Re-finder's Fee

I painted this. I started working on it over the summer. I wasn't sure what it would become. But I knew I wanted something new to hang in the dining room. And I didn't want to buy something. I wanted to make it. Is it great art? Nope. But I worked on it on and off for weeks until it spoke to me. Early this morning it said, "Hang me up now." I grabbed a hammer, some nails, and wire. I prepped the back of the canvas. Banging away at 6am while my husband slept upstairs. Wondering, probably, what on earth I was doing. Or maybe not. He's used to me waking up suddenly inspired to scrub the bathroom, practice or rearrange the kitchen cabinet. It can be anything at all. I used to wonder if this was a kind of madness but I've decided nothing in my life would ever get done if it weren't for these bursts of energy. It's just how I get things done.

I am, I've decided, in a period of redefining myself. Or, perhaps, better said, re-finding myself. For a period of a couple of years I've been drifting. Unsure of my purpose or direction. Just toiling and moving forward. I suppose that's the best any of us manage. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that. But it sure is nice to actually have a sense of knowing where you're headed or where you are at any given moment. I may not know either of those two things, but I'm definitely feeling more proactive about which way I'm moving along this river called Life. That's better than nothing for now.While musing over this this morning I thought, "When I do find myself where I'd like to be, do I collect a re-finder's fee?"

Where's the Good Ole Girl Network?

This past year, I've read many of the articles written on the subject of rape culture and violence against women which have been appearing in nearly all news publications around the globe. I just read one in the Huffington Post about the institution of "women only" taxis to make women feel "safer". They are modeling this after women only buses in India and special female only train cars in Japan. I find this to be a dangerous trend and a step backward. While it may be a temporary stop gap and a comfort to some, it continues to send the signal that men have the power to crush us and we must hide safely away from them.  What message are we sending young girls?  

The problems we face come from a male global sense of sexual entitlement (and entitlement to power) while women, by and large, continue to feel a sense of lacking power and a sense of fear. We have been conditioned to not only fear the power of the men around us but, worse still, to fear our own power. Women are taught it is "unfeminine" to be powerful or to desire anything approximating power. Including and, in many cases, especially, sexual power.

Another solution to the constant groping in the trains in Japan and the rampant rape in India could easily have been to hand out pepper spray to women and girls who use these means of transportation. Wouldn't men begin to simmer down if "Mr. Yamadori" showed up to his morning meeting weeping and red faced because a woman on the train sprayed him? But no... the very people in charge don't want this kind of a solution. It would "upset the social order". By which they mean, men would be called out for their behavior on a fairly regular basis and instead of a headline reading "Girl Gets Publicly Molested on Train" we might see "VP of Corporation X is Pepper Sprayed on his Way to Work." That just won't do. They must "save face". And who are the people most vested in saving face? The people in charge - most of whom are men.

We cannot begin to level the playing field by hiding away. Women cannot shy away and cower if we're ever going to be treated as powerful beings with rights to our bodies and our thoughts. Men have done one thing throughout history that we women can stand to learn from. They have always banded together. They don't call it the " Good Ole Boy" network for nothing. Women need to stop cutting each other down and borrow this page from the men. We need to form more of our own networks. Sororities have to stop being about silly parties and make up and who has the nicest Prada bag. They need to be about banding together to help support each other up the ladder. Inductions should probably include lessons in ball kicking and how to fight dirty when necessary.

Yes, it's true that in our world, if a woman is pretty and has a nice figure, she will get more attention and it may even help her get higher up the ladder than if she doesn't have these attributes. But this should not be the thing that girls are taught to focus all their attention on. We need to keep our nails sharp and our bodies strong. But also learn to use our softer qualities to our advantage. We can focus our compassion to avoid getting lost in the power struggles that lead to selfish feelings of entitlement so we don't get caught in the trap men find themselves in too often. But we have a long way to go before that is a worldwide problem for us. Right now I think we need to focus on banding together from a place of strength, not fear.

Going swimming

 

This has never happened
This is not supposed to be
I have been a non believer all my life.
In my days throughout the desert there has been no drop of water
Only strange mirages and a couple drops of rain.

Never have I seen this
It’s an ocean in the desert
It’s a sea of life and coral right where cactuses were once.
Do my eyes deceive me?
I cannot ignore the omens
I must swim, I must jump in
I must get wet
This water’s fine.

This has never happened
I never thought it would
In an instance I forgot the scorching sun
Or the burning in my heart 
or the thirst within my bones.

I fell with such abandon
I fell into its embrace
Into an ocean in the desert -
It has such a lovely face.

Copper Penny

I'd like to own you like a shiny copper penny
That I keep in my pocket;
putting my hand in to trace the outline of your face
Feeling the smooth texture
knowing always that you're there;
that you'll be there as long I keep you there.

