I Miss You.
The worst thing about losing you
was your choice to END the dialogue.
Now, I have to smile and pretend that you are:
“Just someone I used to know.”
But my rebellious nature
holds the truth close:
You were always,
more than
just about anyone,
to me.
- conchita.
(if) My heart could speak to YOU…
She would be (subjectively) honest.
She would tell you…she knew she never possessed delusions of forever, but that she cherished every moment…as precious.
When I left you that night, things were finished, we left out past to evolve into the next stage…
I felt good.
I felt bad.
I felt loss.
I won’t apologize for wanting more for you, more than I could give, for pushing you away so that you could have everything, every desire, everything I heard your heart screaming for!
She (your heart) was loud.
She (your heart) was right.
So, squeezed my heart tight and let you go.
I believed our love would transcend. That we meant more than public declarations or tokens of affection. I looked forward to watching you grow…seeing in you as the beautiful woman I know you are becoming.
I had hope.
I had love.
I had faith…in you.
I felt you pull-away. I expected this, “it’s natural.” I backed-up as well, to allow you room to heal…time for the old spaces to fill-in and new ones to appear; spaces for us to flourish, new.
Then I asked for the return of something that was mine, of great sentimental value, it was a gift to me, and not for you to keep indefinitely. If I sound defensive I am, because I never expected what came next.
Perhaps it was the final blow to your pride…I hurt you, too much. And, in return, you lashed out with the only weapon you felt you had, perhaps the weapon you knew would impact most:
Words.
…or in this case text messages, which are in so many ways worse because you can wound without ever looking your victim in the eye. I liken “murder-by-text-message” to launching missiles at a target as opposed to hand-to-hand combat…if words were weapons and communication was war.
(if) My heart could speak…
She would be (subjectively) honest.
She texts:
“(you were) A complete waste of my time.”
Time is never wasted…and the moments we shared encompassed some of the sweetest, most divine in my life.
“Thank God I still have my youth, you are DEAD and GONE.”
This hurt. Bad.
“Dead.”
“Dead”? The word hangs, pulls me down…yanks of my fears and tests my will. I have wished many things on my enemies, and shamefully worse on the ones I love…in times of anger or rage-filled tantrums. But, I have never wished death…metaphorically or otherwise. It seems…too final.
Death = the end.
And here we have it…this word hurts me…the most…because it means we are truly over; that there will be no new spaces for us in her life, in our lives.
I have never been good with separations.
Hell, I have never been great with attachments.
I run screaming from the former, and cling desperately to the latter.
Still, DEATH…seems so cruel to me; too recent in my present, too present in my past.
I remind my heart that she is still so young…of the many missteps I took at her age.
(if) My heart could speak to YOU…
She would be (subjectively) honest.
“I still have my youth…” (she types)
Yes, you do. And with that youth you have the expanse of expectations without the control and compassion that accompanies life experience.
And yet,
in all my experience with love…I have never found death.
My heart…my heart loves forever.
She sends you a kiss, and wishes your heart…peace and loving kindness.
Xxx
c.
(for Jessica).
Note: I hope that this entry is not overly self-indulgent, my intention is to be open to the emotional process, however messy and uncomfortable it might be…it IS a process after all, thank you for…listening.
“I sing the songs that people need to hear.”
- Etta James (1938 – January 20, 2012)
“Stop the Wedding” is my favorite Etta James song…the woman who sang “It’s a Man’s World,” showed that TRULY a woman can do it JUST AS GOOD…if not better 
xxx c.
I find it frustrating that so often grieving is filled with comforting the living, rather than celebrating the dead.
I wonder if the death of another frightens us in such a way that we become fixated on the fragility of LIVING and not just “life” itself.
Suicide seems another matter entirely. Its impact seems to only intensify this reaction to death.
I have been touched multiple times by suicide, my father, my aunt, my patients…and now my friend and lover Gi’. In a very real way, I can identify suicide as a primary factor in my own development. Suicide has shaped who I am: my choice in career, my relationships with others, even my personality.
