With These Strings

We are always 

In motion; though 

It is not always 

For us to see. 

We sense 

The vibrations, 

Hear the hum, 

Feel the stirring,

And can’t help but

Breathe in

A constant, steady rhythm

With these strings.

For it is in

The pull and release,

The tension unleashed,

That everything possible

And everything dreamed

Can exist.  This

Chorus of voices,

It sometimes whispers sweetly,

Giggles loudly, or laments inconsolably

To me.

Now is the time

To ask our selves:

How has it felt

All of these years,

Waiting,

Wishing,

Wasting?

Because there is

No better gift

To receive than

This moment,

This movement,

This chance

To be. 

To New Beginnings...

How do you love some one like my sister, Colleen?
How do you not love them?
I've found that both are nearly impossible.
And yet, keeping my distance from her is always more of a struggle than putting up with whatever bullshit she's going to dish out. At any given moment. But, I'm prepared at this point. Or, so I think...

Where does our story begin? Which details trace the edges and fill the seams? How do I make the pieces fit? Where is the order in our long-standing and emotionally obvious disorder?

We were born 15 months apart. 2 girls with brown hair and big brown eyes. But, whereas I encountered very little illness or even social obstacles as a toddler and young child, my sister was dealt the real shit end of the stick. From at least the age of 2, but possibly even earlier, Colleen was repeatedly attacked by ear infections. And, I very well mean to use the word "attacked" -- the infections were vicious: throbbing pain, loss of sensation, loss of hearing, problems with equilibrium, problems sleeping, etc...and, you can only imagine how this effected her behavior. Many times, because she was in such discomfort, so tormented by the plagues of what seemed like constant ear infections, or medications, or inner-ear tube operations, Colleen acted out physically or vocally aggressively.  As a family we tried to compensate for this, tried to help her, tried to support her and not let her struggle alone. My mom, sister, and I spent hundreds of hours in doctor's offices -- talking, trying to joke, bickering, playing cards, planning and dreaming. And, Colleen would try to keep her spirits high, try to smile; inside she felt so bad, so guilty, so scared. You could see it in her eyes. Even to this day, she is one of the saddest-eyed kids I've even seen.

But, also inside of her is this incredibly beautiful, bountiful light. And, when it shines on you, it is PURE LOVE. She is a vessel for love, compassion, bright energy, goodness, altruistic deeds, and empathy. UGH. Empathy...this is where Colleen often finds herself lead down a very different path than she's intended...but, more on that, later. Back to L-O-V-E. While we fought often as children,  out of necessity and isolation we became each other's best friend. Growing up on 17 acres of rolling countryside was a blessing and a curse to us: it is both heartbreakingly beautiful, but can be incredibly lonely and distort your perspective when your only other playmate has just whipped a metal spoon at your exposed skin and locked you out of house...
Where was I?
Oh, that's right -- LOVE!
Colleen's love is one of the deepest, truest, warmest feelings I have ever known. When we were on good terms, nothing beat it, nothing could stop us, nothing could top us, and nothing could break us apart (Except us). What a gift to have her "look up to me" as the older sister, to have her trust, her thoughtfulness, and to see the hopes she had for both of us. She had more dreams of what we'd both become, thought about both of our futures more than I ever did. Most of the time I fooled myself into thinking I was teaching her, but she was the one leading me. And, her laugh. It's one of those laughs that you feel too. Infectious, and to the core. Hearty, silly, ringing...

