I sat on the plastic blue chair, stared down at the green dots on the floor which designate that area of the hospital as the medical imaging department. I have worked in this hospital, I do not like this, other role, here. I thought about how I ended up here, waiting for a CAT scan of my head, and reminded myself of my Dr’s words, that she’s not expecting to find anything of concern in there, but we’ll do it just to keep ruling things out, or to find something, an explanation for the current bizarre and frightening set of symptoms my body is manifesting, a body that has mutinied for a while now, in various ways, in an effort to show its disdain for how I have driven it, used it, over-used it, for 3 years short of 60.
I cannot help but notice the two women occupying two other plastic blue chairs, directly to my right. A 40-ish daughter is supporting a my age-ish mother, from what I can gather by their conversation. As we wait, mom is asked to guzzle a radioactive cocktail prior to the scan of her innards, and told that the tech will be back for her in an hour, she is free to leave and come back, if she wishes.
They had been laughing until then, attempting to make light in an obviously heavy situation, and then mom breaks down. She is sobbing, and I see the terror in her eyes when I look up at her. She says, “it’s not funny, I wish it was funny.” Her daughter says, “it’s not funny at all mom, not at all. I love you.” Mom laughs and says, “how do I look”? I look toward her, and say, “you look fabulous,” to her child, I say “and you, are a very good daughter.” Mom says “yes, yes she is! I am blessed.” And then she adds, “the lady says I look fabulous, we have an hour, let’s go buy a New Year’s ham.”
We all laugh a little, cry a little, and the two of them walk out of the hospital to buy their New Year’s ham, before coming back, to their heavy reality, in an hour.
I am called in for my head scan, and my heavy reality feels lighter. Validation, to feel seen, heard, understood, in a world where we are all so terribly caught up in self, it’s all most of us need, to be OK in, to lighten, the heavy times.
December 28, 2018
While you were busy careening toward the artificially-cultured dream, you let your own take a back seat. While you were busy painting a life of colour and nuance into a black and white world, you fell into your own grey area. While you were busy loving haters, because compassion, compromise and ‘the right thing,’ you learned to hate and mistrust yourself. While you were busy over-working to make other lives better, you made your own heartbreakingly hard. While you were busy flailing and falling to live a life long undesirable, your voice drowned in the noise of survival. While you were busy lighting others’ flames to roaring bonfires, your own diminished to barely a flicker. So while you flail and fall, flicker and dim, do heed this voice: for it has found that most calcified crevasse, the one to your heart’s ear, and know; I am you, and: [I will] not go gentle into that good night, [I will] rage, rage against the dying of [my] light.
Sunset Photo & While You Were Busy: All rights Reserved M.Y.M.
Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night by Dylan Thomas
Reading:Dylan Thomas Reads Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
Breathlessly and without pause the mouse chased the rabbit through the sandstone walls vying for first choice of place beneath the giant toadstool under which she would seek shelter from this her current storm. ~Marcela M. July 20, 2018 Photos and Writing: All rights Reserved
Sailing, with a Salt’n Pepper Sailor of off and on renown
I am shaken to the core by the clearest understanding,
of why we are what we are, to the other.
For one is hard pressed to overlook
the human shipwrecks we often leave in our wake,
in the pursuit of self-serving romance.
Floating, in a sea-water bubble-bath behind his true love, Jezebel
I am deeply aware of self and surroundings,
and laugh inwardly at the ironies of this life.
For one is hard pressed to deny one’s true nature
and relative un-importance,
in the middle of a salt-watery vastness.
Pounding, as the prow of his vessel meets the lumpy sea
I g(r)asp at the why, of THIS relationship,
as opposed to one of our culture’s norm and making.
For as affection must not be confused with ownership
so infidelity not with freedom,
and I languish no more in a union of others’ choosing.
Learning, the literal and metaphorical ropes alongside this(hu)man, in his element I am thunderstruck and blindsided,
with a deeply resonating perspective, of my own met and unmet needs.
For one is hard pressed to disregard the tutelage
of a life’s worth of evidence,
contradicting the common view.