Suicide has given me a rich appreciation for life, for the impermanence of relationships, the enduring nature of love, and the importance of contributing to society as a whole.
Perhaps I have hit on it, where my frustration lies, it is not in the fixations of others, but rather in my own.
It is difficult to go on living with death on your back (literally and figuratively, I have a calaveras de azucar tattooed on my back); frustrating to look for “life in death” constantly. Yes, it is painful and trying…and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Lately I find myself re-reading the Hume…returning to his and other related work on suicide, with the intent to make philosophical sense of this unthinkable “life”-choice. I found this excerpt…which rings true, for my (our) most recent loss:
Suicide is justified when man’s life, owing to circumstances outside of a person’s control, is no longer possible; an example might be a person with a painful terminal illness, or a prisoner in a concentration camp who sees no chance of escape. In cases such as these, suicide is not necessarily a philosophic rejection of life or of reality. On the contrary, it may very well be their tragic reaffirmation. Self-destruction in such contexts may amount to the tortured cry: “Man’s life means so much to me that I will not settle for anything less. I will not accept a living death as a substitute.” – Leonard Peikoff, Objectism: the philosophy of Ayn Rand
Reading this…I can only envision Gi’ dancing in the spotlight…
And SMILE.
xxx c.
Still I Rise
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
I thought these words inspirational and fitting after such a tough month. Readying for conference and dealing with the suicide of a very close friend and lover…it hasn’t been an easy time. But, blogging has always represented a way of connecting…to others as well as, myself…and so…
I rise.
xxx, c.
Death has arrived
dancing the carisisqui
she has come to take with her
the visitors of Mixquic.
-Tacho, Street Poet
Source: Poem found in Mexico City, Mixquic & Morelos- Through the Eyes of the Soul, Day of the Dead in Mexico
As a little girl I adored marigolds. We planted them in our garden in all shades of yellow, orange and rust. Such a sunlike full flower they were hardy enough to withstand the torrential downpours of Seattle. How fitting then that they are such an integral part of Dia de los Muertos…
Flowers, symbolizing the brevity of life, are massed and fashioned into garlands, wreaths and crosses to decorate the altar and the grave. The marigold is the most traditional flower of the season. In Aztec times it was called the cempasuchil, the flower of 400 lives.
The fragrance of the cempasuchil leads the spirits home. Sometimes paths of the petals lead out of the cemetery and to the house to guide the spirits. A cross of marigold petals is formed on the floor so that as the spirit approaches the alter, he will step on the cross and expel his guilt.
(I wonder if it works if you are still living…xxx c.)
I had dinner and (too much) red wine with my girlfriend Jessica last night…and we talked about life. It was a melancholy conversation…discussing loss, desires, and dreams…but it felt good…it felt right…it felt like it was time to delve deeper, to explore the hopes and fears that I think we all tamp down in the beginning of relationships, afraid of being judged. And you know it’s right when afterward you do not feel judged…you feel absolved? No, that’s not quite right…you feel LOVED, unconditionally. Thank you Jessica…this quote below, from you female icon…is JUST FOR YOU! xxx c
“I believe that everything happens for a reason. People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they’re right, you believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.”
― Marilyn Monroe
I fear I have become a bid morbid this week, with Dia De Los Muertos, Marie Antoinette, and such…call it a passing obsession or just a moment of repose…and reflection…whatever it is, I will end it today with one of my favorite “goodbye’s”…Queen Anne Boleyn‘s execution speech May 19th, 1536 (Check out my previous entry detailing, The Lady In The Tower by Allison Weir HERE).She went to her death with as much courage, determination, and vigor as she lived her life with:
Good Christian people, I have not come here to preach a sermon; I have come here to die, for according to the law and by the law I am judged to die, and therefore I will speak nothing against it. I am come hither to accuse no man, nor to speak of that whereof I am accused and condemned to die, but I pray God save the King and send him long to reign over you, for a gentler nor a more merciful prince was there never, and to me he was ever a good, a gentle and sovereign lord.
