retreat.

here i am on retreat,

so,

why won't anything inside of me settle?

I'm held up, braced....

wanting just to go home.

is it the money I spent?

is it that now I'm all alone (but for Ursa)

an interesting morning.

car packed and on the road by about 8 am

Ursa and all

Off to Maggie Valley

and a psm tx.

tears.

talk of lineage.

and more tears.

the tx sank me into images of the gulf of mexico.

seeing her, feeling the changes of the day.

early morning sounds and scents, the beginning of light and birdsong.

mid morning and the arrival of voices, maybe a boat

into the day and the business of fun and sun

afternoon, later, the sun melting down the horizon.

skin, warm and taut,

salty.

gulls cry, sandpipers running.

then, images of me on retreat, art and sanctuary.

art and sanctuary.

here, in maggie valley or cherokee.

but, I wasn't quite sure I had the courage.

so I went to Soco Falls and sat and mostly smiled at Ursa's delight with the waterfall.

then I drove.

did i say I prayed for a miracle with my family? I did.

La called to share with me her visit to Florida to see Dad.

We spoke warmly. I felt cared for.

She acknowledged how one of us always tends to get separated from the herd, but that it isn't that we don't all love each other. We are all some part of Dad and sometimes that is hard to stay with.

Naming it.

It felt good.

I turned my car to drive south on 26. La suggested I call Li to check the weather since a depression is coming through Florida. She suggests that time is short. Probably less than a month and he will only decline further.

Meanwhile, this week has been good.

In person it is easier to know if he is present or not; if he is clear or confused.

I drive south.

I call Li; who is more staccato and brief with me. not unkind, but not warm. It's okay. I'm understanding that everyone is going through their own process. She tells me the weather report for the state. A tropical storm is blowing through the east coast of Florida and the gulf coast will have heavy rainfall.

I turn the car north.

I drive around and around. I don't know where I need to be.

I feel like I can't go home.

I need to retreat somewhere.

the car is packed. Ursa is with me.

Grief is in my pocket.

art and sanctuary. art and sanctuary.

a little corner somewhere to be.

to draw, to write, to maybe play music.

to listen to rain.

to grieve.

and here I am. after driving all the way back to asheville.

walking around Amboy park; hoping for dogs for ursa to play with (to no avail)

then driving around in circles and circles.

then, back to Maggie Valley and stopping in at motels and creekside cottages looking for the place to be

then my mind gets busy getting busy and I start wondering why I would pay money to be so close to home when I have a perfectly good home and I think I still can't quite figure that part out except that I feel like this is about #1 listening. trusting my guidance. and this is an act of doing just that.

#2 getting that I'm worth it for goddsakes. A night away. a little space. trusting the money around that.

still. at the check in I hesitate and before I know it I'm confessing my ambivalence to Charlotte at the front desk.

She is SHE I think, because she says I can just stay for a few hours and if I have to leave she'll give me my money back. (though, probably part of the tough part about not being able to settle in....there is still a CHOICE to make) She takes $10 off the room to soften the choice. I feel held by this. grateful.

I stay. here I am in the Meadowlark Motel. ursa and I had a good time in the "backyard" with the gorgeous creek (which, I suspect is a finger or vein of the Ocanaluftee) and stick throwing. She's happy, so I'm happy.

Then the rain began so here we are inside.

I watched dumb TV for an hour just because I never see TV and I want a little hit of hypnotic sleep.

But only a dumb hour. That's permissable.

but, now I'm writing and the nervousness is settling in.

what is it?

is it because I'm away from home? (illusion)

is it because now I'm here with myself. Ursa is resting. All the feelings are here.

The reality is.

Dad is dying. His death is imminent.

Today I've talked with mom, La, Li, and Ju. (I like writing their names like this).

Will I have the opportunity to see him again?

He is ever changing. Today I did not call him because I was told to avoid it. Today he is having hallucinations.

That would be unbearable to witness, i think.

Ju told me he signed a DNR; of course he did...he's in hospice.

But, that still struck me like an arrow.

He will die in that bed.

Will I see him again?

Who will I see if I get there in time? Will he see me?

