The Big Green Monster

Relationships are scary and...amazing.  I'm learning so much right now about myself and my partner.  I feel fortunate to have him in my life, and sometimes, I forget those happy feelings and become an uglier version of myself.  The hardest part, perhaps, of getting over our fears/insecurities, is forgiving ourselves for having them.  For accepting them and moving on.  My rage monster, is jealousy.  Where this stems from, I'm still figuring out.  Mostly, I believe, it's abandonment, the fear of being left alone.  Which, I feel, is so silly, because we all die, yes?  And alone never has to mean alone in the sense of this vast universe.  If we are energy beings, we are apart of everything, all the time.  A mass of atoms bouncing around, 'negative' and 'positive' molecules.  We exist as a whole unit.  If only more countries taught this concept to young minds, perhaps many issues that exist today, just wouldn't.  Would there be the same level of greed and jealousy, of hatred for other beings?  I'd like to think not.  If we're told that all beings are connected to each other, to our home planet, to the whole universe, wouldn't that drastically change the global perspective?  Maybe.

It's a world I dream about and sometimes I even fear.  Because it means letting go of so many preconceptions about life and relationships.  It means being open to change.  One of the hardest things, and most rewarding.

Don't be afraid of change.  Don't be afraid of yourself.  Learn, and grow.

With love,
HB

Solving the world's problems one post at a time.

To myself, on my birthday

I feel like birthdays are just a reason to make ourselves look good.  To be fake with people, you know?  It's like, we celebrate holidays because we are incapable of picking up the phone or sending a letter, or text, throughout the rest of the year to tell people, just tell them, how much we care.  Or simply say, 'I was thinking of you'.  And we're programmed to do this, all of us.  Because there isn't enough time, or we have too much going on.  Or whatever.  And perhaps it gets too overwhelming to go through the list of people and say the 'I love you's' or the 'thinking of you'.  But hey, there's always Facebook.  A wonderful calendar reminder, so that we can take 30 seconds to type up a simple, "Happy Birthday, love you!"  "Wishing you the best on your special day!" or some appropriate statement like that.  And we never say, I hope you're happy.  This very statement usually carries undertones of sarcasm when used by people (and why the hell is that?).  When did a simple statement, that should mean so much kindness, and real compassion for another person become some snarling sarcasm?  When did statements and words get so complicated that we rarely ever say what we actually mean?  Why does everything have to be in context?

And we all do it.  We're practically trained to from childhood.  To lie to people, white lies, to make everything easier.  For ourselves mostly, though we will tell ourselves that it's for the sake of others.

Sorry, tangent.

I think birthday's are a selfish joke.  I think I really mean that.  I'm not saying they always are, sometimes people really need that reassurance that they're loved.  Sometimes it's just fun to hang out with people, eat food, and drink and be merry.  I get it, really.  growing up in a household that always celebrated birthdays, and all the holidays; decorations, cake, presents, people, food, all of it.  And everyone was special.  If my mother could, she always threw every child - us and our friends included - a birthday party.  She was the best at it.  Especially when many of those children had useless parents, or abusive, or just tool bag parents who never listened.  She would be there, to feed and nurture and make them feel special, and not alone.  And sometimes, that is just what we need.

But for me, birthdays always feel like the time when I really see just how lack luster my social life is.  People I never talk to in person, people I haven't spoken to in years, post all over my social media page, with wishes of 'happy birthday!'  I may get full sentences, if they're really significant in my life, or perhaps were significant.  It seems to vary as I get older.  Yet all year long, I rarely receive any comments or messages or anything from these people (beyond a select few, for those who may read this someday, you know who you are, and I appreciate you).  So, why do we do it?

I'm guilty of it too.  Even old high school friends or acquaintances; when the notification pops up, I'm all but first to post the famous tagline of the day.  Like it gives some self-gratification, like it makes me a caring person.  I don't know.  It's so, so cheap and easy, isn't it?  Then we wait for another year to make the 'effort' to show our feathers of 'Look at me, I give a shit'.  But do we really?  If we care about people, don't we reach out to them?  Don't we call them or fucking text once in a while?  In this day, where there are so many forms of communication, why is it so hard for people to drop a line sometimes?  Or why do we even bother, then?  Why not just focus on the people around us, everyday.  Why bother just once or twice a year?  If a relationship isn't worth more of your time, is it worth it at all?

