Gregory Corso, where were you when I needed you?

As an original product of magical realists, it is clear why it never occurred to me. Prepare for a major event in my life beforehand? Why? The Gods would concoct, the elements would align and voila! Life.   And, honestly, it has worked out that way. No intentional linear paths for me. Decade after decade. Events. Catastrophe. Ruin. At 50, I decided it was time to wise up. But, I still had not discovered the truth.So, I decided to start reading the obituaries. Remember, I always do things backwards. It must be the influence of Hebrew on my life. Anyway, after years of reading about dead people, I decided to let a little joy into my life and started reading wedding notices. Looking for what they were doing right. Looking for their joy in the hope  I might at least find the spark of my own. Looking for process of any sort. And then, it clicked. Gregory Corso. A name I knew but had forgotten. Poems known and then unknown. How had I missed it?
               
                 O but what about love? I forget love
                 not that I am incapable of love
                 It's just that I see love as odd as wearing shoes...


Marriages. Deaths.  A vardo here and there. Empty shoes, here I come!!

My cone of silence

How much easier to have a vow of chastity. Poverty. Obedience. A simple vanilla. Rules to follow. A higher being to take orders from.  But, no. I come with vibrant reds and purples. Convoluted questions. Confusion. Contradiction. Questions. Questions. Questions.Always questioning. Long beards. Children flying off into skies I've never seen. Thinking things I dare not admit. Friends slipping away. Sideways glances from strangers that make more sense than a logical argument. Staring into a jagged face that defies meaning. If I try to retreat, I am met with disappointment. Disillusion. Recriminations even. Where do you think you are going? It's here now.Be in our muck. No matter how much it isn't yours.No matter. Even if it doesn't matter to me. Getting stuck in something that doesn't even belong to me.  How do I invert the photo? Take that cone of silence and slip it over my head. Wrap me in an understanding with myself. And only myself.

Those Jewish secrets

As a Jew, it is never, "don't ask, don't tell." It's more like, " I'll tell you, but don't you dare tell anyone else." I was sworn into the secret club from earliest childhood, and this secret swearing is not restricted to sexual preference. My mother swore me in again as a young woman when she told me that as a child, she had to sleep in her parents’ bed. She was witness to all their lovemaking.  But she didn't tell me how she felt. She just handed me the package and said, "But, sweetheart, whatever you do- don’t tell anyone."

So, when yet another friend calls to reveal dark secrets, I am not surprised.   I am holding on for dear life and now I am being led to the abyss. Oy vey. Whose house is this, I think I know- his house is in the village though. Where is Robert Frost when I need him? I love my friend and our friendship even more, so I prepare for a very long story. I am being held to strict confidence- I cannot tell anyone about this- because she has been told not to tell anyone- so, why is she telling me? Because this is the club we belong to.  But, I can’t hold onto secrets anymore. Those secrets are a way of not seeing. At least for the person revealing. If they hand it off to you, is it gone? I refuse to be locked  into the secret dance where there is no exit. And for someone like me, if there is no exit, I need a paper bag to start breathing into. Now, this story is about death. That’s all I will tell. But I can’t afford to fall into the hole the story promises to create- I am devoted to living. But it takes me to my own life. All my worries. Stop worrying. Start living. You know that Dale Carnegie wasn’t Jewish. If he were, he would have told you to get rid of your secrets and start making other people worry. That's the way to start living.

No Fish in the Sky

Old Chinese proverb. For my entire life, I was looking for fish in the sky. Never content to believe one would never appear, I just kept hoping. Dreaming even. Keeping watch day and night, ever vigilant, just in case I might miss the sighting. All that time, I was looking but not seeing. Looking up.  Old Chinese proverb continues, no birds in the sea.  Not fishes and loaves, fish and birds in places they should not be, according to the natural order of things. But, if you are creating your own version of that natural order, then why not? Why not expect to see fish leaping above your head and birds out of sight and beyond your grasp in blue waters? What was it that I wanted to see? I never knew. I only knew that it was out there and I had to find it. Hard to do if you don't know what it is, but I never asked that question. Never let myself. Is it too late? I wonder about that. Wonder if that happiness that I am sure will appear once I find what I am looking for will still be waiting. Standing on a street corner arms open for the embrace.  Asking to be tucked into the folds of a cape three times too large and transporting me to the other side of the street where I have been waiting for years.

The Chorus Line Sings a Little Ditty

My son always worries that when I tell him I love him, I will say, "I love you, but..." I love you. But. He doesn't know that my love has no qualifiers. There are no buts. It is deep and dark and endless. It has swallowed me whole several times. When he leaves, the scars form back on themselves, thick and  deep crimson, waiting for his return. It's my own life that has 'buts' written all over it. I thought if I took care of them they would then take care of me. I thought if I gave them my life, they would embroider it and hand it back richer. I thought if I laid myself down and protected them, they would then protect me. It hasn't happened like that. Never. That 'but' has defined me and finds me even now. I am looking for love, acknowledgement, even a handshake or a wink of an eye. Instead, I get a thank you, as though I am a business associate or a handmaiden. Not an object of love. A voice tells me to do more, it isn't enough. Run harder. Try harder. Do. Do. But, don't be. That wouldn't do.  No end in sight. Just a slow trickle of very old tears shedding little light on the subject.