What comforts me is that he is happiest where he is. He is being genuinely cared for. he is not disturbed by medical tests and procedures and treatments. He is being fed good food. He has his own room and it is not like a hospital. It is a home. And people are caring for him; letting him be. not questioning or challenging his right to choose his path.

this comforts me.

and still, I am filled to the brim with so much sorrow.

slow to know.

a talk after talk with my brilliant friends.

over and over I hear that there is no right or wrong here.

there is no right answer.

D. tells me I'm "in the field."

What he means is: the field of ambivalence.

There is no way to win.

Either choice I make, ever made as a kid, had a consequence that hurt.

Choices, back then, were determined in an anxiety producing loop (similar to what I'm now experiencing) that distilled the question down to, "which choice will hurt less?"

never, "which choice will feel the best?".

It makes sense that I should feel so confused right now.

My dad is being kind and he has asked to see me. As far as I know, he has no memory of the cliffdrop and jawkick he executed barely a week ago.

And, though he might not remember, it is in my body's cells to keep it alive.

I am not mentally holding a grudge.

my mind can, in fact, see somewhat around this dilemma. Dementia.

It is my body that bears the burden.

So, when I mobilize to consider if I will drive my car tomorrow for 12 hours to see my father for one day before I get back in the car for another 12 hours, I almost immediately collapse.

the exhaustion and overwhelm is great.

great, in the sense of the word being vast and as full as the ocean great, not great as in supergoodness great.

I am so tired.

Talking with S. tonight, something finally settled.

I was hanging on the cliffedge with a swirl of panic and agoraphobia, very uncertain about making it to the next moment, when something somewhere like 30 minutes into our talk she began to speak about the illusion of time.

I had been talking about the grand urgency I felt.

I said I only needed more time to settle and sort this out, that for now, my body was clear in telling me I did not want to go.

She wisely pointed to it.

There.

We only have what our bodies are telling us. When we listen, we are safest. Things tend to work out without too much overwhelm. when we listen to what our bodies are telling us in each moment.

Now.

Now.

Now.

Urgency is a mind construct.

my panic that I have no time is an illusion.

If I override my body's impulse of the moment to hurry up and keep up, I am rushing past myself and knocking me down in the stampede of a crowd, in essence.

I need to remember this wisdom.

Whatever I do here, I have to slow down long enough to listen to my body.

IT knows what I need, more than anything else.

There is only this. only now.

Can I trust this, even in the speed of my father's life coming to its end?

just digesting a big ol' plate of wtf

listened to myself at last.

take time today, slow it down, meditate and pray

do things that are not doing and allow yourself to

receive

guidance, nurturance, space, time.

the gentleness of the Goddess will hold you.

I cancelled my plans to go to the ocean.

I prayed in the morning, then let the questions go.

where am i to be?

what am I to do?

non-action, non-doing.

allow yourself for now to

be.

a relaxed morning.

an afternoon in the cool fall wind with leaves and chill breezes,

sun,

Ursa, happily bounding for stick after stick.

joy.

being with her is pure pure joy.

with her ready for an afternoon nap,

I embark towards Hot Springs for a

much dreamed of, longed for

soak in the mineral springs.

to be held in warm water, rich with earth,

listening to the French Broad River coo.

I bring Deva's soulful food, a journal, a candle,

water and chocolate.

I drive

and enjoy this autumn day, cool and sunfilled.

David Bowie is singing and I see the flashing blue lights and

shit, I'm caught.

The trooper is polite and offers sympathy when I, without acting,

begin to cry and shake.

I tell him about my dad and that I was driving just to drive and I didn't watch my speed and I'm sorry and...and....

while he is writing me my $166 ticket, I hug the steering wheel and meltdown.

Redeyed tears are nothing new to this officer, I imagine.

He wishes me well and says my father would want me to slow down and be safe.

for a few more miles, I cry.

then, I guess that maybe the message is to just slow down and be safe.

spoken like a true

I am the smallest.

although I am three, not four.

I am the blackest.

although things unseen are seen around me.

I am silent.

although actions speak louder than words.

it is a complicated conflict in my heart these days.

there is, on one hand, the discovery of denial.

my vision has changed from all that I see so that now I see less and more at the same time.

one day I am startled awake

and the next I am hard to rouse from sleep.

one day my father loves me

and the next he tells me I am dead.

