Oh will you just look at this gorgeous hat that my friend anawee made. I love her so much. She has been such a support, such a source of joyful inspiration to me for God can it be six or seven years now? Sometimes I feel like a little squirrel following behind her collecting the creatively inspirational little nuts and seeds that she drops. Does that make any sense or am I way too tired to be trying to communicate with you all right now?
I have written two really longish posts to share with you over the course of the last few days and just haven't had the time to edit them and put them up. I've been plowing my way into the hellish depths of my garage and it is painful and liberating at the same time. I promised myself last year that these would be my years of transformation and I swear I am transforming as fast as my overburdened feet will carry me and tired, overwhelmed, little soul will allow. All the while doing all I possibly can to care for my child, my partner, my aging Mommy-child, all of our animal-friends, this newly built, but crumbling-nevertheless house, and everything and everyone else I've taken on. Expressing myself here on this computer is my one main outlet for the infinite creative link that flows from the universe to me, and it's hard to have to limit myself to so little when I have stars inside me that want to explode outwards. I hope some of you will understand this and not think I'm simply referencing Kubrick in some fartsy way.
Oh God, big huge sigh, I spent most of today and yesterday sitting in my back yard with flies biting my legs and arms, while five or six helping-assistant people-friends went through box after box of my stored things with me and helped me sort out what was trashed by the rats and what could be saved. And still I won't kill them. Still I value their precious ratty lives, their shiny brown fur, their pointy noses and whiskers, and their big deep brown eyes. In fact after working for eight or nine hours straight yesterday, throwing out precious hand knit afghans and beautifully embroidered pieces from the teens through the forties, and heaps of vintage fabrics, clothes and so much more. They built nests in the base of Maureen Ohara's favorite dressing table chair, and they ate their way into my very first English pine dresser. What can I do but work my way through the garage until it's completely emptied out, something that will take weeks, then drywall or plaster the whole thing, do my best to rat proof it, and find some way to catch and relocate these rat people? How do I find the time to be a mother, a lover, a good daughter, a friend, and channel all the art that is bursting to come out of me at the same time? I live in an almost total state of art abstinence, I need an ARTS meeting so badly.
Every morning and every night of my life I take two syringes, fill them with two different sticky medicines and coax my sick friend Pinky-Rat into taking them. Then I give him a favorite food treat and cuddles. I don't care what anyone says about rats, disease, pestilence or plague, there is no difference between his life and theirs. This morning I heard this plaintive little squeaking ratty sound and spent ages worrying about this little lost rat who was obviously displaced and calling out for help in all the confusion. Had I found it I would have built it a palace of a cage and nursed it back to health until it could have been released somewhere wild but rat friendly. Being this empathic is killing me, while at the same time being my greatest gift.
Today we began the enormous task of going through Beau's boxes and boxes of saved toys; sorting LEGOs, micro machines, Sailor Moon dollies, Power Rangers, Tamogachis (sp?), Beanie Babies, trains, trucks, puzzles, electronic gizmos, rubber band balls, sling shots, rubber duckies, stuffed animals of every kind, comic books, stickers, marbles, cracker jack toys, bubble wands, pool toys, Sega, Nintendo, Playstation, and Game Boy stuff, videos, books, cards, games, figurines, dice, Star Wars things, monsters, action figures, Pikachu and Mew and all of their friends, playschool stuff, little people, books on tape, roller coaster and hot wheel tracks, Rockenbach stuff, arts and craft stuff, it just went on and on, and I couldn't just toss it. It all has to be gone through. It should have been sorted through all along but I was in so much pain both physically and emotionally that I think I just abdicated responsibility in so many areas of my life that I relied on the wrong people to make decisions for me and they did them very poorly. Mostly this consisted of getting paid to dump everything into a big jumble in expensive plastic boxes that I would buy over and over again at Bed Bath and Beyond, and now I'm paying the price. The more weight I shed, the more awake and able bodied I become, the more I have to go back over everything I have let slide and it's hard. Bah.
Anyway all of this came flooding up to the surface when I went by analand tonight and felt this yearning to create. I just want to go to the yarn store, learn how to create beautiful wool things, and make them. But I also want to learn how to play my guitar and my ukulele. I want to write music and record it. I want to make my collages and art journals and paint. I want to make documentaries and edit them on my computer. I want to write my poems again. I want to find a new agent and get back out there and start doing what I was built for. I want to earn money for my art instead of trying to figure out ways to squeeze a few dollars out of all of my crap on eBay.
There's just no other way out for me but to go right on through so I keep going. In the meantime I often feel like I take one giant painful step forward and three tiny steps backwards, all the time, but I'm hoping I've got this reversed and it's really happening the other way round. And then there's the world around me spinning out of control. I can't even touch the news or I'll come apart in brittle flaking pieces of heartbreak. I want to find that man who ran over all of those poor people at the Farmer's Market and tell him I know that he is suffering right now. I want to go to all of those people who lost their family members and friends and hold them and tell them that I love them and that they will all be okay. I want to hug Angelina Jolie and tell her how cool I think she is for adopting little Maddox and how sorry I am that things didn't work out with Billie Bob. Christ I want to go to the Middle East and broker peace but it just isn't going to happen. I just have to walk my own little twenty acres right here and hope that the Divine force that drives all of this will look down upon me with a certain amount of benevolence and give me the courage to keep going. And like a hungry yearning forever girl-child I would give almost anything for a real mommy who would care enough to put loving Band-Aids over all of my very deep wounds, look my in the eye and tell me I'm a good person, that I'm special, loved, appreciated, wanted, that she knows I've done the best I can with what I've been given and that it's all going to be all right; a Mommy who would love me at night and tuck me in and kiss my forehead, but I didn't get it then, I'm not going to get it now, and I have to go deep inside and find some way to give this to myself, when all I want to do is wail and sob hiccups into someone's unconditionally loving arms.
How does she do it? How do any of us do it?</a>