Thank You (Originally Published August 2007)

You know when you reach a point that all the thinking in the world won't undo itself.  It's created a place in your mind that nearly reaches form and function.  They're just thoughts though, how does that happen?  Either way, these "formed" thoughts are like a little ball-bearing that rolls itself, independantly powered, from side to side in that head of yours.
With the process of thinking such thoughts, I actually made some head-way this time and figured it out.  Here I've been asking the universe for things, crying out to the night with wonder of why I had not been blessed with atleast a sampling of the dreams that were torn down some time ago? Never reaching the end of that thought process to realize that I had, indeed, been blessed with more than I could imagine. 
Teaching; an aspiration of mine that was placed on the back burner.
Family; that's a big one...full and rounded this idea of family, children, spouse, and any other individual that may need a spot of soup and pat on the back - that's what would complete my idea of family.  I wanted it for myself - to love and care for and create a "home" with, residing on the other burner in the back.
A house; this one not so much the actual style and design of a house, but rather, this was more highly concentrated on the functionality of a house.  It needs to be grand - light pouring in from all the windows, scrolled metal works on the walls, art hanging in the entry-way to welcome any and all inside the beautifully crafted doors.  It needs to be open - the energy of the rooms, the floor plans crafted in such a way as to create a natural path for little feet in the night, creeping to my bedroom for snuggies.  It needs to be strong - sometimes a necessity to compensate for my lack in strength, but more for the solidarity of the ages that it shall experience.  A vase, yes...that's it.  It's function would be most like that of a vase, capturing the stories, the warmth, the laughter and the legends of a thousand tales. 

Anyway, here I thought that I allowed someone to destroy all of that for me. I was sulking; really, I was.  I've been somewhat of a hermit, rationalizing my actions and wondering of the rest that I see.  If the universe had the potential to smack me upside the head, I believe it would have happened several times already.  Regardless, I reached my "Aha!"
The teacher: I have five children in my home to teach.  Their ages, their experiences and their history - all perfect tools for a teacher because they are so eager to learn.  Ready to learn the best of what there is to learn - about people, relationships, family, loving others, optimism, being strong, standing firm...on and on the list goes.

The Family: I was gifted an instant family by loving their father. This man, I don't speak of often enough because I've been so wrapped around and tormented by the idea of a psychotic-episodic marriage. 

Really though, Chris, you're worth more than the words can relay.  As a father, friend, lover, spouse, confidant, partner, mate, teacher...you've done a fantastic job at all of these. Because of your faithfulness, I believe I'm seeing the forest from the trees this time. We really do have a wonderful family.

And the home: that's just another piece of the puzzle.  It's created wherever we are - where we are together.  The friends, they come and go - and I would hope that they know they are welcome, always. It's there, all these things that I thought I'd lost - I have, in fact, found them and they were right in front of me all along.
So to you, Chris, thank you.  Thank you for your patience and understanding.  Thank you for being in control - for never harming us, me, the kids. Thank you for not running away even if I said I wanted to. For being compassionate, even when I was in uber-witch mode - for trying, always trying.  Thank you most for being a real father to your children.  It's an achievement in and of itself, as the persons that step up to the plate to take care of one child, much less more than one child, are few and far between.  And with that - thank you for showing a little boy what it really means to be a dad. You've done it and you've done a superb job.  Thank you for loving us; me and the kids. Thank you.

Rising the Phoenix (September 2007)

Rising the Phoenix

A breath was drawn 
    chest inflated
Defenses had been seized long ago
A lonely warrior stood atop a fortress
    With a pulse to echo through the senses
Eyes were clear now, the fog had drifted in 
     Hovering among the lines

Cracked skin brought longing for moisture
    That pulse - it beat as thoughts forlorned
ALL
had been contemplated
A move must be made
    Weery bones, lengthy strides 
  -Grabbed the hand
Little fingers traced 'round by promise
A seascape within the eyes

"Come along, for there is something I must show"
    
'Tis my heart, a pulse
     Those eyes responded
Yet, there are wings
Softly, like notes of laughter on dew
The wings,  their ominence unfolded

It must be so
    None receives such a gift and does not let it go
Rocking in embrace, we strengthened our plee
   Not standing as low, from this sight
Rid of a man
    He was never to Be