I am told not to take this personally.

now, I'm told it is dementia.

and it is dying

and dying trumps any behavior. past or present.

I'm told to try not to be so sensitive when every muscle aches with memory.

Try not to be so sensitive when the truck rolls over you, and

backs up to do it again.

and again.

and again.

look, instead, for the inbetween places

when he is just a dying, old man.

it doesn't count now.

it doesn't count.

it's dementia.

and cancer.

and old age.

and death knocking.

and I'm here,

listening to a deep and satiating rain coming down around me,

unable to sleep,

and barely able to keep my eyes open

with all kinds of collisions inside my heart, sirens screaming,

horns blaring.

truth. trickery. compassion. courage.

pain. protection. love. grief.

terror.

what am I so afraid of now?

how can those words hurt me now, except that they do

and I can't help that.

or apologize for it.

my bones break just like anybody's. maybe more.

it's not a grudge to take my time to recover.

it's a conflict.

when there is a stopwatch hovering over my shoulder.

that anyday he will die.

he is losing strength so I have to figure out NOW what to do about this whole complicated mess.

I have to figure out now WHICH fear to rally through.

I have to do this without all of you because because because because.....

and I am brokenhearted and alone in this.

and THIS is a big thing that's come down the pike

fast and hard and unrelenting and

it is tearing me open.

when i do fall into dreams tonight,

I pray for the

clarity and courage and

answers to come.

how to emerge and move with love.

compassion. truth.

how to trust.

and please, oh please,

may I know I am not alone

and may I feel and be protected and held,

always.

one thing I do trust:

my true heart.

me.

me.

is there room enough for that?

me.

is it too much to ask for one day, one simple day, to just be

me?

one simple day to just be with me.

am I so hard to be

with?

am I so hard to

see?

Me is the person that is hardest to know.

What does she look like?

hard to say.

I sometimes see her in the windows we walk by.

sometimes catch a glimpse of her when I'm brushing my teeth.

tired, or sometimes

so beautiful, I can't believe people have a hard time loving her.

I like looking at her in the mirror after a long cry.

eyes red, eyes green,

wild with fear or fatigue.

sometimes we can stare at each other like that for a long time, and

see back in time.

see something that has been hidden just below the skin,

something

real.

and, then I get spooked and turn off the light and leave.

me.

I'm asking for a little space here.

some time.

some luxury, even.

warm water, weightlessness.

trees and sky.

a delicious nap next to the sea.

squinting my eyes open from a nap full of pelicans and seagulls singing.

nowhere to be for miles.

hours.

days.

happy to know I belong to people, places, a path I love.

sung to my delighted bones by a song that knows

me.

sometimes everything is.

I am within reach of the ocean.

my fingertips nearly graze the shift of the sea.

almost can I taste the salt in my skin.

but, something tells me I will not see Her in these next few days.

underneath me, the ground is swelling once again.

my knees are loose and diaphanous.

my heart is a crowded room of noise and smoke.

somewhere in here there is a hand I can hold. there has to be.

it's here I am abandoned.

lost in a coil of questions.

in the room of animals that are breathing and resting and readying and being who they are,

everything falls into beautiful order.

the picture is color. the grass remains green.

even in the lush of rain.

a moment's glance out, and I am out.

here, there are sticking things; sharp and seductive.

here, I am blame and shame and

a tangle of thread.

it's here the world goes black.

through the pinhole I see the smile of a dog, feel the ache of a laugh and hear music.

I know tears are warm and gorgeous,

stones move and simple things may nourish me.

I want to run into the arms of love.

and,

sometimes

nothing

feels like love.

and sometimes,

everything is.

dad

Dad,

I write this letter to you so that you hear what I say. I speak these words from my heart.

I know that you are in pain and that you are making the choice now to die.

Please know that, while I honor and respect that this is your choice, I wish that you would stay and rally to live and recover. I love you.

Dad, it's true I have been hurt by many things you have said and done, and I know that you have been in a great deal of pain. I forgive you.

I want to thank you for all that you have given me. I was always fed and clothed; I had a good education. I enjoyed many advantages growing up; getting to grow up with horses, animals, dance classes,etc.

