The Trinity of Me

    Why does life have to be so difficult? Why can't life be series of events falling into logical order, easy flow, meshing of minds? Instead it is a chaotic storm I have to fight my way through, struggling for every step, blurring my vision, pounding at every fiber of my being? I feel as if I am out of phase with everything around me, as if I am living in an odd parallel universe and my timing is always off. I just wish for once that I could synch up with the chaos that surrounds me, then maybe it would cease to be chaos and settle into a comprehensible pattern.
    Maybe what makes my timing off is that I will think about something from so many angles that I miss the opportune moment to take action? Over-analyze, pick apart every nuance, try to understand all my motivations until my last desperate chance has moved far beyond my reach? Or is it my other half, my Leap Before I Look half, that has me jumping off the trestle before the slow moving freight train is beneath me, so that instead of hitching a free ride I am instead run over and mangled beyond recognition? No matter the reason, I set myself up for Epic Fail time and time again. And it doesn't get any easier.
    If anything, it gets more difficult with every failed attempt. Yeah, yeah, better to try and fail than to fail because I did not try. But holymotherfuckingbaldpalamino it is so hard to keep extending myself, over and over, to face rejection and failure despite my best efforts. And this has been applying to almost every aspect of my life for a while. Yes, having a pity party, trying to accept that my latest, greatest and by far the riskiest endeavor is likely to leave me unable to scrape myself off the tracks this time.
    The one good thing that will come out of all of this is a far deeper understanding of myself than I would have ever achieved if life had been easy. Or it has caused me to develop a multitude of facets to deal with all the chaos. But I guess that is a Chicken or Egg concept. I have come to realize that it is not the dark aspects of my nature that I have held deeply hidden these last few years. On the contrary, it is the soft and vulnerable Me, the Maiden and Mother, that crawled into a foxhole and allowed my angry, dark-visaged Warrior to take the protective, impenetrable stance. The crux of this is that although the Warrior will defend to the death, and protect the  vulnerable Me from spiritual death, she is also inflexible, hostile and over-defensive. She takes offense at any real or imagined slight, not recognizing friend from foe, She is dangerous, chaotic and destructive. I think the time of need for the Warrior has passed, the soft, vulnerable, nuturing Me, the Maiden and Mother, have been needing release from a foxhole that has become like a prisoner of war camp. I am slowly, very slowly, learning to tap into my attributes, attempting to make them do my bidding instead of allowing them to control me. We are a package deal: Maiden/Mother/Warrior. An indestructable Trinity. But gods, what a handful!