Blimy (Originally Published April 2008)

Blimy

And so, I’m waiting.
Don’t know how this has all contorted itself to a HUGE snake-like masquerader, but it most-certainly has become such.
I wish for the life of me that I could return to a time when things weren’t troublesome and life-sucking.
What is that, a succubus?  I know by definition it’s the form of a woman - well, in this case it would be that of a man. No, boy...no...testosterone-induced being.  Rage and conspiracy have taken the seat of what used to be a vile attempt at truth.  That poser!
(*This is your mind speaking*) "Move along; move along already."
I’m trying to!  What is it that keeps the bindings so damn tight?  There’s no blood coursing through my veins anymore - more like sewer sludge. Urgh.
Point?
Don’t have any other way to say it: "Stop using my little boy as fodder for your games!"  I didn’t place possessive terms on him before, but dammit - this time around it’s a new ball game. 
You don’t give a shit, so be it...go pollute someone else.  I’m tired of playing.

The Phone Rings (Originally Published June 2008)

..it's 9am on a Saturday, and I'm in desperate need of sleep, but I miss my boy - and so I pull myself to the receiver.  It's him!  He's quiet, submissive and (in my Motherly opinion) in duress.  It's only a matter of minutes for our conversation to come to a halt by the atmosphere he must be in.  I ask him what's for breakfast and the reply has to be reiterated to me in German - why?  Because every facet of life there is controlled.  It's like a substance that was never approved by the FDA - The Atmosphere. 
Soon enough, it's too much to handle and Garrett says his "good byes" - at which time the phone is handed off to the most-offensive of all conversationalists.  "What's going ..s the conversation (if you can call it that, I prefer to reference such meetings of the mind as a kind of Pavlovian conquering mission.

I don't reply because I have nothing to reply with - and he really wouldn't want my answer anyway.  Needless to say, there is no conversation with the Pavlovian Prodigy himself - it's direct order in the form of conditionaling and I'm not falling for it. Eight years of this banter; you'd think he'd redirect his attention elsewhere, but no - I must be his favoritist contestant. Anyway, it's thirty minutes of him telling me that "due to what Garrett's been reporting is happening when Garrett's at his house" that it has occurred to him that the problem must  be because it's been such a long time since I've seen him and Garrett interact and that I must not remember the way he used to act around Garrett as a baby.

Also, that there must be a tumultuous situation of abuse that has occurred to skew my reality and that I should seek therapy for the many plaguing issues that I obviously have so as to not confuse our son any longer - "It's that you're just like your father, don't you see that?  You're incapable of accepting the reality of it all and you're making this stuff up..."
The then suggestion was to "allow" me to come to his house to "observe" he and Garrett's interaction so that I might "reaffirm my thought pattern " and re-examine my perspectives. 
If I would be so kind as to do these things, than he would further assist me in correcting my ways and I would no longer be confused and making up the scenarios that have, for so long been plaguing the lives of me and my son.  It was quite obvious to him that it was only  he  that could take care of my woes and distinguish my thoughts to clear him of any injustice - but would have to be at the mercy of a PSYCHOPATH!

That's intelligent - let's just throw caution to the wind, shall we?  Assume for a moment that years of physical, verbal, emotional and psychological abuse didn't happen and that I must have it all wrong.  Assume that he wouldn't off me in a heartbeat if he had a chance and that he wouldn't take it out on Garrett (afterall, he's only done it too many times in the past to keep track of) - and assume that he's telling the truth and that in my allotted hour of "observational" time at his house (where I was told that I'd have to show up alone and the "observe only" was specified) -  that I could then rest in peace (If I'm not assuming that I'm already dead at this point) knowing that he's just as fucked up as I'd ASSUMED from the start. 
What would that amount to in the book of accomplishments?  (Assuming again, that I'm not already a goner)....Answers anyone?

To quote Ayn Rand: "Evil is impotent and has no power but that which we let it extort from us".
So, my answer (given the scenario of Garrett being held captive in the atrocitous household for the weekend) was "No".  And even then - No doesn't mean "No" to an abuser - it means that you're mentally weak.  Too mentally incapacitated to speak further and say what you actually mean - which to an abusive psychopath means, "Yes".

I expect that he's awaiting my phone call or arrival.