Rolling, the hot silent tears down my cheeks
happy though wistful,
as I stand at the helm while the Sailor rests.
For one is hard pressed to spurn one’s calling to self and freedom
when it is so beautifully modeled,
by a Master of that art.
Counting, as the numbers on my personal odometer
climb toward an undetermined end point,
I remove the next vestige of a life never mine.
For as 3 years short of 60 register in my mind
so the realization that I owe me different,
than that which the box provides.
July 19, 2018
Photos and writing: All Rights Reserved.
It is tragic in its fitting-ness, that the long sought (perfect) light fixture for my beloved cage, is from the Marcel(l)a series, from no less a cultural cage than Home Depot.
The perspicuous view, the vistas upon which I gaze from my current prison, pain me greatly.
~Marcela: quite fettered, and bereft of gilding on the cage.
January 17, 2017.
Hey kids, yes, this is a bit of a tirade (prompted as so many others, by those double-edged swords called caring, cleverly disguised as assumptions), so exit now if you’re not prepared to read all of it. Or, stay with me and learn something new, about something you thought, you already knew about me, and quite likely many of the other warrior women we know and love, though I would never dare assume… she says with a wink… .
Just in case you’re one of the caring horde, and thinking I’m all sad and lonely out here on this ‘holiday weekend,’ nothing could be further from the truth.
First of all, various holidays, including thanksgiving, don’t mean a whole lot to me. Many of the holidays celebrated in the world, particularly in North America, are not my culture or part of my personal life philosophy and belief system. This does not mean that I don’t enjoy celebrations, traditions and the like, or that Universe forbid I am not thankful. Sometimes, they’re just not the same ones that others engage in. And sometimes, for different reasons, they are. Have you met my Christmas Tree collection?
Secondly, I am just as happy, or happier, single and/or living on my own. This has almost always been the case. For reasons that I don’t really care to divulge to an all-inclusive audience, I am a serial monogamist, and I engage in romantic relationships every now and then, you know, just like most folks.This does not mean, that I hate being alone, that I am lonely, or anything else that folks appear to construe about me and my way of life and being in the world.
Clearly, a lesser known truth about my life, is that I have been single, and/or lived on my own for about 30, of the 40 years since I moved out of my mama’s house when I was 15 years old, and I repeat, I quite enjoy it.
Lastly, this is not about knocking what you do, what you believe in, what you choose to celebrate, when, with whom, and how. This is about letting you know that assumptions are still as bad an idea as they were when Felix Unger, acting as Oscar Madison’s attorney, first coined that famous and well-used line, when you assume, you make an ASS of (yo)U and ME. Actually, you make a bigger ASS of you than me, I just get irritated enough to spend part of my ‘thanksgiving weekend’ doing that which I love more than most things, writing, so again, thankful, yup, uh-huh… .
And if you don’t know who Oscar and Felix are, 1) I’d feel for you but I can’t reach, and 2) there’s this handy gizmo called a ‘search engine’ on these here newfangled machines, that you can look it up on.
Clear? Great. Peace.
Thankfully Unfiltered: Marcela.
I love Canada. Three years ago today, as a matter of fact, I was on many airplanes, traveling back to Canada from a going home(s) tour with the two humans I love most, my mother and my ManChild. We (my mom, dad and brother and I) came as refugee-immigrants when I was 7 and I have lived here on and off for 36 of my almost 56 years on this planet. I also love the Czech Republic. I was born there when it was still Czechoslovakia and we lived there until the former Soviet Union chose to liberate us, with their tanks and their army. (BOOM! Think about this, no, I mean just think about why they thought they could/should roll in, in the context of this missive). And, I love Switzerland. I lived there for 13 years while trying to escape me and the stuff I carried from the Czech Republic and Canada.
All of these places are home to me, the various towns and cities I have inhabited in these countries are all my ‘home-towns.’ I made connections, I loved, I lost, I laughed, I cried, I worked, I got married, I got divorced, I had a child, I raised step children, I fucked up, I cleaned up my messes, I did it all again. I LIVED, in all of these places.