And if any person will meddle of my cause, I require them to judge the best. And thus I take my leave of the world and of you all, and I heartily desire you all to pray for me. (Quoted from “Anne Boleyn”, Joana Denny, and taken from “The Triumphant Reigne of King Henry the VIII” by Edward Hall, 1904)
When I read the speech in The Lady In The Tower, I cried…when I saw the same scene depicted in HBO’s series The Tudors…I wept piteously.
Here is the scene with Natalie Dormer playing Anne:
Sad, brave, and somehow perfect…another instance wherein we are reminded of our intimate relationship with DEATH in life…enjoy your weekend, xxx c.
In the last five years I have lost as many family members…Five. To some that sounds like a lot, to others it does not….everything is relative. Still, in my world it felt like…too much.
(My grandfather)
Searching for understanding and acceptance in my grief, I came to my own history as a Mexicana (Link to previous post HERE) and the Mexican holiday Dia De Los Muertos, specifically.
Dia De Los Muertos or Day of The Dead is a religious/paganistic ceremony beginning more than 3,000 years ago with the Aztec ancients.
Many people mistakenly understand it as an extension of Halloween, although it is celebrated on November 2nd and is not actually related to the mockery of Halloween costumes and revelry, rather Dia De Los Muertos is a ritual remembrance of those who have died.
The decorative alters, full of candy skulls, flowers, incense, candles, and photos are meant to honor and respect the dead through remembering their life, it is a day to acknowledge death through living.
“We must remember them”, say the elders about the Dead. “They want us, they love us. See how that flame danced high before it died? It is the Dead, letting us know we are not to forget them. Look over there—that glass just tipped over. No one of the Living touched it. It is how the Dead speak to us.”
It is not sad a sad day, rather Dia De Los Muertos is a celebratory day when the souls of lost loved ones are welcomed back to the world of the living, but no tears are shed. The ancients insist that “the path back to the living must not be made slippery with tears.”
I realize this all sounds bit odd to many Americans, but Mexicans (and Mexican-Americans) believe that we all carry DEATH with us, everyday…
How?
We ALL have a skeleton.
Hence all of the dressing as skeletons and skulls that you see in the Latin community…the skeletons on Dia Des Los Muertos literally dance with life!
To Mexicans…our skeleton is our link with death which we carry with us throughout life. It is a stark symbolization the cycle of life.
Which is why…I chose my Calaveras de Azúcar (sugar skull) to be inked on my back (SEE LINK HERE). I wanted to make real the feeling I struggled with, I felt as if I was carrying my loss as a weight, on my back. It was painful…It hurt…and somehow I felt that through realizing that emotion through artistic expression, paralleling my emotional pain with with a physical (almost ritual) act…that I might grasp some relief…some acceptance and peace. I did.
As November 2nd approaches, I am struck again by the meaning and symbolism of Dia De Los Muertos…a celebration of DEATH through LIFE…and the tremendous healing impact that realization had on me…it is a dialectic I think we can all relate to…and one that somehow…makes death…and loss just a bit more…acceptable…through making it…A PART OF US ALL.
I leave you with this poem…written by a Mexican woman, translated from Spanish…please enjoy…xxx c.
Woman with Somber GazeWoman with a somber gaze,
Tell me, what do you see in the candles?
are the ghosts in the night
or are they flowers of the earth?What do you treasure on your lap
illuminated and transparent,
even in the air
your silhouette appears?Twice as much the pain,
twice as much the loss,
the flowers have become the rivers
and the fragrance cries out.Pondering at night,
vigil of the imagination,
bundle of lights and echoes,
stay up late during the wake…Woman with a tender gaze
the flames of candle reach out;
are they mocking this moment
or are they restfully flickering out.In your illuminated face
life rejuvenates,
to those who love death
this is a golden in their sight.For those who love life
it is a night of confusion,
the wax kisses the flowers
and the flame caresses the emotions.Julie Sopetran
(Spanish poet, 1995)Source: Poem found in Michoacan- Through the Eyes of the Soul, Day of the Dead in Mexico
To quote a favorite poet of mine:
THE TIME HAS COME.