This truly is an extortion of the soul.

The Act of Being a Bieber (July 2008)

The Act of Being a Bieber

They catch a lot of slack, those Bieber's.


I'm one of them and not until recent, have I realized the full extent of what it actually means to be of such blood.  I've held tight to the reigns of spiritual rationalization and the effects of good karma, but being of the Bieber lineage really adds a touch of class to the situation, and my growing comprehension of it makes for a new perspective.
Eight children into the world of family allowed for my Mother and Father to prime the small town of Prattsburgh for what would become the largest onslought of truth and morals this side of the Canadian border. It was wondrous - having the responsibility of walking a fine line of truth while the remainder of those you met, fell by the wayside of pressures and deceat. I'm no Mother Mary, and Lord knows I've made my fair share of wrong decisions (for which I'm indebted to) but the realization that eventually makes it's way into adulthood, adds another twist. You see, being a Bieber isn't just another notch in the totem pole, it's a history. You're born into morale, family, understanding, hard-core heritage and ethics. You can sway from side to side while prancing through the teenage/young adult years, but inevitably, you return to the foundation of those morals and build (again, if necessary) from there. You have the foundation, and so, it cannot be trampled upon. 
Review the past six years or so and you'll find (atleast in my scenario) that the Bieber name has been spat on, squatted over and looked down upon, but it remains steadfast against the mouths of those treacherous liars - and all with a smile.  For there is truth in a smile - and that's the ingredient that can't (in most situations) be handled. 
We entered this week with the knowledge that my little boy's going to be five soon. He's skipping around his childhood with all too much responsibility on him already, but he does it with a humbleness that only God can grant. I check the calendar and because we dance with every-other weekend through our year, I figure that the weekend of his birthday, he won't be here so what better to do than have an early birthday party?  One that's really special - one that's family. Afterall, he's part of the Bieber family and what better to offer than that?  So we pack our bags, our new bike for G. and head West.  Walking in the door late at night, was when it hit me.  The light was left on for our arrival as my Mother always said that it's "so unwelcoming to come home to a dark house", so the light above the countertop flickers with content waiting for the birthday boy. 
The room is ready - beds for the kids, the smell of being home circulating around the house and just enough of a breeze to remember that it's Summer time and oh, so beautiful.  I hear the laughter from my brother and sister, who've waited up all night for us to visit, as they're sitting in the room watching reruns of Daffy Duck.  Just as I'm signing out for the night, the rest of my family says their "hello's" and their "goodnights" and diverge to bedrooms that have the quilts of generations-past on the beds and hugs for the promise of tomorrow in the evening.  They're tired - tired from the hard work that makes up each day - but it's a good tired.  A "thank God I'm alive" tired and you see that in every smile.  It's a "we wish we could help more" tired and a "I have something wonderful to show you in the morning" tired, and I miss it! 

The following two days were glorious with my newly polished love - it's watching my children take part in what is the most amazing part of my life; being a Bieber. They long for it, just as I do - they see that it takes hard work, sweat and tears to build a family such as mine and they want in.  I want to give them an in - well, really they're already there.  I guess it's the outside pressures - those termites of family values that are trying to eat their way through the structure. Damn things don't realize that we're all immune.  Immunity because of Faith, and Belief, and Trust.  The termite infestation is like being bitten by a mosquito after you've sprayed on the Spring Fresh Bug spray, wondering "how do they know to bite me?" Faith, belief and trust give you Truth - which is precisely the ingredient that will be the downfall.  Like the pillars of salt - they'll erode. I suppose I'm wishing that they'd erode at a bit faster pace and at the same time, knowing that I shouldn't wish such things. Initiate Faith. 

It all comes back around, that's what I keep telling myself. Just as my understanding for my wonderful family has highlighted the toils and tribulations - it's the essence of being part of something truly extraordinary and waking up to find yourself smack, dab in the middle of it all.  It'll come back around. For now, I'm thinking that there must be some way to sell tickets or give out "family favors" or something - maybe a billboard...

Breakfast on Sunday summed up the entire weekend.  We sit around the family dinner table - all totaling sixteen and out of the mouths of babes, comes, "I'm a Bieber!"  The smiles from fifteen other faces made my heart glad.

