Full of...

Shit.
Trying not to think about him doesn't help. I thought it would. Why does the hurt keep coming back? How long does it take to get over it? Would it be better if he talked to me and told me why and broke my heart, snapping it cleanly in two or is it better to let it fade away? Better, maybe...for him, to let it fade away, I'm sure it's much better for him.

Do men not have guilty consciences? Maybe just not this one.

What do I know? Little of men, that's for sure.

I wanted so badly to stay innocent. I thought that way I could have this beautiful dream of happiness in the arms of a lover. What if I'm tramatized and can't bring myself to trust another? I thought for sure he was different. I thought for sure that he was everything he promised me he was.

No I didn't. I lie. I wanted him to be everything he said he was. I knew he was only human but wanted to give him every single benefit of a doubt, and then some. I wanted him to see in me what I have glimpsed in myself. I am discovering that there is more to me than I ever thought possible and I hoped that if he could touch me and be with me in a way that was closer than anyone had ever been with me before, than he would confirm that I was this wonderful person just waiting to get out. When he didn't see it, I doubted that there was any depth to me at all.

I thought that if I overlooked the not so noble things in him than he would also overlook the not so interesting things in me. I wanted to be for him everything I also wanted him to be for me. Somehow I thought it could work like a mirror.

This is my test, isn't it? To not let this suck me down. To come out on top and feel better about myself than ever before. To trust that it's NOT me and that it is him. He is the one that has never had a long term relationship in his whole life. I'm nothing but long term relationships, commitments and...letting go . Maybe he had already gone well beyond his saturation point. Maybe he had already tried and tried again and is tired of trying. I loved it so much when he tried. I was in heaven when he was trying. I heard it in his voice, I saw it in his eyes, I felt it in his touch, there were times when he felt it. He knew there was something there, we both felt something that we admitted we had never felt before. Only he didn't seem to know how to hold on to it, or trust it, or believe in it, i'll never know which. Now I have to practice letting go, once again.

What is the Buddhist saying about being human is about suffering? We suffer because we grasp. We want things so badly that our every focus is on grasping, having and holding onto. As long as we want we will suffer. To ease suffering we must let loose our attachments. I've let loose of so many attachments already. More seem to grow back in their place, but I'll continue to practice letting go.

Letting go and trusting that my heart can take it. Drift off into the dark area of the unknown. I've come through it safetly before, why should I think I can't do it again?

Full of, so many questions.

Spring Poem

Robert Frost (1874–1963)Two Tramps in Mud Time (1936)

Out of the mud two strangers came And caught me splitting wood in the yard, And one of them put me off my aim By hailing cheerily "Hit them hard!" I knew pretty well why he had dropped behind And let the other go on a way. I knew pretty well what he had in mind: He wanted to take my job for pay.

Good blocks of oak it was I split, As large around as the chopping block; And every piece I squarely hit Fell splinterless as a cloven rock. The blows that a life of self-control Spares to strike for the common good, That day, giving a loose my soul, I spent on the unimportant wood.
The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day When the sun is out and the wind is still, You're one month on in the middle of May. But if you so much as dare to speak, A cloud comes over the sunlit arch, A wind comes off a frozen peak, And you're two months back in the middle of March.

A bluebird comes tenderly up to alight And turns to the wind to unruffle a plume, His song so pitched as not to excite A single flower as yet to bloom. It is snowing a flake; and he half knew Winter was only playing possum. Except in color he isn't blue, But he wouldn't advise a thing to blossom.

The water for which we may have to look In summertime with a witching wand, In every wheelrut's now a brook, In every print of a hoof a pond. Be glad of water, but don't forget The lurking frost in the earth beneath That will steal forth after the sun is set And show on the water its crystal teeth.

The time when most I loved my task The two must make me love it more By coming with what they came to ask. You'd think I never had felt before The weight of an ax-head poised aloft, The grip of earth on outspread feet, The life of muscles rocking soft And smooth and moist in vernal heat.

Out of the wood two hulking tramps (From sleeping God knows where last night, But not long since in the lumber camps). They thought all chopping was theirs of right. Men of the woods and lumberjacks, The judged me by their appropriate tool. Except as a fellow handled an ax They had no way of knowing a fool.

Nothing on either side was said. They knew they had but to stay their stay And all their logic would fill my head: As that I had no right to play With what was another man's work for gain. My right might be love but theirs was need. And where the two exist in twain Theirs was the better right--agreed.

But yield who will to their separation, My object in living is to unite My avocation and my vocation As my two eyes make one in sight. Only where love and need are one, And the work is play for mortal stakes, Is the deed ever really done For Heaven and the future's sakes.

Dreaming of a better day

I don’t want to grow up. It’s too stressful. I hate the headaches, the shoulders ache. It even makes the muscles in my legs stiffen up. Maybe that last is more a part of getting old. I think it’s my body’s way of telling me that I’m letting myself go stagnant when I don’t know what to do and use that as an excuse to do nothing at all. I have to buck the fuck up and pull out the strength to at least do the wrong things and keep trying until I start doing the right things. When I start standing on my own two feet again then my legs will rediscover the muscles hidden inside.

In the end it doesn’t matter what I want. I’m here and I have to deal with what’s in front of me. If I don’t, the same things, only in a different color, are just going to keep coming back, haunting me, taunting me, with so many lessons. I’m a teacher, aren’t I? That’s what teachers do, we learn, and I learn best hands on.

It’s ok to dream of carefree sunny summer days, right? There are days like that out there again waiting for me. I have to believe in that. I don’t think I’m only teasing myself when I dream my little dreams. I’m opening to the universe what I really want. In some round about whacky way I’m going to get it!

This is just a set back. Another chance to regroup, learn and forge forth upon some predestined, intended, curvy, dusty old path. I don’t mind so much my feet getting dirty, I’ll appreciate so much more when I can get to a place and once again gently clean my feet off. Heal the wounds.

As I dream of sitting in the glittering hot sun, amongst tall dry grass and large boulders, with huge oaks nearby to cast dappling shadows of coolness in the light breeze. I’m just close enough to the edge of a clean cool stream that my feet are submerged and my toes sift through the sand and stones. As my feet become cool, soft and regenerated, so do I.