THE TIME IS NOW.
September is here! And as the sun sinks behind the clouds, my skin craves to be touched…to be covered with beauty. For many, that would mean gorgeous cashmere sweaters and rich furs…for me…it means:
NEW INK!
Presently, my larger pieces reflect transitional spaces in my life: loss, death, rebirth. They are a testament to survival…and a celebration of the endless cycle of life, and death. They draw from iconic religious symbols, like the lotus…and cultural ones, like the sugar skull. My desire is to fill my entire back…in such a manner…reflecting my emotional states…my growth and struggles.
I have always loved tattoos and have written about them here…admired them daily on others…I love the idea of decorating the body…of making feelings, real works of art…upon the body. Tattoos are phenomenal, and the tattoo artists even more so (Deep Bow of Gratitude to El-E Maggs MY artist)
As I move into a new stage in life…this year taking time away from my clinical work…focusing on events my more creative and erotic pursuits…I find that I am in a different space than before. I am…still searching…but I am calmer…more settled in my loss…accepting of my grief…and embracing my rebirth (even if I haven’t fully realized it, as yet).
So what does this new space look like?
It’s…positive…a little giddy…silly. It embraces chance…it takes risks…This space is full of compassion and acceptance. This NEW SPACE needs…a MANEKI NEKO!
What is a Maneki Neko well let’s visit Wikipedia and see what they have to say:
The Maneki Neko (literally “Beckoning Cat“; also known as Welcoming Cat, Lucky Cat, Money cat, or Fortune Cat. Sometimes incorrectly labelled Chinese Lucky Cat) is a common Japanese sculpture, often made of ceramic, which is believed to bring good luck to the owner. The sculpture depicts a cat(traditionally a Japanese Bobtail) beckoning with an upright paw, and is usually displayed—many times at the entrance—in shops, restaurants, pachinko parlors, and other businesses. Some of the sculptures are electric or battery-powered and have a slow-moving paw beckoning. In the design of the sculptures, a raised right paw supposedly attracts money, while a raised left paw attracts customers.
A frequent attribution to several Japanese emperors, as well as to Oda Nobunaga and samurai Ii Naotaka, is that one day the luminary passed by a cat, which seemed to wave to him. Taking the cat’s motion as a sign, the unknown nobleman paused and went to it. Diverted from his journey, he realized that he had avoided a trap that had been laid for him just ahead. Since that time, cats have been considered wise and lucky spirits. Many Japanese shrines and homes include the figurine of a cat with one paw upraised as if waving—hence the origin of Maneki Neko, often referred to as Kami Neko in reference to the cat’s kami or spirit.
And the mythical origin of this little cat? Well…it is simply too good to be true:
A courtesan named Usugumo, living in Yoshiwara, in eastern Tokyo, kept a cat, much beloved by her. One night, the cat began tugging at her kimono. No matter what she did, the cat persisted. The owner of the brothel saw this, and believing the cat bewitched, cut its head off. The cat’s head then flew to the ceiling where it killed a snake, ready at any moment to strike. Usugumo was devastated by the death of her companion. To cheer her up, one of her customers made her a wooden likeness of her cat as a gift. This cat image then became popular as the Maneki Neko.
Perhaps…I am searching for a companion to accompany me on this new path…maybe I am wishing for “luck” to guide me through unknown waters?
I am not totally aware of my unconscious wishes, only that the Maneki Neko is a symbol of good will…of positivity…and wisdom…qualities that I trust will guide me…beyond luck!
xxx c
