time may heal all wounds, but rarely does the scar completely fade away.
 
************************************************************
This is dedicated to one in four women and to the two thirds that never speak up to be accounted for.
According to the U.S. Department of Justice, every two minutes a woman in America is raped. 

...

Beauty is a mighty weight when really seen in its completeness.

I Walk the Line

I watched a movie tonight and I could only think of you. I remembered how you would sing to me and I would smile. I remembered how you danced with me and how we would laugh with joy as we spun and twirled until we were out of breath.  I also remembered how we know each other and what we have been through.  I remember the lives we have lived even though they weren't lived with each other. I remember when you told me you loved me and that you never said it again.  I remember how after you said it I felt your regret.  I can feel the joy intermixed with the heartache that I've felt in the arms of my friend.

The memories are so vivid that I can taste the Lucky Strikes in my mouth and feel the bits of tobacco on my tongue because I could never learn that twirl you do to the end.  I feel that emotion of frustration within me as if I were in that moment now.  I feel the joy. I feel the regret. I can hear the music and the song you sing and I am in your arms once again. 

I can feel myself being mad at you for being intoxicated and obstinate, and being independent and stubborn. Wait, that last part was me.  I can also feel the connection between us and I forget.  I remember the moments like they were yesterday of feeling like we were as one. I forget that you have this other life that I was never a part of.  I forget that you existed before I met you.   I think it comes from where and how we met.  It's almost as though you are a character that just appeared one day in the book I write about my life.

I did not know the day I met you that you would be more to me than just another person in that room.  That is the place I was in when I first met you.  I can only begin to imagine what place you were in even though I listened and heard the pain emanating from within you. I would see pieces of you in people I met through everywhere I traveled from that day onward.

The day I saw you again I felt a spark and realized just how much I missed you. I remember the day I started to pull away and I even knew why; I couldn't stop myself.  Did you know I was pulling away? Did you know I left? If you did, did you know why?  I cannot imagine that your conclusion would have been correct. Unless, that is, that you remembered what a stranger was saying so long ago as she talked in circles of fear and neglect amongst the thoughts of the terrified within that room in which we first met.

No road can be traveled to reach you at this moment; no letter can be sent.  I miss my friend and I cannot tell you that. So, I sit here on Christmas Eve as the clock turns to midnight writing to you knowing that even if you were on this continent tonight, my friend wouldn't be here to dance or to sing to me because your life is elsewhere and also because I left. 

Lost and Found

 

For those who search for what I've found
I sought for life's answers abound.
As I lay awake in bed at night
I search the world to see the light.
I know not what I'll do
but I make my lists to see things through.

I try and try, yet I make mistakes.
I search my world with all it takes.
I've learned a lot,
but my travels aren't through.
My life is just now starting anew.

I hold what's dear close to my heart.
My world just seems to fall apart.
My life has never been as it seems.
I lie in bed and search my dreams.

One day I dream to be happy and free
and to know myself just as Me.

--Me

Memory Book in My Mind

  
Laying here in the dark I flip through the memory book in my mind. The still shots and video play one by one as I pull them up to remember friends, places, and moments that have passed by. They are all there reminding me of courage, friendship, kindness, bravery, zest, freedom, audacity, goofiness, and fun. I feel the laughter that made my cheeks hurt, the hellos and goodbyes, the birthdays and the ceremonies, the trips down memory lane with old friends. I see stills of people only seen once that burnt into my soul. I see the pictures of the trips I took. I remember the time my mother woke me in the middle of the night when it snowed; we played in the flakes and giggled together as we snuck through the cold wet night.   I can hear the rumble of the car and feel the chill of the night through the window as I saw my first glimpse of the moon in the sky.  The moment of awe when I saw my first Leonardo da Vinci painting in the Hermitage and the minutes that ticked by as I wept in the presence of my favorite Monet in the Guggenheim are textured with life and beauty.

I feel the emotions and sensations of every scene. I can smell the wonderful scents of grandma's cookies and the orchid scented air with the first breath I took when stepping from the plane in Hawaii. I feel the heat of the heater on high with the wind blowing through the car in the old Taurus (so it didn't overheat) on an August trip with an old friend. I remember moments that made my heart skip and made the world feel still just because someone I admired spoke to me or whispered my name in kindness. I feel them all as if I were amid each moment yet again.

This one particular book is filled with reminders that life is filled with the little moments that make everything else seem worthwhile. No fire or natural disaster can take this book away. It is mine to hold on to. It contains the stories of my life.

Our minds hold our memory books from the beginning to the end.

42

How many people are trying to find their place in this world? How many have given up and are just here awaiting the end of their lives?  How many of the people do I see everyday go to sleep with a smile on their face or cry themselves to sleep, whether it be aloud or in their soul? 

Could this actually be Heaven or Hell, or even purgatory, a waiting area for our souls, trapped inside these physical temples of our minds?  Where are we? What are we?  We are humanoids on a tiny blue dot in the universe.  Do those questions even matter?  Does it matter that some of us spend our days and nights trying to understand the meaning of life?

I Googled the meaning of life one night.  The question was populated already.  How many others had searched for this answer on the Internet, the least likely place to find it?  I'm not sure there is an answer, at least not one that will make sense to any of us. 