Perhaps, I'm a scrooge for feeling any of this, for writing it 'out loud' for all to see.  Or maybe it's a mild sense of depression because I am 29, unemployed, living at my parents house in the 7th circle of hell.  Which doesn't feel like that much to celebrate, honestly.  But hey, I'm alive, right?  I have food and shelter and clothes that aren't too terribly old.  I have a wonderful, supportive partner who will read this and probably hug me and tell me everything's gonna work out.  And maybe, just maybe... those things are the real gift on a birthday.  The rest, is just filler.

Ego in relationships

A meaningless black hole of wounded pride
can set the stage for a mess of lies;
creating arguments for arguments' sake
like a rumbling and endless earthquake.
And we tremble together at the heat
of a moment that skips heavily on repeat;
if only one of us would back down
the other one might just come around.

Leaving whispers of love
on your pillow,
as you slept.
And I wept, for the fears
of my scars,
as they ooze their pitiful woes.

Lots of layers still cover,
a face not
completely discarded,
moving closer and closer
to epiphany.
Will you ever be free of me?

Desert escape

How nice it would be to run. Far and fast, away. In lush green fields or desert mountains. To breath in the freshest air. Taste rain on your tongue. The smells of moist Earth, of tall grass, of creosote bush, so rustic, like fuel, but fresher. No one is around except the rapping footsteps of animals, birds humming, sweet music. The quiet is serene and forgiving. No noisy mouths to question or judge, to ask and ask again. You're so tired. You could rest now, on the soft green, under the palo verde, awaiting, for nothing.

Triple Rainbow Delight

     She couldn't understand why, the thought of that triple rainbow.  She couldn't get it our of her head.  What did it mean?  Probably nothing.  Paranoid personality disorder, she reminded herself.  It was nothing.  A refraction of light in moisture; what's visible to the naked eye.  Glimpses of another world we can't see in plain daylight.  She realized how much time had passed and took back to running.  It's nothing, she whispered.
     In the distance a car crash rings out.  She hears the screech and bang of metal and glass colliding.  Without hesitation, she rushes towards the violent sounds to help.  A woman is crying in a blue sedan, nearly smashed to bits.  She's lucky to be alive, thinks Alicia.  Peering around quickly, she assesses the carnage.  Another car is splayed several feet away.  No movement inside.  Just as she is about to remove her phone from the armband strapped to her left bicep, a truck horn blows behind her and Alicia turns to see the monstrosity.  "Oh god,' she whispers.  'What is that?' horror filled face, Alicia takes in the creature.  It's looming figure moves forward, grabbing bodies and stomping closer.  She looks again at the woman in the sedan.  If she could only get to her.  Alicia rushes over and shouts, "I'll get you out of here!  We have to run!"
     She attempts to open the car door, but it's jammed.  "Can you push it open?" the woman looks at her and frantically shakes her head no.  "Okay," Alicia says, "Gimme a-"
     Alicia is scooped upward by the creatures clawed hand.  She is screaming now.  The creature begins to squeeze, and her breath fades.  Her eyes are closing.  All she can see is the mouth.  It's getting closer.  Then-
     The woman in the sedan screams and cries as the monster passes by.  She stops screaming as she watches it step right beside her car.  It continues down the road.

On Acceptance of Mortality

Death is a monster that lurks

Casting his ominous shadow

He strikes when we least expect;

A ruthless and honest beast

A piece of all of us

The unspoken truth that awaits.

We may cry, and fight against

But his will is strong; it is righteous.

And as our time expires

It becomes clear;

The pain lessens

And acceptance,

Brings peace.

The rabbit hole

There she is now. Floating, falling, faster and faster down the hole. Where does it lead? She wonders. A kind of acceptance, as she allows herself to be taken. Will it hurt? It chose me, she thinks. But I want it to mean something. Perhaps I'm foolish, it's just random. It could've been anyone. It's dark in here. Shadows cast along the sides, but there isn't any light. Then how? She wonders aloud. Why me?

She shouts.

Falling still; it seems endless. How long has she been falling now? It seems like hours, but only minutes, surly. Time is irrelevant, is it not? This could go on forever, but what would that mean, really?  If time is simply a sequence of events, our understanding of how one moves and experiences existence, then her existence, in this hole, is infinite, immeasurable. Or is it?  This fact doesn't satiate her yearning for something.  A sign, even the faintest.  To know that it will come to an end.  To know that she will have the answer.  If she can just proceed a little further, down into the abyss.  She'll 

know why.  