But, it wasn't all peanut butter and jelly...
I can't sum it all up, I can't actually render our lives, our moments, our struggles into words. It lives out *there* now; in the past. And, I can access a painful, delightful, incredible flood of memories, of stories, of our intersections. How we shared. Everything. Good, bad, amazing, and horrible.
Let's not get bogged down in all the details of our school-aged years: the drifting, the fighting, the bickering, and the less frequent but still delightful, silly scheming.
Suffice to say we both struggled a lot psychologically during those years. And, while we were still mostly allies, we started to turn on each other more and more. We started to share less and compete more.
 We became two different sides of the same coin.
Again, all the details are somewhat irrelevant at this point.
But, here's a quick memory:
October, 2002: It is Pal-Mac High's homecoming weekend. Colleen and I have arrived at the bonfire and pep-rally together. I drove us in the red and rusted S10 pickup that we used to beat to shit on those no-posted-speed-limit roads. Immediately, Colleen jumps out of the truck and starts off to find her friends. I try to slow her down, get a plan when/where we'll meet back up, ask her who she'll be with, etc. I ask 20 questions. I try to keep her near me because I am nervous, worried, and pretty socially awkward. I maybe want to hangout with her and her friends...but I don't know how to ask. She's got an attitude. It seems like she's on the run. But, I don't understand from whom? And, why? She's snappy with me. She takes off without any clear agreement. On anything.
I go to find my friends before I miss the parade and our Senior float. Over the next few hours I occasionally look for my sister around the school grounds. I am getting increasingly nervous. But, not just about her. I am the Student Council President and I have to go help announce and lead the pep-rally soon.  It's heading towards twilight, almost to the point where the sun starts setting fast. I start repeatedly calling her phone. She doesn't answer. She doesn't answer. And, then it starts going to voicemail. My ego says: "She's fucking with me. That little bitch is doing this to piss me off, to make me worry about her, to chase her down. UGH, she's so selfish." Really, though she probably just wants a few hours away from her over-bearing, self-important, older sister.
Finally, right at dusk, as everyone starts heading in to the gym for the pep-rally, we encounter each other in front of the gym doors. We are both instantly hostile. I demand to know where she's been, who was she with, and what the fuck were they doing? She tells me she's been smoking weed and some cigs at a friend's house a few blocks away. My tone gets so cutting. I judge her, and I judge her, and I don't stop. She's not in the mood right now, and starts screaming back at me. I am not her parent, I can't tell her what to do, what the fuck am I going to do about it?
It keeps escalating. At this point, people have started gathering around us, as we circle each other, seething and slinging insults. Our voices keep rising as more people notice us. Some people even try to intercede, tell us to "cool it" and walk away from each other. But, neither one of these badass Emert bitches is backing down. After a few more verbal exchanges, I have had enough, the pressure is building, and OMG I should be inside, getting ready to announce the pep-rally. I shove her. And, when she comes back at me, her fists are swinging. She tears my sweater so that part of my bra is showing, and then somehow rips my left contact out of my eye. Mrs. Lester, the politics and government teacher, finally steps hurriedly in and pulls us apart. We are both red-faced, sobbing, and screaming ourselves hoarse.
It is immediately determined that Colleen is not allowed to enter the school and be a part of the pep-rally. But, I have to go take center stage.
With part of my bra showing.
I pretty much blacked-out at this point. All the faces in the bleachers were blurry, everything was too loud, and the glow of the gym's lights gave me a headache. I somehow don't stumble over my announcements. But, I forget the cheer at the end. No big deal, there are 300+ Pal-Mac kids who know it by heart. Feel it with their hearts.
At the bonfire, a blaze that illumines the entire wall of the gymnasium/pool complex, the parking lot, and practice soccer field to the east, my sister is nowhere to be found. Many people are laughing, chatting, chanting, whooping, giggling, and telling stories. A few people stare at me and whisper. An hour later, Colleen appears and we exchange curt, bitchy, but mutually -accepting -of -the- fact- that -we- have- to- ride- home -together growls.
On the car ride home, I have to ask her for some help watching for deer and other animals -- a very real danger on those roads -- because I am missing the contact in my left eye...the contact that she somehow tore from my eye. She complies. For once, in the truck together, we don't listen to blasting loud music; we talk and we cry.
We promise to stop physically fighting with each other. We're too old for this shit, and we don't mean to hurt each other like this. But, we both have so little self control, are so stubborn, and when one of us loses that last scrap of control, the other one just automatically over re-acts. We know this. We HATE this about our selves. She pleads with me not to pull her hair anymore. Tells me it hurts her to the core. It's not just hair I'm pulling, it's her. Her heart. I will, but she has to stop punching me in the arm, shoulders, and back. She has to stop calling me a fat bitch. She doesn't really mean it, though. She actually thinks I'm really pretty. We pinky-swear, and seal it with the thumbs. And, we cry the whole way home...
__________________________________________________________________________________

Everything changes when I leave for Fredonia in August, 2003.
I disappear from my family's life for months. I don't come and visit. I call a couple of times a week. But, I don't call my sister. I don't visit her.
I just leave that life
and those people, my people
behind me.
I am the one running now...
It hurts more and more to look back
I ache for green hills and my sister's laugh and my dog's dirty paws and my mom's blue eyed smile and my dad's flannel shirts and the smells and sounds of my grandpa cooking, tending. To us.
My sleep is erratic. I wake up in so many different people's beds.
I smoke hundreds of dollars worth of pot in a couple of weeks.
I drink 4 nights a week.
I stop studying, I fall asleep when I am reading.
I fall asleep in class.
I can't shit in the dorms, I have to go to Dod's hall, the 2nd floor women's locker-room.
My friends are starting to get uncomfortable with my sleeping around because it is causing problems for them: mostly because I am an emotional train-wreck.
Even though I always use condoms and am on birth control,
I take a pregnancy test every month.
Kelly, my roommate, tries to "mother me," to help me. She has wisdom, she is a stoic Nefertiti -- beautiful, strong, trying to lead by example.
I am a fucking horny, somewhat out-of-control toddler.
Kelly already has a toddler in her life, one she dutifully, lovingly goes home to visit on the weekends.
Leaving this toddler
All alone...
But, and this is SO like me -- I'm taking the spot light from her. I'm making this about me, when it is meant to be about HER. We are supposed to share, and I'm always treading the line of taking too much; more than my fair portion.
__________________________________________________________________________________