Maybe our time here is what we make of it.  Maybe we are just suppose to be kind to each other and be a community of one?  Part of the problem with that is that all communities have outsiders, bullies, traitors, and thieves.  Our micro and macro communities (from our individual selves to our entire planet) have trials and tribulations.  Eternal and everlasting peace is not possible here on the tiny blue dot, nor within ourselves. All peace is temporary and sweet; from a quiet moment of enjoying a piece of warm pie, to a long walk on a sunny day, to countries getting along. 

On this planet, it is temporary.  Even what people consider to be Heaven and Hell is exclusive to those that follow certain paths.  What does this mean in regards to peace on earth or even within ourselves?  I'm not sure. I do not have these answers.  I have just many questions and speculations.  I search for the answers and I do not know why; and I question that, too.

Free Stuff?

So I did a little people watching experiment today.  Some neighbors moved out a few houses down.  They left some furniture by the trash bins at the curb.  I added some items to the mix, photographed each piece, and put up a "curb alert" with photos on Craigslist.  I searched the "wanted" postings and anonymously called the ones that requested some free items that matched what was on the curb (I was trying to be helpful). 

At this point I had three types of freecyclers; the drive-bys, the Craigslist scourers, and the ones that posted that they needed items.  Then I sat on my porch and watched. I watched people slow down to look, people pull over and get out, some came back with vehicles to carry the items.  Some were very excited, some did not seem to see anything they wanted.  Some pulled up in their trucks, casually loaded the item of their desire and left.  Most people looked around to see if people were watching...maybe they felt guilt or shame? Did they think they were stealing? There wasn't a "free" sign on anything.  It was next to the garbage bins, though.  My bet is those are not the people who saw the items on Craigslist.  I, too, like free stuff. I also like freecycling.

I did enjoy watching people load their vehicles with smiles on their faces with such good finds.  After each item was taken to a new home, I updated the posting to let people know what remained.

There were two ladies that made me smile the most today.  They parked across the street in an apartment parking lot.  One got out first, walked over to the faux suede couch, got excited, ran back to the truck and got in. The other woman got out, did the same thing and ran back to the truck.  Then, together, the women moseyed, no sauntered nonchalantly (the way they were they could have even been whistling), over to the couch, then immediately grabbed each end and ran across the street, loaded it in the truck, and drove away quickly.  It gave me the giggles.

All the items are now in a new place where people wanted them.  The ad has been deleted.  My Sunday evening was filled with pleasure seeing people get excited over free stuff.  Now, I know there is no such thing as free, but a few things happened today: one, the stuff didn't end up in a landfill; two, some people in need got some things to help them out; and three, the only price they paid was the price of me watching people getting excited about free stuff. All of this made me happy, even if for just one evening. I don't think the price was too steep.

My Crypt

As I laid there entwined within your body,
I listened to your healthy heart beating in your chest.
It soothed me.
It lulled me to the sleep I had missed.
The feeling was fleeting,
I had to run from peace back to my crypt. 
The thump thump thump of your heart pumping
life through your veins was beautiful
and overwhelming.
I ran to be alone.
I understand alone.
I ran from my desire to hear your heart beating...
to hear life that is fleeting.
Beautiful Life.

...

Sometimes the truest friends are the strangers you meet and never see again.

Pay It Forward and the phone call that made my day.

I just received a phone call from a woman that took my resume workshop this July. She said I changed her life because I cared enough to help, that I took my personal time to help her. She is now the career advisor for an institute. She called to tell me that I taught her how to be proud of herself, to have courage, and to do the best resume they had seen. I made a difference in someones life and it was good. She told me she was putting a budget together to pay me to help the students there on my free time from work and wanted to let me know what she was planning because I "had the ability to change lives."

I cried with such a sweet smile on my face. I actually did something that made a difference. I helped her by just being me. And to think, summer of 2009 I just started over in a new town in a new state with $400, my dog, no job, no friends and no family. I have succeeded in doing what I wanted in life...making a difference in at least one person's life...to teach them how to get up from down-and-out and learn skills to better themselves, to be productive, and to help others. Strangely enough, I now realize I also did that for myself, too.

People have always wanted to know why I didn't do something with my life that was better than a lowly social worker or a writer. Old friends have asked, "I thought you would be a brain surgeon, an astronaut, or a physicist by now, what happened? Why did you choose social work?" Well, because that is my personality. I'm a helper. My last boss knew that. He told me, "April it is who you are, not what you do. My bet is that you have always been a social worker." I have and will continue to be.

Restlessness and Sleepless Nights

The people here have become restless.  It's starting to eat me alive just being amongst it.

People are snapping, flipping, and doing things they wouldn't normally do.  It's affecting everyone...good decent people and people who normally behave badly are making choices to become worse than they were before. 

My favorite hangout, that used to feel like a homey place, now feels like an abusive husband that takes every good thought or decent piece of yourself away.  It is a monstrosity that is beginning to eat at me.  It is no longer welcoming.  It is no longer a safe place that wants us back.  It is a business.  It is making money off of the truly desperate, the lonely, and the ones who once felt only safety within those particular walls. 

It is a monstrosity and it is alive; sucking our souls dry while it wets our lips with fear, anger, and sin.