But you are not an indelible image emblazened into copper
The way you've become etched into my being.
You are so very free.
Freer than anyone I've met
Than the leaves that blow into my yard in the fall.
You won't be held steady (this is both my joy and my suffering.)
You won't be mine
Although I have the most important parts of you;
which you give me freely whenever you sideways smile at me
Or sigh into my shoulder.
I am content to take that which you give.
To others it may seem paltry but I know that for you
it is nearly your soul.

I will not own you now or ever
But when your flitting swooping dancing skirt twirls in my direction
I wait to dance with you
Until the music plays no more
And off you go again
Off you go again.

Dark Day.

I'm having a dark day. We're not supposed to talk about them. We're not supposed to belly ache. We're not supposed to "wallow." We are not supposed to cry in public. We are not supposed to admit to our weakness, our frailty, our out-of-controlness- or our incompetence. When someone asks, "How are you?" the socially acceptable response is "I'm fine, how are you?" It would be impolite to dump your darkness all over another human being. This darkness is further exacerbated by shame. We are "supposed" to be happy. There is a stigma attached to being unhappy. As if someone who is unhappy is choosing to be. Insisting upon dwelling there. But that doesn't stopped the darkness from setting up a residence in some people's souls. Beneath the smiles and the glossy exteriors of some of your friends there might be a black hole that sucks them in but which they have learned to cover up. In fact, I'm going to assume that right now someone you think is exceedingly charmed is sitting home pacifying their dark beast. Someone you believe to be blessed is lulling themselves to sleep with an arsenal of weapons - sad movies, ice cream, alcohol, cutting, sex, heroin... so much to choose from. All in the hope of making the beast abate so they can go back to their seemingly carefree existence.

I just read an article that Russell Brand wrote about his 10 year sobriety. In the wake of the death of Philip Seymour Hoffman, his story touched me deeply. He talked very candidly about the way heroin lured him and continues to lure him daily. His struggle with sobriety was described in nearly poetic terms. The seduction from his heroin lover was described as the "... bilious kiss of the greedy bliss." I read that several times over. I've never done heroin but I've heard many descriptors for it and this one reaches me viscerally. Good job, Mr. Brand, at helping a non user grasp the surrender to a greedy master. It is the thing of vampire romances.

Reading his article, so close to this other brilliant man's tragic death, on a day when I am feeling the desire to feel such exquisite surrender, such sublime escape from my own black depths - it has made me think. In my current raw state I am, luckily, not ashamed to write about this topic. Because I've always felt that if more of us exposed our souls in this manner, we might prevent future senseless deaths. I know it isn't that simple. I realize the problem is compounded by the physical dependency that comes with using drugs or other substances. I know it isn't as easy as giving someone a hug. But maybe, just maybe, if he'd felt like there was a person or persons he could go to who would see him - really see him - light and dark. If he'd felt he had a lap he could wallow and wail into until his darkness passed. Then, maybe the needle would have stopped calling him so loudly. Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have succumbed to that "bilious kiss of the greedy bliss."

We must become more human. We need to be less media driven and less star crazed. Philip Seymour Hoffman was one of the most gifted actors to grace our screens. Amy Winehouse was one of the most talented singers I'd heard in a very long time when she died. Why are so many brilliant people giving in and giving up? I speculate that despite their incredible success and fame, they still feel like they are falling short. Even if only in their minds - they feel it. Nothing can soothe the furious and unrelenting voice beating them up from the inside. And surely, this must be compounded by a pressure to be Godlike. To be above it. Perhaps they feel they couldn't possibly admit to being unhappy. How dare they complain about anything, graced as they are with good fortune? We mere mortals cannot relate to that kind of pressure. But if I put myself in their shoes for a few moments, I can imagine that it must become a terrible double edged burden. 

This leads me to the final point of this article. Mental health in this country is woefully deemphasized - shunned by many. Mental and spiritual instability brings with it societal ostracization. The devalued homeless are systematically swept off city streets and hidden away so as not to blemish cities' outward images of tidiness and order. It is just another way in which our denial of emotional imbalance manifests itself. The bureaucratic answer is to hide the dark creatures, and then they won't exist. But they do. The mentally ill and spiritually lost on the streets are the most blatant example of our loss of humanity. These are the people who stopped smiling and saying, "I'm fine, how are you?" Either they surrendered to the needle entirely or they chose to walk away from a society that gave up on them. Either way, they're not all that different from Philip Seymour Huffman in the end. Their life just took them on a different journey.

We must be less afraid of peering into those dark places. We must, as a society, honor each other. Not by shunning or whitewashing and denying the existence of our dark places, but gently shedding a soft embracing light into those spaces. As such, I think it is high time we discuss why most insurance plans barely cover mental health services. I think it is high time we consider having more humane systems in place for people who have drifted outside of the community. In particular, we need to bring mental and spiritual services back to schools. When I say spiritual, I don't mean religious. What I mean is that kids need a sense of community and peoplehood and empathy and lovingness that is too often being replaced by material pursuits and the attainment of surface, goal oriented success. 

