Before Christmas

Before Christmas is always a special time that begins with Thanksgiving and lasts right up until the New Year. It is a time wherein I do huge amounts of internal research on my past and present juxtapositions. Many years ago, I was a Christmas Demon...rushing around and buying something for everyone....this gradually faded into attempts to bring back meaning by making all the said gifts by hand...for those ventures, I had nothing but an empty wallet for the beginning of the year and/or very sore hands.

Now, I do a lot of watching and witnessing...and internalizing. I avoid retail stores like the plague, while painting and writing with no dead line. I have forgiven myself for telling my childrern stories as truth, when in reality there is no big fat man bringing relief. There is nothing I have to buy, as the gift I have found to be the most important...is the gift of my time.

It is a time, when enough people take off...that you can actually spend some time with them. I love how New Zealand still shuts down, less than more these days, but more than less compared to where I use to live in the USA...people in New Zealand get out and embrace their baches, their weekend retreats and some still take a month to create a home away from home in one of their favorite spots...outside the home. I'm digging that...

This week, my partner and I will go to the Moeraki Boulders...he will fish, I will walk the beach, contemplate the boulders, write and paint. No doubt, we will eat lots of fish...he is optimistic for the catch...I am just pleased that I can choose to be somewhere where the surrounding area is not begging me for a purchase...and, the green is not juxtaposed with so much red.

Dear Mother...You Know

Dear Mother…you know. You know what you mean to me deep inside yourself, no matter what…you always know…that’s what a mother does. She knows something for you and helps you achieve that. She knows you need food and so…she gives you some. She knows you need to defecate…and so she changes your diaper, wipes your bottom, investigates all the crooks and crannies of your body in ways that you find disgusting sometime before five years of age. By then, your cracks are your own, unless of course there is a deep emergency…like poison ivy on the buttocks, or worse, in the crack…it begs to be administered to, no matter, ‘yo’ momma’.

You know because you were young, too…and know the difficulties of finding your voice in the turmoil of broken homes, beaten dreams, and shattered lives within the slip of every family…no matter what. I like to remember to listen to you…because you know a lot. You know what you know and what I might know… all at once. Mother, you rock!

When I forget to show you and tell you how much you mean to me, would you please do me a favor? Remember that you already know, because mother’s always know… no matter what…they know that everything goes round, growing and multiplying…no matter what…because it did for them, and that is what makes a mother, knowing that.

Dear Mother…you know who.

Babble-on

What a relief...a blank page and no one to sneer, snarl or roll the eyes...just an imaginative friend listening to all my lies. Lies, lies, lies...they lie about in my mind until I bring them to light. Light fixes them permanently pegged to little pixels that flip back into my face...yes, YOU wrote this @#*!.

But, why? Why do some of us insist upon writing down things while others are happy to let the lies lie? I haven't a clue, I just know that I am one of the two...

Consciousness

Consciousness feels like a bright spot that you look into, not out of, amidst the intersecting patterns inside the mind. It illuminates one small portion at a time but reminds us that there is so much more to see...eventually...