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Through the Eye of the Storm(s); Open Letter to My Child: March 22, 2015

23 Monday Mar 2015

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Sunny'sArm

Eye of a storm… lest we forget the lessons…

Dearest Sunny:

here we are again, March 22nd; the 24th March 22nd that I have the privilege of sharing with you; it is the absolute honour of all honours to be your parent. My Sunny-Boy-ManChild-BabyCakes, and all the other crazy names I have attached to your beautiful spirit over the years, you know, the ones you initially balk at, but always throw the good-son towel in on, because you know, mama gonna be mama and call you things other than the names so carefully and lovingly chosen for you before we ever met face to face.

I will spare us the regurgitation of all the reasons I love you so fiercely, we can revisit them here in our old(er) age, in the event that we forget, but they are indelibly etched into the very core of my being either way, so when the world blows up (ala Alex Jones ;) ) and we have lost all e-records and interwebs postings proclaiming my mama love for you, we will know anyway.

This March 22nd begs a different message from me to you. It begs a message of thanks and deeply profound gratitude, and with any luck, some-mama wisdom that one day, you will see fit to use, the way that I was able to use the uncondionality you once again showed me, through some of the toughest shit in a while, over this past year.

Thomas:

Thank you for standing your ground with mama in what in the grand scheme of things was a relatively benign little online exchange, around some political ideas on anti v. pro-activism. The discussion we had off-line about the process of it, for both of us, is what real love, trust, and this thing called relationship, are made of.

Thank you for standing your ground and letting me know in no uncertain terms that you wanted the Europe trip to happen no matter what, but that you would not be happy doing it without the mama. It was our trip for as long as we can both remember, for so many more reasons than I can articulate here, and it matters not, for we both know.

Thank you for forcing mama’s hand, in the kindest, gentlest, but completely Thomas-honest way, and helping me remember what is actually important in the world, reminding me what the last five years of struggle and re-building of Marcela, and by natural extension, how I do ‘parent of Thomas,’ has been all about.

Thank you for seeing beyond the surface of everything that had to do with everything about our going home(s), re-meeting your dad, your brothers, your nieces, your nephew, your cousins, your aunts and uncles, all of them, it.

Thank you for understanding my pain through it, thank you for not trying to fix what was never yours, thank you for holding my hand through all of it, in the midst of your own process through it. Thank you for having your mama’s back, unflinchingly as ever, no matter what.

Thank you for making it one of the most singularly spectacular events in my well-used life, other than the day of your actual birth, 24 years ago today.
Thank you for last summer after we got back. For the ear through the phone line during so many tearful drives to and from Nanaimo, up and down that LaMaHat, for the drive-by huggings at PV and the softness in your voice when you could read my broken heart all over me; the one threatening to obliterate everything I knew to be true about me, again.

Thank you for holding my well-lit heart together with the unconditional glue of who you are, and for seeing it, me, as the fallible human-parent I am, and your loyalty to our relationship not despite that, but because of it.

Thank you for expressing your disdain for men(?) behaving badly in both my personal and professional worlds, and thank you for behaving well despite your disdain and anger toward those less chivalrous, less kind.

Thank you for your response to that most unexpected of phone calls this afternoon from your dad, only one of us responded with the grace and wisdom of the Universe itself; clearly, age is no guarantee of these things, and thank you for understanding, once again, my misguided irritation by parts of said phone call. It was a beautiful thing, and that, is all you saw. I take another page from your book.

Thank you for all of the trust you continue to place in me with the really great, and really tough life shit, and thank you for showing me, over and over again, the many variations on any given theme. For an open-minded mama, my ever well-heeled feet can dig in, hard, at times.

Thank you for simple happiness at the recent changes in my life, completely and utterly bereft of chagrin at the speed in which things are changing. Thank you for understanding that risk is necessary.

Thank you for starting to put into action your next great adventure, and thank you, more than you will ever know, for saying you would come back for next April 25th. Thank you for allowing me to mama-guide you, ok, I ordered you, not to.