Schism of Psyche

    In my never ending search for self understanding I am sometimes faced with a realization that I am wrong. That I make mistakes, that my decison making process isn't without flaws. I kind of hate this. It is really difficult to admit to being wrong, painfully difficult sometimes. But there it is. I am human, I am flawed. And yes, I am a bit of a lunatic. My biggest personal roadblock is my desire to maintain tight control over emotions, actions and reactions. I do not like loss of control. The few who know me well, also know this all too well. This morning I had the slightly absurd thought that it is a trait of Vulcans: they are highly logical because they are a highly emotional race, and the logic keeps the emotions in check. No, I'm not that highly logical, but my constant analysis of myself, my motivations, my needs and desires is largely so I don't shock myself or anyone else with rampant emotional outbursts. The downside of this, is that it is actually the cause of my recent, alarmingly frequent, rampant, uncontrollable emotional outbursts.
    How can I find a happy medium? How can I be true to my conservative, introverted nature, and also the screamingly erratic lunatic aspect of my nature? I feel as if I have a wide schism within my own psyche that I somehow need to bridge.
    Because of this schism, I feel as if so many aspects of my personality are in flux, as I try to find that middle road, try to find the right path to sanity, peace, harmony and contentment. Sadly, I think this schism has alienated friends who see the irrational behaviors, the changing persona, the seemingly irreconcileable aspects of my personality, and realize that I can be a very high mainainence and uneasy friend to have. This is one of the reasons I spend so much time alone, separate myself from humanity, choose to cloister myself far from the hub of those I might love: I am trying to protect my friends from my fluid, manic nature and bizarre behaviors. What this does, I have realized, is cause the behaviors to have free rein. There are no natural barriers or floodgates to slow the tempest as it rages towards shore. I have cut myself off from what few moderators I used to allow myself. I don't know if it is because I have a bit of the "sink or swim" mentality? If I can't manage my own disorders by myself, how can I inflict them upon others?
    It seems like the few times in my life when I felt the closest thing to contentment I seem to manage, is when I have submerged some vital part of my nature to hide it in a dark corner, and away from public eyes. I do this because I think that some aspects of my nature are not appealing to most people. But really, aren't we all a mixture of light and dark? Is it wrong to think that I should be loved for every aspect of my nature, every quirky, crazy, dark aspect? What happens instead, is the hidden parts of my nature will finally bubble to the surface, erupting under the pressure of being forced to lie dormant. This is is very damaging to those around me, relationships, my ego, my sanity. It is not how I want to live my life. I want to be able to embrace every aspect of my nature, allow each entity to come out and play without fear of schoolyard taunts. To just have one person see all parts of me, and accept, appreciate and love every bit of Me. Mostly, I need to let my nature run free, accept myself for exactly who I am, feel no fear of exposing the real me.
    We all show different faces to the different people in our lives. It is how we can manage to function in a world of individuals. Truely, there are aspects of every person that may be abrasive and unpleasant to those around them, it is unavoidable. By submerging some aspects of our nature we are in truth just trying to make life a little easier for all involved. But I want to be able to reach a point where I have become accepting enough of every aspect of my own nature that I can live comfortably within my own skin.
    Truely though, what I think I have done is exacerbate the problems by adding abject lonliness to the already overloaded melange of crazy. Now, I can't imagine anyone wanting to spend more than a few hours in the blast zone. Good thing I am working so hard to achieve self acceptance, I'm the only steady companionship I have right now.  