My Exercise in Futility (Originally published August 27, 2008)

My Exercise in Futility

I'm realizing that it's okay to be a little broken as I find myself very worried about the state of such a  young one's mind - and may be more so, of the condition of his heart.  Last night he uttered the words "hate" in a description of one whom should be considered a young boy's "hero"...trying to make sense of it all, just as I am.  Some telling me to see it in another light, that some kids don't have anyone to talk to.  He has me, and oodles of people that love him and care for him - that with enough love, it will transform and that "every hurt becomes a muscle".  Still, the dust is kicked up whenever I hear another tale that somehow eluded me for these past few years - supposing it was my then, naivete.  The more time that passes, the less I even care to try and make sense of it.  The less I identify - even that word, Identity - it is encompassing of he, the catalyst for Patricia.  It seems, in my moments of confusion, that I"m torn between what my role may have been as "wife" and what I neglected to realize for my role as Independent.

I never saw myself, prior to materializing a "separation", as anything but a part of a marriage.  This necessary by definition and the need for two parts to complete a marriage, though if attempting to institute the morals of what makes a marriage (with two equal parts) than all efforts were futile.  And to think that's what I was offered as insight on the day that I wed - "In order for this to work, each of you must be willing to give 100% of yourselves to each other".
Confident that I gave my 100%, I effortlessly loved.  It was no more difficult than that, as I seemed to have been injected with a "love conquers all" inoculation at my early immunizations.  What he failed to say was that if only one side gives their 100%, with no emotional income from the opposing side, than "ye shall be rendered as void". 

All things become clear in time.

Return now to the mental state of a child with but 5 years of experience in this cyclical torment and you might understand my aggravation.  That muscle growing from a field of pain, in concept, may have been applied prematurely.  The heart's a muscle. 
Enter irony and find that indeed by tending to my heartache and his five-year-old heartache, we are in fact preparing for a bounty of love to be timely harvested before the growing season is over.

Monark Files: I (Originally published September 2008)

The Monark Files - I:

We step lightly into a classroom painted to the ceilings with characters from the well-known Sponge-Bob cartoon.  Hefty mothers, all toting large egos, condescending questions and dragging their frightened children behind them, step on my toes with eagerness to be the first in line, the first with a question and the first of recognized mothers in this liberal setting East of Home. Granting them to pass before me and my son, they quickly find their child's seat and plop them in it with a fierceness; moving on to ask Ms. Teacher stupid questions about reminding little Johnny that he has to go 2 and can ask for assistance in wiping his behind. My eyes scan the room as I hold firmly to the belief that this is somewhat backwards, irritable and nothing less than wrong.  I feel  G's little grip on my hand and as it tightens, look down to see his knuckles turning white. He looks up at me with a question of what to do next?  I look around the room for the little miniature of a school scenario that might behold the name of my dear child – and my eyes fall upon the display for butterflies that is no doubt posted with pride.  Four inch letters spanning the top of this monstrous, artistic display shows clearly, the aptitude for our new venture – there it is: M-O-N-A-R-K Butterflies.  MONARK?  Really?  

Of all that is semi-precious and eluding – you can't get the name right? The English right? The grammar?  The First Impression?   Oh Heavenly days, what has happened to the trademark of profession? Of pride in leadership,  and of recognizing your faults and CORRECTING them?  I suppose it goes hand in hand with the fact that Ms. Teacher kept referring to my son as "Colin" – and on correction, she told me "That's your son!" I allowed her to be enlightened as to the fact that seeing as how I participated in the naming of such a child, I would know his name and it was. Not. Colin.   Anyway, it has brought new light to the case-scenario of being assigned this grab-bag of a school system.  All things come to light with enough patience – in the meantime, I think that I'll join the PTA.  Take a controlling stance on what's circling the school about me.

A Portfolio of Sorts

 A running portfolio of my work and not posted in any particular order. Some are duplicate uploads and some are near-misses of what I intended the canvas to show. I don't believe that I am finished by any stretch of the imagination - which presents as a delightful mental note to savor.  At a time in the near future, I hope to add these images to a published work...a story of the unfolding of justice.  The title of that work sometimes cycles 'round in mental lyrics as well, but I have yet to nail down a precise title. 
I welcome comments and hope you enjoy!