From the time I was a small child I could not, for the life of me, understand the vigor with which the natural born-natives, and I use that term loosely, of these countries, posited their better-dom (yes, that is a word), over other folks, quasi-Canadians, wanna-be Swiss, or even smarter-than-the-Slovaks-Czechs, when we were still one country.
This is important: I am not ungrateful to have had a place like Canada to come to when those pushy Soviets rolled in so rudely, as I sat on my grandma Mrnka’s knee in Karlovy Vary, on that memorable August day in 1968 (revisit BOOM, here). I am not ungrateful to have had an opportunity to live and love in Switzerland (even if I had to marry an asshole to do it) when I found myself in dire-straights and in serious peril in the company of some unsavoury Vancouverites. I am not ungrateful that years later, I was able to return to the place my dad traded his life for, in order that my brother and mom and I, could have one.
My point, quick and dirty: I am not a patriot. The word itself, its origins and various incarnations is problematic to me, but you can do your own research. There is little tying it to the commonalities we share with every, single, culture and ethnicity on this planet, patience, I am getting there. I am not ethnocentric. Again, do your own research, please. From patriotism to ethnocentricity to, I try not to be racist. Admittedly though, I have had it much easier as an outsider sporting my lily white skin, fitting into ‘foreign’ cultures like Canada and Switzerland, than those of a different epidermal hue, and I recognize this as an unearned privilege. Three words, all connected, all lead to every single one of the world issues we have going on. War is not about peace and freedom is not about taking away that of others. Wealth is not about raping and pillaging this planet’s resources so the superior folks have enough by creating poverty and suffering, and then blaming those whose suffering they have created, for their inadequacy.
From where I sit, we are one type of two-legged, upright humanoid with a number of sub-types based on geography and culture, one home world as we know it. The research is not united, and frankly I don’t actually give a flying fuck about whether we all stem from one woman somewhere in the African desert, if we are all mongrels, or if any or all of us are aliens who came in the Tardis with Dr. Who, for that matter. Genetic research ought to be used well for all our benefit, not abused to create more reasons for fear and hate of ‘other.’ Everything else is socially constructed and geographically determined, and more importantly, it is driven by the almighty dollar, dinar, koruna, frank, euro, gold, silver, shit, call it what you will. It is about fucking money, power and fear mongering, fundamentalism, fanaticism and greed, plain old, greed, and better-than-ism. Yes, that is a word, also.
So no, I will not fly my patriot flag today, or any other day, at least not any higher than I would for anywhere I have enjoyed (and not) living, for anyone else I have enjoyed (and not) sharing that place with.
~Marcela: Unapologetically yours, and with the utmost gratitude for all my home(s), past, present and future, cause I’m not done here yet.
July 01, 2016
(Post image courtesy of Google search ‘earth heart.’)
in the never-ending purga(s)tory
of this 24/7 brain
refrains of fl-attitudes
preach gospels of negligence
the screaming human(?) freight-train, coming at me…
borne of DYI privileges,
their self-perceived pre-eminence
will curtail (y)our every freedom
forked-tongues and false images
projected from the box(es)
created by one Oz
this dystopian utopia,
purposeful scheming, corporate fox(es)… SCORE
so cunning so sly, plastic stuffs be (y)our new gods
exhaust the masses
a never-ending chase
of that proverbial dragon,
run-run-run lads and lasses
get your fair(?) share,
succeed-succeed drink up from this flagon!
Disembark that damned freight train,
get up on a swing!
come ride a Unicorn
a true free-for-all waits
stands gesturing wildly,
atop Your very own,
Fly you fuckers,
Yours, from a most loved place: MyLaRebelSeagull; in this moment, chained only by links that hold the seat in place…
…the path narrows, the co-travelers shrink in numbers but expand in meaningfulness and love in my life… the focus is sharper than ever, the hurtfulness of some, also… then soothed with the love of those who remain, come in, new to me… this 5-year spin cycle of my life is wringing out the weight of muddy waters… the remaining tears, run clear.