Not To Be Ignored

    As any who know me are all too aware, I am over-analytical. To a fault. To myself and others. My relationships, other's relationships. My life, other people's lives. But most especially myself. I analyze and dissect to a point of OCD compulsion. I lie awake at night, or wake pre-dawn, analyzing my thoughts, actions and reactions. When I am alone (which is most of the time) I run through past conversations and communications in my brain picking apart every nuance. I script dialogues in my mind, editing, tweaking and refining them even though I know they are conversations that will most likely never take place since they are often relating to situations I need to just let go of and step away. I really want to know why I do what I do, how to change self-destructive behaviors, when to sever unhealthy relationships, how to extricate myself from negative situations, how to manage the intolerable aspects of life that I can't get away from at this particular junction. But the obsessive analysis in and of itself can be unhealthy and self-destructive.
    Self-analysis can initiate growth and change. Though I admit, I will approach change cautiously, carefully, and after much pondering of all the angles. Some think I make quick, definitive choices, and am not easily swayed from my path. What they don't realize is that behind every seeming rash decision are probably hundreds of hours of thought in an attempt to consider the problem from every perspective I can. I will consider the ways that my choices affect all those around me, especially those closest to me. I will hesitate if I think my decisions will harm someone or affect them in a negative way. I have delayed many choices in life over the fact that although the choice is what is definitely best for me, it has the potential to cause suffering for another. Some situations have have taken me years to try and resolve, despite my own internal angst, because of how those choices will affect another. Empathy is a brutal master.
    I have begun to understand that my over-analysis of myself and my situations is rooted in my empathic and introverted nature. As an Empath, I feel what others feel and need, understand how we are all connected, how the ripples of my actions will affect those around me. And as an Empath, I really do care how others feel, and how I make others feel. This makes many interactions uncomfortable, painful or anxiety ridden for me. As an Introvert, I take in information easily but don't neccessarily process it quickly. I hear/feel/see something and take it away to my little burrow to roll it around in my head, probe it with my mind, poke it with a stick, sniff it, study it, pick it apart and try to come to a deeper understanding of it. It may seem that I do not learn some things quickly (especially if I am under the stress of having to actually talk with someone), but it is just that I want my solitude to fully understand the idea and all its nuances. To use a well-worn '70s sci-fi concept; to fully Grok the knowledge.
    What does all this mumbo-jumbo mean? Hell if I know, I'm just over-analyzing and trying to get thoughts written into comprehensible concepts... yes, so I can continue to over-analyze, study and understand myself. I do know that my self-evaluations have led me down some strange paths recently, as I have extricated myself from the well-worn track of life that I was circling, lap after lap, wondering why I wasn't getting anywhere, then wondering how I could step off of the easy comfort of the known and tread into the frightening unknown. The unknown that I knew must be traveled alone. Which brings me back to the Introvert aspect of my nature. An Introvert is not likely to ask for help, accept help if offered, expect anyone else to solve their problems. An Introvert relies on looking inward to find solutions, not outward hoping for salvation. My tendency to analyze, study and attempt to make changes within myself and with my life does cause me more grief than some might imagine. Change is difficult and often painful, but when I see the need, and fully understand the neccessity, I am willing to accept the pain and suffering of myself, and yes of others if need be. I am willing to bear my load of guilt, knowing how my actions affect those I love. But I am also willing to take my life by the rudder and guide myself through changes that are imperative to my sanity, health and emotional well-being, largely because I do analyze and understand that changes must be made. I can't live a static life. I cannot see changes that must be made and hide my head in the sand hoping they will resolve themselves. Yes, some situations will eventually work themselves out if given enough time, but how much time can we waste, as mere mortals with limited time on this world? I know I cannot afford to waste my life waiting for changes, hoping that my life will eventually work itself out. I know what I need and want from life and can't let myself just sit back and hope that eventually the gods will see fit to hand me my heart's desires. Pursuing dreams, forcing change, grabbing and holding onto what I want and need out of life is where my over-analyzing, introspective, emapthic, introverted nature leads me. It is my nature and therefore not to be ignored. 

