now...here … attempting another set of sit ups …
flood gates of gray blue smoke squander my breath and access to staying present here
…back again sitting on the top step of fathers rough stairs into the boys loft…back again wondering where mom is as the boys struggle with snot and drool driveling down with the tears and one leg tied depending on if you were the oldest…how old were they?
small. smaller then me. as the oldest, my job was to save them? where was mom? pleading with my adored father to please stop. They were turning blue and now this vision stifles my breath as one more sit up just cant be fought for. Not today. How long has this been chasing me into surviving being strong enough to ward all of these monsters off of the innocent….how old were they..their skin was so soft and maybe they had had a few boy haircuts like the 60s..short like the military cleanno one would know that anything mattered but America and the flag and going to p-rades and saluting. Yes the children must salute too. How old…that’s a whole life of saving from their 4 births…that begins at 3 yrs old, the screaming violent struggling to dominate and ward off more.
it all was a gray shadowy and impending presence…like everytime his car was in the driveway up until now…any car in the driveway.
home. Dangerous hungry a place of not enough, secret cruelties,
almost dying silenced women
monstrous men stuffed into bodies with crew cuts flags cabinets full of medals and cruel laughs as another small torment defeated a flitting innocent in the room.
no one survived this unscathed. Not one.
I have been pissed….for a very long time.
even before my grandfather General slapped my words from my face young observation was voiced by his adoring grand daughter...a consummation that this military hero had sealed his identity in my story as a pretty ruthless and heartless being And that was the end of the innocence and any sense that safety and embrace was what I would find in front of me as my mind and heart grew more passionately towards making sure no more pp would suffer on my watch…
a seed within a young heart sprouted out of suffering and practice began from depth of loving life
that in itself was the pair of skinny heart tentacles that picked up the filthy skirts of the trails of grey shadow that followed me for decades...rooted in compassion and a devotion to non-violence... into and through relationships and marriages to men that needed.... saving, affirming, love, tolerance too
…at all cost to stay in the conversation with God
learning well to not expect life to be great...connections and expectations of being present and alive could have been dashed with a mother who frequently wanted to die and a father who hated anything fragile or vulnerable.
letting go was best and is my best practice.
Im still here.