Adam Lanza of the Sandy Hook tragedy might have turned to drugs but instead he turned to violence. This is just another side of the same coin. And it didn't need to happen. After that tragedy there was some noise here and there in some of the media circles about mental health. There was talk of how his mental health was neglected and schools needed better ways of identifying at-risk youth. But then it went quiet. I had hoped that Obamacare would come with better mental health coverage and make a statement about caring for the souls of our citizens, as well as our bodies. But then that didn't manifest either. 

So on this dark day, with my dark thoughts pursuing me, I have put my own inner voices on pause so I can listen to the wailing of the many who don't just have dark days, but dark weeks, months, years. And as a fellow human, I wish to speak for all of us. We need to do better. Each and every one of us needs to do better. We can't shake our heads as if the tragedies have nothing to do with us. We can't post a message and be consider our part done. We must live with our eyes where our hearts are. Aware and unashamed. Loving enough to care and brave enough to face the ugly sides of our natures. We may not have the assistance of our representatives but we can look out for each other. Because we are all close enough to someone else to catch them before they fall.

How I came to know the Beatles.

Sweet boys
In crisp tailored suits
Brought me
My alphabet songs
My lullabies
My good night moon and
      wonderland
I was but a thought
when your joyful voices
Reached me in utero
Perking up my ears
While I bounced inside a happy momma
Learning to la la la 
Until the sun came out
But by then
You had changed the world.

On "Girls" (the HBO show)

Since everyone else seems to have something to say about the HBO show, Girls, including the National Review, I kind of feel it's time for me to weigh in. Especially since I've apparently got a problem wrapping my head around it. I have attempted to watch a couple of episodes but each time I cringe inwardly (and sometimes outwardly) at how bad I think it is. I realize many, many people must love it. I mean... it's making millions. Yet, somehow, the appeal is lost on me. The first time I watched it I told my husband I think it should be renamed "Sad." Because it seemed like all the characters were sad, empty shells of some other characters that might have had life once. And the events, even if funny at times, seemed kind of pathetic. After trying a second episode I then informed my husband that it would be a good show to play a drinking game to. We could take a shot of tequila each time one of the characters actually uttered the word "sad". (I'd heard it a few times during the particular episode I'd watched.)

Still... the show's popularity had been gnawing at me - quietly - like a virus that runs through your body without your knowledge until you suddenly develop a rash and a fever, by which point, it's usually too late. It led to the following. One day while I was headed int NYC on NJ Transit, I found myself sitting next to a pretty, white, bookish 24 year old girl who was on her cell phone to her dad. She was explaining how she'd gotten off a plane from Spain and was headed into the city to meet up with a co-worker then headed to Brooklyn. Then she said some things that made me think she might be a writer or her job entails writing because she said something about needing to hand in a writing assignment to her boss.

Ding, ding, ding!! Perfect!!  If ANYONE on the planet could explain "Girls" to me, it HAD to be this girl sitting next to me! I saw my chance and took it. I engaged her in conversation and asked her if she watched the show. She said she'd only seen one episode but her friends loved it. Great! I asked her if she could explain why her and her friends seemed to love the show so much (because, I explained... I just wasn't getting it). She looked somewhat bemused and like she was debating if she should continue speaking to me but then decided to play along. She said she thought the characters were a lot like people she actually knew. That other shows about girls have historically sent a signal that girls are supposed to be cute and sweet and charming and always have perfect hair and this show showed girls could be fat and awkward and fart. Okay.... I get that. I do.

But looking at her, it still wasn't adding up. Here was a pretty girl who seemed to actually have her shit pretty together, judging from the conversation I'd just overheard. Even if she did fart she seemed to be doing it with a real job and responsibilities. And, frankly, she was about a size 4 and quite cute... so I'm not sure how she felt she identified with these misfits on "Girls' but... okay... I get that part of it. I get that we women are sick and tired of being told what we're supposed to look like, how we're supposed to act, what is respectable and what isn't... I DO get that. But still... "Girls"? Really? Is this the only way we have right now to get that point across?

Hm. I will concede that it is progress of a kind. Imperfect, but heading in a generally progressive direction. Ultimately, time will tell. However, I reserve to the right to continue thinking it's a little bit sad. But I also concede that maybe I don't "get" it because it isn't a show targeting my demographic. It is a show targeting a group of disaffected, frustrated 20 and 30 somethings. Mostly white, mostly college educated and mostly totally out of the realm of my understanding. So I accept that maybe I can't give this show a truly unbiased review any more than the National Review can. The pretty 24 year old on NJ Transit did kind of look at me as though my opening line to her was "I come in peace". That should have been my cue to stop trying to "get" this show. Maybe I just won't ever. And that is probably fine.