Excruciating Self-Examination

    I made a promise to myself when I was 39, that each year on my birthday I would be healthier than I was the previous year. I admit, after a decade of keeping this promise to myself it gets a bit more difficult. Now I find myself less than a month from my 50th birthday. Fifty. Five Zero. Half a Century. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. I used to think the panic most people seem to experience at this particular milestone was silly and self-defeating. Now, I'm not so sure. As I race towards this birthday of dubious distinction I find myself in a very weird place in life. I am truely single for the first time in 27 years, a brand new homeowner, underemployed, and feeling severed from most familiar aspects of my life. I look towards my fiftieth year and have no idea what it holds. Even my regular circle of friends and dominant hobby are suddenly not really an option for me, are not the safe retreat from the woes of the world that they used to be.
    As the fiftieth anniversary of my birth approaches and I evaluate myself, my body, my life, I wonder if I am going to be able to keep that decade old promise to myself. I admit, the last few months I have let my workout routine and careful nutrition slip a bit. Stress, grief, anger, anxiety, depression, lonliness, have all been excuses to indulge myself a bit here and there. The last six months of my 49th year have been less than optimal, they were like a tailor-made hell. Just about every aspect of my life was in turmoil. I wasn't sure I would survive that particular trial by fire. But I managed to come through, wounded and scarred, but still mostly whole.
    So I evaluate myself, my promise, my pending Half Century mark, and wonder if I am healthier. Am I? It's a tough call. I admit, I'm a few pounds heavier, and just now getting back to a hardcore workout routine. But weight and strength are not the only measures of health. I have flayed open my heart, mind and soul these last few months, examining myself through the magnifying, critical eye of self-doubt. I have spent countless sleepless hours staring at the insides of my eyelids, prying into the corners of my mind, probing through my soul, poking my flaccid spirit with a stick as a child pokes the dead jellyfish washed up on the sand. Countless hours both night and day examining myself, taking brutal advantage of hundreds of hours spent alone and lonely with no one to distract me from my own painful interrogations. I have played good cop/bad cop with myself, asking myself "why," demanding explanations, beating myself repeatedly with the proverbial rubber hose. I am the queen of self-flagellation, self-recriminations and self-doubt. So, where does all this self-inflicted brutalizing get me? I has led me to a deeper understanding of myself, my needs, my desires, and also my strengths and powers.
    Despite the tears shed on a daily basis, the cries against the unfairness of the roads I have chosen, the numerous times I have shaken my fist at the gods and screamed, "It's NOT fair! This is NOT what I deserve!" Despite all this, I can look into my heart, battered and scarred as it is, and see the strength it holds. I can look at what I have achieved with my own two hands, my own will, my sheer stubborness, and see that it is good, or will be someday. I can look at my solitary existence and though I may weep from desperate lonliness, I can feel the power of independence coursing through my spirit. After all my self examinations I think my diagnosis is that I have a mercurial yet introverted personality exacerbated by artistic temperment and acute empathy. I will never be content to take the easy path.
    So, am I healthier? Yes. No. I don't know. I do think that I may be coming upon an age when I will find myself mentally, emotionally and spiritually healthier than I have ever been, once I can get past the current onslaught of angst and fear. I am searching for balance, peace, harmony, health. And the search is leading me towards my own truths, my own reality. What will I find in this next Half Century?