I want to thank you for repairing our relationship at Li and J's wedding. It meant so much to me to share those couple of days listening to your stories. Thank you for sharing your history with me as you remembered it.

Thank you for spending time with me. It was the time I felt the closest to you.

Dad, I only want you to be happy, peaceful....to know that you are valuable and loved and not alone. I hold you in my heart and you are in my thoughts constantly. I love you Dad. May you be blessed and know that you are loved and held by the grace and benevolence of God or Goddess or Spirit or however you know that there is more to us than our small and humble selves.

always love,

S

sink

if i write it's alright

I am tired.

weary.

drained.

exhausted.

my eyes are red. my muscles ache with fatigue.

I feel so alone.

yet, my friends are near.

my dog, too. my cat.

it is my family I mourn for.

I have no road back home.

I have no home.

what do I do with my father?

how do I belong to my sisters, my mother?

it feels like a bomb has gone off in the family.

I am not allowed to enter the country.

I am the top suspect.

how deep this grief guts me.

grit.

dad,

I do not know how to speak these words out loud. I am careful with myself these days. Careful to avoid the next bullet or broken bone; still recovering from the bruising.

I know you know what I know.

you may be the only one by now. the only one in the family.

I know your heart hears mine.

and you know that I hold you gently with love, with compassion.

with forgiveness.

I understand the wars.

I see the dirt you have swallowed;the gravel that grows up around you.

You were only ever afraid. and that fear, so great, grew thick and scaly and soon all light was banished.

I see you ran and hid; tucked yourself away from all the scolding and the terror.

You grew into something dark and devastating; something with strength and power and intimidation.

How bold you roared.

How hollow the victory to shake the walls and hurl the glass at such small and helpless animals.

Return

it's late and i'm digesting all of the day

it's time for my head to rest and my body to recover

but, wanted to say this.

thank you skeleton woman

and thank you moon.

thank you silver maple, triple goddess, soft barked, scarred and sacred yoni

for your magic and protection and illumination.

thank you grandfather, tatewari,

ancestors, goddess, gods and helpers.

thank you this night for gentleness and guidance back to me.

for perspective

path, purpose

expectancy and hope

of all things, love.

thank you for Elsa and Andrea and Ursa

and the who that hovered on the edge of the moonlight.

bear, deer, owl......

thank you for my voice, my strength, my truth, my sight

thank you for holding me

sewing me back together.

mending my bones,

drumming my heart,

returning my skin and sinew, flesh and heart and bone and breath.

it is a new year.

a beginning.

everything old and ancient has been thrown into the fire.

8 tracks are obsolete,

the text now is improvised and vital

gone are the outworn scripts and reruns of yesterday.

it is a new time.

the divine feminine stretches herself awake and fully sighted

the divine masculine grows into his true power

and side by side they

stand and sing

and lead us, all of us,

the damaged and the divine,

into the next new day.

Surfacing

here’s what I know

the yolk exploded. it was overfull with overwhelm.

the other one, the physical, bruised.

it is true what I know.

every bone was broken in that last conversation.

I fell from the cliff. just like skeleton woman.

the sea of grief is rocking me now in my injury.

and the kibble in the cage last night broke the spirit from me.

back to resignation.

and, I’m told he is a sinister and insidious virus that comes in

and takes my lifeforce.

he is vile and stealth; not unlike what I have always known.

he simply has more sophisticated finesse with his danger.

father. I will keep singing from the murky depth of this terrifying place. You will always know I have my voice. You will always know I know the truth.

and lover, every mirror you have been, you will change from some dark and oblique transgression to my very soul into something bright and wonderful.

I will transcend this thick and murderous mire.

Your battles will not borrow me for currency.

even as I speak and cry this night, my readiness rises; my wings dry and flutter.

this sky becomes my own.

i will sleep tonight.

coo myself into dreams.

love myself wholly for all the wars I have endured.

these men, so broken and unmet, will dissolve and dilute over time.

i will crawl from the wreckage, lock arms with the fisherman and pull myself to shore;

restore by the fire, drink the tears and drum the heart that sees me

father

beginning in the middle

I begin to tell

my father is dying. He has cancer. multiple myeloma. He has known for many months and only about 2 weeks ago has he accepted this.

Before this, he fought and disagreed and cursed the doctors for their ignorance. He knew best. They were wrong.