Thank you for using the lessons of my and your own well-used life, to propel you forward, ever forward, and for teaching me back, my own preach about teaching children How to think, not what to think.

The beautifully important and life(choice)-scarred words that mean so much to you they are permanently etched onto your forearm often bear true Sunny, ‘Storm is prerequisite for mental gain,’ but just as we are the creators of our own happiness, the same is true for the storms, if only by virtue of the reactions, responses, associations, patterns, meanings, we Choose to attach to any of it; the good, the bad, the ugly, the indifferent, the sublime, and the ridiculous.

That there; be mama’s current learning curve BabyCakes, BabyCzech, and Number One Marsupial-Child! It is my most fervent desire for you, that you don’t require almost 54 years of life to get there, and if you do, I have all the faith in the world, that you will traverse the trails, highways, byways and ditches with the same wild abandon and spirit of risk, that you have watched your mama grow into, and continue to understand, that the Only failure, Ever, is not trying at all.

Our Dorothy used to say, ‘pain and suffering are inevitable in this world, continuing misery, is purely optional.’ Curmudgeonly beauty that she often was, she was right.

I love you with the same ferocity and wild that I often go at anything with, only infinitely deeper.

Always,
YourMama: Unfiltered.

Tattoo on Sunny’s Arm by Sam, Killer Bees Tattoos – Melbourne, Australia

‘Storm is prerequisite to mental gain’ from ‘Liquid Sovereignty’ by Eydea & Abilities

 

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My Well-Lit-Heart

08 Monday Sep 2014

Posted by in Poetry, The 'L' Word, Unfettered

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My-Well-Lit-Heart

          My-Well-Lit-Heart       

Intoxicated by intention
I neglected to mention,
that holding this damsel at bay
since the advent of May,
t’was not at all, in keeping
with the deeds of the true Dragon-Knight,
dear BB-D-K.
‘Tis in doing not saying
that sets hearts a’flutter,
sadly sadly
your actions did, but stutter and mutter.
No Dragon-Knight honour is found in mere utterance of words
when to the ground they plummet,
with the utility of turds.
(and stick on the soles of this damsel’s ever-well-shod feet)
No gallantry present in noble intent,
when in sadness, a damsel’s Morns Days’n Eves,
be endlesslyyy spent.
Well-meaning plot
is worth nary a thought,
here, today, at this juncture –
how many (more) opportunities, do I provide you
to puncture;
this
<3
?
Zero ↔ oreZ
e   <3   e
r     r
Ø

September 07, 2014
Yours; Shining, well-lit through the wounds:
MyLa: truly Unfettered.

(Image: Marcela, Sep.2014)

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The (evolving) untold story of my hero…

07 Monday Jul 2014

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Kolonáda - Karlovy Vary, CZ - June 24, 2014

Kolonáda – Karlovy Vary, CZ – June 24, 2014

July 7th has rolled around once more, and 43 years, in this moment feels like 43 seconds, for I will always, and forever, miss you. I get my rebel, my power, my wisdom, my ability to see the truth, my stubborn-never-give-up from you, and also the fragility and dandelion fluff inside that we both hid/e from the rest of the world, so that they cannot harm, damage, our oh-so-vulnerable humanity. It never changes for me, this day. Time does not heal all wounds, it simply grows scar tissue over them which dulls the ache, allows me to think about you with some clarity, remember the entirety of your being, and how you still, 43 years after your untimely departure, teach me, guide me, help me keep my rebel on, with some measure of grace and dignity.

The untold story of my hero
I want to tell you this story. It is the evolving story of a hero, who through the process of me growing up, had to be seen, by me, as human, before he could be my hero, for real for real. He was my first and biological father, Tomáš Mrnka. He was born in the country formerly known as Czechoslovakia on October 24th 1935, and died, under extremely curious circumstances, in a mine shaft in Stewart BC, on July 7th, 1971. It was 12 days before my 10th birthday. He was 36 years old, and when he died, everything I ever hoped for, and dreamed of, died with him. For a while… a long while.