Social Media, Social Mess

    Social Networking, Social Media. Just another source of mutual masturbation for those who want their egos stroked, and those who love to do the stroking. For others it is a wasteland of rejection, snubbing, rumor mongering, and invisibility. It is one more place to feel unpopular and go unnoticed. Just another place to feel like a quiet voice lost in a crowd.
    It is an interesting place for a voyeur Outsider to watch the interplay, misunderstandings and obvious boot-licking that goes on in all social groups no matter the age, education or social status. But it is also another reason for an Outsider to feel even more the social pariah by viewing these interactions and having to fight the desire to flee from the human race in all its sticky glory.
    Don't get me wrong, I do enjoy the social networks as a way to keep connected with friends and family, and to keep my finger on the pulse of the world around me. But at the same time I find myself feeling the same hurt and invisibility of the social fringy that I was in high school. Funny how humans need social interaction and acceptance, even when they shun society as a whole. Shun and shunned, all in one untidy package.
    Oddly, and maybe inappropriately, I am minded of overcrowded chickens; one will be selected at random to be the pariah, to be slowly pecked to death by the other chickens. A social sacrifice. There is no rhyme or reason to it. It is random and subjective. I do know this is an exaggeration, an over dramatic viewpoint based on my own feelings of being the social pariah. It is an attempt to understand the subjective nature of popularity.
    Why do some people draw a fawning crowd of sycophants, while others seem to be invisible to the populace? I used to think it was based largely on sex appeal, attractiveness, or in some cases wealth and notoriety. Actually, I still believe this to a degree, but there is something else at work. And I can't quite put my finger on it. Do some put off a pheromone that draws in those inclined to fawn and coo? And do others put off the opposing pheromone that keeps everyone at a polite distance, avoiding eye contact and interactions? It is more curiosity than finger pointing. I know there are those that seek out the crowds, parties, vigorously seek attention and acclaim. And others, like myself, who tend to avoid crowds, lurk in the shadowy fringes, make unpopular observations about the dark messiness of society, and generally make others uncomfortable about their own humanity and desires for acceptance.
    This is a double edged sword. As one who lurks on the fringe, I feel the angst of being the Outcast and social pariah, but know that it is self inflicted. Self inflicted in the sense that I fight against any urges to do the "acceptable thing," to jump through social hoops, to bend my personality to fit into that weirdly subjective standard of popularity. If anything I perversely turn away from doing what I know could raise my standings in the eyes of others, those that seem to "count" in the popularity contest. And yet, I find myself hurt by the feelings of invisibility and nonacceptance. I know I can't have it both ways. And so I continue to choose the solitary path, despite the loneliness and feelings of rejection.
    Maybe as a writer I feel I have to suffer for my art? Maybe I am just an expert at self-flagellation? Maybe I am too empathic and allow myself to see too deeply into the hearts of others? I see and understand what goes on all around me, sometimes feeling as if I am prying up the masks and seeing the true faces beneath. Unhappy faces. Bestial faces. This is frightening and does little to encourage me to seek out my fellow humanity. No, not everyone hides beneath a mask. There are those who are open natured, good and kind. But there are those who are self-centered, self-obsessed, crass, harsh and uncaring, hiding behind masks of joviality.
    It is not a gift to be able to see with unscaled eyes, it is a curse. It makes it near impossible to fit into regular society without also creating a mask, a mask of the calm, rational, "normal" human. So we all work to fit into society in one way, shape or form. For some, it is just to slip past unnoticed, thought of as "normal," blend in with chameleon-like skill, be the fly-on-the-wall to observe and take note of the strange interactions of the species Homo sapien.