2 weeks ago, he screamed in pain. He could not eat, sleep, shower, walk, move without agony.

He was rushed to the emergency room at 3:30 in the morning. Sunday.

That Sunday, I packed my car and headed south, to Florida, to see my father for the last time. I hoped to make it in time.

I made it. That journey is a divergent road; a story to tell in another telling. The whole story is riddled with detours and rest stops; roads that end in a freefall.

by the time I arrived he had surrendered to the diagnosis. Multiple myeloma. and yes, he would agree to pain management. steroids. and yes, he would agree to radiation. and chemotherapy.

and he talked about his estate. what each daughter would receive. what we needed to do. the lawyers, the banks, the houses.

he spoke low and deep. he winced in pain. his eyes searched the room; seeing other times, places, people. he was a small child. his body, bones. his skin, loose. his eyes searched for clues. the voices in the hall, the bed next to his, all conspiring and scheming to copy him, us, steal from him, talk about him. the world out to pull one over on him. the nurse was the person who stole his money. he would forget where he was and then he would be so lucid and talk with such presence, it felt crazymaking.

surprise, surprise.

I watched. I listened. I touched into my heart in a cycle of prayer. To connect. To trust. To love and to be present. To surrender and trust this.

I saw soft parts of my father. he was endearing at times. funny. clever. smart. delicate. vulnerable. accepting.

I saw confusion. delusion. paranoia.

a man tied in threads of many different times, a man sticking in his own web and tangling in the lies that he had spun. a man believing it all.

I didn't care anymore about figuring out what story was true and where the lies hid.

I wanted my dad to live.

I wanted my dad to not suffer.

I wanted with my whole heart for my dad to feel loved. to truly feel love.

I wanted him to feel happiness. joy. love.

for ONCE in his life.

the detoured graveled road of the rest of the visit, i will travel at another time.

follow me now to now.

I called today. he is back in the hospital after not eating for 4 days. after refusing to eat for 4 days. after refusing care. he is back in the hospital.

I called to see how he was feeling. to let him know he is in my thoughts. that I love him. that I care.

and let me not repeat the vile poison he unleashed on me.

in essence, he extended his claws, swiped, bit, and mangled every last shred of possible relationship with me.

I didn't say anything to provoke it. I am clear.

The gift is: I am clear. Never have I done anything to deserve what he has served me since I was in the womb on route to this life's mission.

It is not my fault.

But, the blood still spills, to be sure.

Today he told me, without provocation (unless love and care is a threat), that I am dead to him. cut out. I mean nothing to him.

He wants me never to call again.

These are the words fit for print.

The man is a shittongued serpent. (with great apologies to the serpents of the world for the comparison, but I'm another analogy fails me at the moment)

I told him gently "Dad, I am only calling to tell you I love you. I want to know how you are feeling."

He thanks me. THANKS me and then tells me "You are no more. I have no children anymore."

I ask him, dare to ask (the masochist in me rises) "Dad, do you love me?"

he tries to hang up on me, but he can't figure out how.

He says "oh, are you still there?"

"Dad, do you love me?"

I ask about 10 times.

He tells me I am putting him in danger and then strings together a litany of insults assigned to my existence.

"Dad, I just need to hear it. Do you love me?"

finally he says "no..I don't think I do."

this is my father.

he has refused any continuation of treatment.

He is committing suicide.

He is attempting to drag me and everyone else onto the burning plane as it falls from the sky.

I don't know how to handle this.

The truth of my father is this:

he is, and has always been, an antisocial, sociopathic narcissist. He has been vile, abusive in every fashion, cruel, chaotic, confusing, crazymaking and devastating.

I am adult now. seeing newly what it is that is.

this is my father.

I sit with this and writhe in the junction of rage and grief, depression, collapse and fury.

I am better than this. I am worthless and unloveable.

I am bereft. despaired. despondent.

I will transcend. I am. I deserve love. I am worthy. I have value.

I am. I am.

I want to run. I want to fight. I want to collapse. I want to die. I want to triumph and soar. I want to fly.

I want a refund. I want a father.

I want love.

I want to know how to trust. I want to know what real love feels like from the inside.

all of this.

all of this.

all of this.

the legacy of grief.