She recalls, many moons ago now, it seems, the moment she understood how meaningless life could be.  Her fascination with the unknown depths of this space that she is now descending upon, grew stronger when it happened.  He didn't deserve to go, so young.  Older than she, certainly, but young in spirit and body still.  He was everything to her.  And yet, when he was gone, she realized that it meant nothing.  Their time together, was but another event, a passing occurrence in a cosmic realm, where there were mysteries of far greater import.  But why then, with such an epiphany, did she still ache at 

the memory?

She doesn't feel anything in this current state. Like her senses are at an extreme calm. She is not alarmed, only very aware of the feeling of...nothing.  And yet, everything. She knows she is falling, that her dress is fluttering ever so slightly with the movement, that air is passing along her skin as she falls faster. But is it really faster? She can see everything. She knows she is falling, but the images perceived are quite clear. And that her body feels nothing, feels not the moving dress or passing air. How is this possible?  Logic is not here.  In this place of possibilities unknown.  The quiet and 

deliberate death.

She knows not how to proceed. The black abyss below. So endless. She's gone this far. If she could just reach out, perhaps she could brace herself. What holds her back? If I reach out my hand, I'll touch a wall. I must, she says. Of course, what if she reaches out, only to discover she feels nothing? Not that it isn't there.  The wall exists, surly. How else are the shadows...?  They dance and laugh 

at her.  

In that moment she recalls the first time she had her finger pricked. The doctor said it would hurt a little. The blood oozed out in a tiny bubble of deep red.  He took her blood into a vile.  'Just running a few tests,' he'd said.  She pouted at the sensation of pain, but then, entranced by the blood on her finger, she felt agitated when the nurse wrapped it with a band-aid.  As soon as she was able to, she would rip off that band-aid and squeeze hard until more blood came.  Not much, of course, as the area had healed.  She stomped her foot and gave a grunt of disapproval.  Startled, she said, 

'Father.'  

When he saw her doing this, he didn't yell, not like her mother would have.  He only inquired about why she was doing it.  She told him, 'I want to make the blood run again.'  'But why,' he would ask.  She paused and bit her lip.  She shook her 

head, uncertain.  

Shortly after, he bought her a microscope and together they observed his blood; a quick prick of the finger and he placed a droplet on a glass slide.  He told her how it worked, blood.  How the body reacted to a wound in attempt to heal.  That it would coagulate, with platelets.  'This way,' he'd said, 'you wouldn't bleed to death.'  She asked him what death meant.  What happened after death?  Her nanna had gone to this place of death when she was just a babe.  She only remembered the cold stare of nanna in her casket.  'Is it like sleep?' she asked him.  'Yes,' he said, 'I suppose it is like a sleep.'  He told her of glorious sleep and the quiet black void 

of nothingness.   

The shadows suddenly disappear and there is a stillness.  She's hanging there.  Now is the time.  'Reach for the wall!' she shouts to herself.  She extends her left arm and braces for what might be or not be.  Nothing!  She can feel nothing!  Her hand keeps reaching, but there isn't anything to grasp.  And then her arms and legs are flailing about and panic strikes her thoughts.  I can't scream!  What would that do, they won't hear me.  I'm so far down!  Why did I go, she thinks.  Her lip pouts, but she won't cry.  She finally halts her moving limbs and closes her eyes.  A few deep breathes, stay calm.  'In the blackness, the great void, there is peace'.

His words.

'Father!' She weeps, remembering his eyes.  How cold they looked, unmoving.  The blood ran down his face and onto the floor.  There was so much blood.  She plead, and told him to coagulate.  But his body wouldn't listen.  Her mother came in soon after.  She looked dismayed, tears forming, whispered a soft and broken,

'no.'

When she opens them, her eyes peer downward.  It's dark, so dark she can't see anything.  In fact, she realizes, all trace of light is gone.  She wills herself to move, to keep moving.  Surly, there is an end.  What's holding her?  Could it be-?  No, that's impossible.  And then she is falling again.  Much faster, so fast that her dress flies nearly above her head, she flails about.
She screams!  

And then. A soft light in the distance, as Lily opens her eyes.  A surface beneath her.  Her hands brush the ground.  She looks up.  He is there.  Is it him?  It must be.  The silhouetted glow of a man she once knew.  So long she has waited to be here.  With him and to know for certainty.  She moves towards this figure.  In her heart she knows.  Without doubt. 

He's safe.