The Real Homer

    I have a kitten, found alone and cold, tiny and helpless, just a few feet from the cemetary where I walk my dogs. Of course I took the baby, snuggled him into my sweatshirt, picked up kitten formula at my local feed store and took him home to join my hairy tribe. At first I jokingly said, "Hugo (my beloved Pit-mix) thinks I should name him Snack." And so that was his name for the first week or two while I waited for a more appropriate name to present itself. The name should have been obvious, "Homer," after my great-grandfather who is buried in that cemetary, and who I have always thought has kept an eye on the family over the years. Homer the kitten is adorable, as are all kittens. He is black as coal, green-eyed and a bundle of hilarity with a zest for life and fun.
    But who is The Real Homer? Homer Clyde Lemons, father of my dear grandma Pearl. Grampa raised sheep, dairy cattle and hops. He lived in a farmhouse several miles from town, with an oak grove, creek and pond full of tadpoles, and a giant barn with a rope swing in the hay loft. I remember summer days at Grampa's, chasing lambs, catching frogs and tadpoles, swinging into stickery mounds of hay, trying to catch the skittish barn kittens, eating blackberries warm from the sun, and having Grampa feed us farmhand sized meals replete with vast quantities of milk (he was a dairy man after all).
    Homer Lemons loved children and babies. He was just about the perfect Grampa, with a goofy sense of humor and plenty of time to explain things to his grandkids. One of my few regrets is that I did not stop by to see him the last time I was in his neck of the woods a few months before he died. That was 33 years ago, and I still regret it.
    Homer did cool things in his younger days; broke horses, traveled the country working, in Idaho he met and eloped with the "spinster schoolmarm," my Grandma Sadie (who died when I was only 2, so sadly she is just a sweet face in old photos). In the 30's, during the depths of the Great Depression, Homer brought his family out to the Willamette Valley, to the small farming community of Canby. He had his eye on a farm, one that wasn't available, yet. So Homer moved his family into a building nearby that had in essence been a chicken coop at one point. This is one of the staples of our Family Lore: Grampa and the Chicken Coop. It wasn't an ideal home for a family of five, but it kept the weather off while Homer and Sadie worked to buy the dream farm. And they did. A beautiful piece of fertile land on the Gribble prairie with the aforementioned house, barn, creek and oak grove. He grew hops, hiring itinerant workers during the harvest, housing them in an outbuilding, and Grandma cooked meals over a woodstove set out in the yard. The Hop House blew off of it's foundation during the Columbus Day Storm of 1960, and slowly settled into the earth so that by the time I was old enough to go exploring, the doorway was only about three feet high, which made the vast building seem mysterious and extra spooky.
    In his later years, Homer led an active life, being a favorite dance partner at the monthy Grange Hall dances, and had several "lady friends" over the years (long after Grandma died, of course). It was only in his last few years that he seemed to slow down, finally dying peacefully at the respectable age of 90.
    I hadn't known where Grampa was buried until just a few months ago, and coincidently, it is the very same cemetary that I have been walking my dogs in for the last 8 months or so. I had passed his gravestone hundreds of times before my Mom and I searched and found it back in September. Since then, I have stopped and talked to Grampa on a pretty regular basis. Especially since the last three months have been excessively stressful for me. In a short period of time I have ended a decade long relationship, been passed over for several jobs I was sure I was going to get (after protracted interview and hiring procedures), and I've decided to buy a house (though I can barely afford my rent, my job security is non-existant, and flying solo is a struggle at best). So, needless to say, my stressload has been a bit overbearing at times (okay, most of the time).
    I have found that stopping and talking with Grampa is soothing, and helps me leave my burdens behind for a brief interlude. And one real beauty of a cemetary is that if someone were to see me kneeling at Grampa's grave, brushing leaves from his headstone, sobbing uncontrollably and and rambling incoherently about my troubles, fears, lonliness and feelings of failure, no one would dare interfere. A cemetary is a place that welcomes grief, accepts lonliness, honors tears, and politely looks the other way when faced with hysterics and sobbing.
    I admit, this behavior has become more frequent and common as the days march by towards winter and I feel I am not much closer to my dreams, or even peace. This week, I was on my knees in the near-frozen, damp turf pretending to brush away fallen leaves, so if anyone were to see they would not take a second look (granted the only living presence in the cemetary were me and my two dogs). I sobbed so hard I could barely catch my breath as I told Grampa of my failures and struggles, feelings of persecution and  rejection, and a near desperate lonliness born of too many burdens and no one to share the load. Yes it was self pity, but somewhat justified. Grampa listened quietly (if he had done anything else, I'm sure the shock and terror would have banished any self pity), and I was reminded of Grampa and The Chicken Coop. I told myself that if he had the patience to live in a former chicken domicile while awaiting his dream, I could wait in the relative comfort and solitude of my current situation. Granted, Grampa had his sweet Sadie at his side, but those were uncertain times and they were going way out on a limb to make their dream a reality. So, as I inch further and further out onto the limb that is my current life, waiting to hear the creaking of it preparing to snap under my weight, I will keep reminding myself that I could be living in a Chicken Coop.
    Now I have a little, black cat named after a good man. A little, black cat that I am seeing as my lucky charm for reminding me every day of my truely great Grampa. Thank you Grampa Homer, for your kind and gentle nature, your good humor, love of life, and for passing along strong genes and a mental fortitude that will save me. And thanks for The Chicken Coop
  

Mist in the Gloaming

Sunset Fuschia, fading to Lavender, finally to Ashes of Roses.
Tangerine Moon rising in the east, Autumn Ripe, Luminous Halo.
The light fades as the mist rises in the gloaming.
The cemetary is tranquil.
The still air is Autumn brisk, filling my lungs with the spice of fallen leaves and flowers gone to seed.
My dogs trot faithful at my side, brief strain of the leashes at the glimpse of a cottontail in the dusk.
They resist nature's urge for the chase, and stay by my side.
Such Glory revives my Spirit.
I regain my Strength, Energy and Balance.
I feel my Power surge, pushing out self-doubt and debilitating fears.
I chant the Tenets of my Chosen Path: Harmony, Health, Love, Happiness, Peace, Abundance, Protection.
I wrap my renewed Energy around my Spirit like Armor.
Again I talk myself off the ledge. Renew promises to myself.
I feel the Dream within my Reach.
I must not doubt Myself.
I will not doubt Myself.
I do not doubt Myself.