2003-2005

Colleen, I later found out, was also spinning out -- from ecstasy, to crack, to heroin --
leaving her life, leaving us -- her people --
so helplessly tormented and heart-wrenchingly
behind.
She was a demon and a ghost and a sad little girl. She couldn't stop.
This girl, she couldn't stop crying. 
But, Colleen's story isn't mine to tell.
It's hers.
__________________________________________________________________________________

Now That We're Strangers:

I can't even remember what it
was really like when we were sisters.
When I knew you and you knew me.
Did I pull your hair too often?
Didn't I encourage you?
Were we best friends and worst enemies?

We kept most of each other's secrets
We united against even the smallest
Of  Mom and Dad's tyrannies
We were strong and scared
Young but clever
We had dreams and "doggie jail"

But, all that seems like it happened
To a very different version of you
And a much different version of me.

When the waves
Broke unceasingly,
It was too choppy
For us to swim,
I grabbed your hand, and
We fought like hell
To both make it back,
Safe on the shore.
Why, then, am I
The only one
Who made it
Back to land?


What is it like for you,
Now that we're strangers?
And, how did we get here?

Some times things
That are broken into 
Pieces can be used 
More fully. 
Some times 
Broken pieces 
Are the means 
To new beginnings.

A Lesson in Particulars

Shedding leaves
Against a slate-grey sky
Stiffened limbs have
Poured forth
Their bounty,
Have offered
And provided
For many. Now,
They are
Bracing. 

Yet, even in 
These crisp, harsh, and
Withering moments
They flutter, 
Swoop, bend, 
And sway.
They do not 
Forget how to 
Dance in the rain.

There is 
A lesson 
To be learned 
From this particular 
Explosion before fading: 
Moving from 
Life to Death 
Is an art. 
Pick up your brush, and 
Start painting...

Abundance

Maybe this is something

We come to know

In secret,

When smiling to

Our selves.

Crooked, snaking

Halves – stretching,

Pursing – then

Finding ease,

Sliding in

Loose creases.

Tulip petals

Finally,

Unfolding.

Finally,

Released.

The Peace

Of the moment

So brilliantly shining

You almost completely

Forget the thought

Initiating this gift.  

For it is in

The purposeful unraveling,

Where our colors

Bleed and blend

As One,

And dreams

Are given

The space

To breathe,

That we have

The opportunity

To see

That both life

And love

Emerge from

Intricately woven

And endlessly

Repeating patterns.

...How She Rises...

It all starts with questions:

Who am I now?

Who was I then?

How do we feel about us?

And, when there is

Too much silence

That it slips like

A silken noose,

Resting snugly

Against my chin –

Stopping short

My breath

My songbird sound –

Then, the answers

Must be found

Within.

__________________________________________________

>>>A Three-fold Path

There is past, present, and future. How else could it be otherwise? And, how am I to reconcile all of these versions of my selves? How to find the harmony that will allow us to live together as One?

First, the Guides must be sought and acknowledged. Those who will unlock the secrets, teach the way, and support with their strength. Bear uses healing wisdom to embrace silence and dream, dream, dream. Lion gives the courage to test one’s powers, and emerge as a leader. Owl provides the ability to see magic, to know truth, and to embrace the darkness within. 

I.                   Bear: it has only been about 5 years that I have consciously acknowledged and embraced the Bear, but she has been with me since at least Elementary school. I now realize why she came to me so young: she helped me learn how to retreat into my heart-cave and provide my self with warmth, and a beautiful soul-garden of safety.  

As a young girl, Bear taught me that I while I may not be able to get even one other person in the whole rest of the world to support me, love me, accept me, or even acknowledge me, I can create representations of the beautiful things that I see and feel and know. And, that I don’t need “them” to tell me what I already am.  I hang all sorts of artworks on my walls to protect me, to reflect me, and to remind me of this.

But, sometimes my eyes get so clouded, and my mind so dark and filled with other people’s garbage-sauce that I can bearly breathe. I’ve always been such a sponge for life, and hardly the best filter. There are times I went to places so dark that Bear didn’t want to follow. But, when I return, she is always waiting to show me that things can be beautiful again.

My husband first started calling me Bear about 5 years ago, when we had been living together for about 3 years. It had come up other times in my life, from other people, but never did it resonate so much as when he said it with such kindness and warmth. Whenever he calls me, “Bear,” it sounds like a hundred, honey-colored, laughing voices. And, I melt like butter in the fry pan. 

