Hello again, old friend.
06/14/2005 07:13 a.m.
Ive come back from a short sabbatical. I love reading poetry. I love seeing other peoples words. Its gives power to emotion and reminds me that I am not alone. I missed it while living my own personal pity party recently. The world may be crumbling and not making much sense, but there is always honesty here. My own personal truth is that I do not understand the reason for the state of the world. Its like Im looking through a kaleidoscope and I cant make sense of the pieces. The reality of the truth is bent and broken and I dont have the answers to make them fit.

My Mother was the puzzle queen. She knew how to give me enough of the picture to pull together a portion of sense. She could reach into my soul and calm it. She knew me better than I know myself. God, I miss her and I havent been able to deal with the BS since her passing. My brother says he still hears her, but I cant. She was decent and honest. She had an impenetrable integrity that I admired and aspired to.

Ive never had that kind of freedom with anyone but her, the kind of freedom where you dont have to be writing a poem on the impersonal Internet to be brutally honest. I feel the pressures of time on my finding that again and I havent even come close in so long, I actually fear it. Ive taken steps in dismantling the fake me. Ive torn down the fake walls and abandoned the part of me that was weakened by stability. Its all Ive known. Do what youve got to do to keep the status quo because what it would actually take to be happy is so beyond the scope of my understanding at this time. Ive had to lose the stability to stop living a routine and start living.

Im so out of my comfort zone, I could use my Mothers words to guide me. I wish that I could hear them. I wish that I could be fearless like she was. My Mother wanted to be an actress and she was. She worked on Broadway and for NBC when she was young. She could get up there and do it. Whatever it was. Even after she became a Wife and mother and fell into her lifes routine, she made time for her passion. I remember being in diapers in the backstage watching her rehearse. Ive spent my life hiding my words from the fear that someone would say I was terrible at it. It shouldnt matter.

Poetry has always been a spiritual guide. I know that there is a poem out there that could tell me what I need to hear. I know the words are there to inspire me the way my Mother has in the past and I know that my words have value, if only to me.

I am currently Better
I am listening to A softly purring kitty cat.

Hey Alicia. Thanks for writing this. It is comforting to know that someone else out there is feeling what I am. My mom passed away October. Trying to figure out my post college years and figure out what I am meant to be doing in this place has been my ongoing struggle. Then with the stuff that happened with my mom, it almost feels like there is a rush to become what I am supposed to be. I have done some writing about her and the times so if you would like to take a look, you can do so in my MOM folder in my library. If you want to talk anytime just send me a message on here or on AIM. I completely understand the fear thing. My worst enemy right now is the fear of failure. I am so afraid to take the leap into many of my proposed ventures. It always has been my downfall: never finishing what I start. It has become cronic since my mom "left." I fall into these trances where time doesn't exist and I just think about life before she was gone. I miss our conversations. I miss how she knew me better than anyone has, or maybe (gasp) anyone ever will. I suppose I won't pour my soul into a journal comment, but I am willing to discuss anything you want to whenever you want. Just take a look at my writings about my mom, maybe it might help see that there are others out there who know what you are going through...