II.                Lion: must have always been with me since birth. I just didn’t want the responsibilities that come with her power, and I don’t like the spotlight. I say I was “born a lion,” and that it is my birthright because I was invested with much power when named: Sarah. Marie. Emert. Things were decided for me in those moments that I’ve no power to resist. To become.  If you know anything about numbers, both 3 and 5 are very powerful and lucky; bearers of good things…gateways. I was born the 1^st child on the 1^st day of the 5^th month, and given 3 names – each containing 5 letters. That’s some pretty potent shit right there.

Towards the end of highschool, Lion decided that she needed to start being heard. She started roaring, roaming, laughing, and living like a righteous babe. Sleek, powerful, beautiful, focused…she hunted the future.

But, it was all too much, too soon. A lonely little girl, a sad, silly creature still lived inside. She was the perversion of our selves. A compilation of their horrible words, those that Bear wasn’t strong enough to filter out. She wouldn’t leave Bear’s cave. She clung to the walls and floor of the cave. The heart. She started screaming for Lion to hear her. Lion tried to run, to forge ahead and show her how things could be, but she shut her ears and would not hear. She shut her eyes and would not see. The truth.  She would not rest, and she would not stop screaming, howling, and sobbing. Lion eventually succumbed to her siren song.

These months, and eventually years that slipped by while the mad woman of the Bear cave held the reigns are the darkest days I and I and I have ever seen. Lion kept us alive, but Bearly. Here is Bear’s account of the whole affair:

 "Pull the Trigger"

A bird in a cage
A cage that I’ve created
Out of my own soft, pale flesh
I sit here and wonder
How many young girls will grow into young women
That will go through their lives
With their vision permanently blurred
Wake and weigh
Pull the trigger
And flush it all away
Curl up in a ball and hold myself so tight
Then rip out my hair and scream
Pacing
No rest for weary eyes and a broken soul tonight
Skin and bones
Ribs poking through
Shaky knees bent toward one another
Poised to dive down the spiral of shame
Swollen throat glands
Popped blood vessels, marring sad brown eyes
Just once more
Too much is never enough
Force a smile to hide the monster
That lurks beneath

Lion slowly regained strength.  She shed the layers of caked on makeup, broke through the fog, and started to re-build the soul-garden in Bear’s heart that the mad-woman had polluted and turned into a rotting bog.

It’s taken Lion years to do this, but in the meantime, with Bear and Owl’s help, she has grown mighty strong. And, she roars freely now.

There are still a few stinky, bog-reminiscent patches in the soul-garden, and sometimes we get stuck in them. But, Lion knows how to groom us well, and return our selves into a proper state of things.   

III.             Owl: came to me consciously and physically at a time when I had almost forgotten how to see Magic. But, now I realize that Owl has been with me since Elementary school, too. Owl nests in my brain. She is sharp, silent, wise, thinking, pondering, examining things from a far. Owl spends much of her time listening. Listening for clues. Cautious to approach, sensing, re-evaluating, blending in when necessary, and asking questions when the conditions are right.  

She is an active creature of the night, which has frequently continued to prove problematic to my school/work/sleep schedules. And, when caged for too long, and not given reign to spread her wings, she has turned on us. There is a darkness to Owl that makes her very dangerous.

She is the one who flew the sad, silly, mad-girl into the Bear cave. She dropped her off and left her to stay in our heart. Owl should have used her talons to tear that paper fucking phantom apart. To obliterate her. But, Owl is so drawn to the darkness. So a part of it. She was charmed, distracted, and somewhat fascinated by the crazed, sobbing girl. Too soon after the mad-woman reigned free and viciously, Owl realized what she had done. The mistake she had made. She forged the plan to help Lion rid the soul-garden of the bog. But, had a limited ability to help Lion because she was again caged in the mind. And this time, she could not even fully spread her magnificent, fierce wings.

She did not wither in the interim. Owl fought for our lives to stay strong and focused, and as Lion gained strength again and started to vanquish the land of the bog, Owl flexed her mighty wings to force open the restrictions of her mind-cage.

I saw an actual wild Owl for the first time just around the time, John started calling me Bear. We were standing in the graveled driveway of our apartment at twilight, talking, plotting, looking at leaves. I was going into my first semester of Grad school and feeling very shaken by the whole experience. We heard a slight, very hushed “whoosh” and looked to the roof. There Owl was perched, silhouetted against the steeply sloped roof line. I couldn’t stop smiling, I was so delighted, and Owl stayed for awhile. We watched silently until it was too dark to see. Owl came to me to remind me of my mental strengths. And, ability to lose my self in the dark. She reminded me that if I build up too much pressure in my mind that this will cage her again. I must trust our strength and learn to fly free. Three months later, Owl led me to some of the best Magic I have ever found, learned, desired to know: Pottery.

Right now, at these moments in my life, I am letting Lion lead us to the Wheel, while Bear’s paws shape the clay, and Owl’s wisdom stretches our idea of what can be.