I held him on a pedestal of my own making for many, too many, years after his death, and only ever thought about him in a haze of golden glory and undeserved persecution. I only ever told stories of his heroic actions: his undeserved imprisonment in the old country for a democratic cause, his valiant battle to get us, his beloved children and wife, out of the clutches of communism following the Soviet invasion of our beloved land, and into the country that he wanted more than anything to provide us a life in. I knew this story so well I could recite it at the mere whisper of his name, and expound at length on his virtues and sacrifices; for his beloved country, for his beloved family.

The parts I left out of the story, the human bits, are as important a contributor to the true nature of his hero-status as his me-created perfection. He was the first man of many, to hit me and tell me he loves me in the same moment. He did not do this because he was evil, he did it because that is how children were disciplined; it is what he learned in the environment and culture he grew up in. He was unfaithful to his beloved wife, my beloved mother, and considered somewhat of a Casanova. He was a catch: he had one of the few motorcycles in the country at the time, and a full set of leathers, a rebel with a chip on his shoulder, but he had a cause. He had attitude and the inimitable grin, wit and charm of Rhett Butler, and all the girls wanted him. My mother got him, and forgave him, over and over, to keep him. She had endless discord and conflict with her beloved mother because of him. He was not only imprisoned for voicing his political beliefs against the status quo, he was imprisoned for shooting a law officer. I tell you all of this not to be-smudge his memory; I tell you this to illustrate the full context of his humanity, he was so imperfect, so human, but still a hero not despite it, but because of it.

He worked very hard to redeem himself when he brought us here, to make it right, to atone, to take responsibility. I tell you this because we all have a dark side, a side that requires constant work and effort to keep in check, to make certain that it is not given more priority than the hero in all of us. The side that makes poor decisions based on fear rather than the belief that we will get what we need if we act accordingly; the side which is driven by the outside, all the world’s influences, rather than the inside, the core of our humanness, our hearts and souls. The side of us that ignores our innate intuition, even when the warning bells scream like the sirens in a big city. The hero in all of us, the piece that knows love and abuse cannot co-exist in the same environment, the piece that informs every act of kindness and compassion we have ever given freely because that is what gives us the most true happiness. The piece that would die for the people we love, and sometimes for those we don’t even know but feel true human compassion for, that piece, is the one we must nurture, nourish, and encourage to grow and empower.

I could not see my father, Tomaš Mrnka, as the authentic hero he was and is, until I could see the full extent of his humanity, without judgment, or the childish notions I carried about the perfection of a hero. I tell you this story because I have experience with imperfection and humanity, and because I miss my hero today.

Dad, I cannot help but believe that you were there when recently, I visited the places I have some of my strongest and fondest memories of you from, Karlovy Vary, Boży Dar,  on the journey of a lifetime with your widow, my mother, and my son, your grandson Thomas. We told him stories about you that he has likely heard a thousand times before, but it was different, for you had walked these streets that we were walking, you held my mother’s hand there, you held mine. You came back to life for me in moments of memory so vivid that they caught my breath, and we all got to know you, and ourselves, a little better than we did in the days, the moments prior.

Rest in peace my beloved dad, and know that the lessons of your life, your imperfect humanity, and your true heroism, have watched over me, followed me, taught me, led me, sometimes astray, but always back, to the true hero in me. 43 years ago on July 7th, my life and world changed in a way that I spent too many years trying to numb, to feel, to figure out, to forget, to remember; and 43 years later I come full circle to face my own imperfection and humanity, once again.

Boży Dar, CZ - June 15, 2014

Boży Dar, CZ – June 15, 2014

Jelení skok - Karlovy Vary, CZ - June 24, 2014

Jelení skok – Karlovy Vary, CZ – June 24, 2014

Thank you dad for the continuing lessons. You did well; and although my dark side comes out to play and wreak havoc in my heart and life periodically, I believe that my hero always triumphs in the end. I miss your person every day, but I feel your presence, every second.

Always yours, with all the humanity I have,

~MyLa: Unfiltered.

(edited from original written July 05, 2012)

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Marcela Moment of the Month: The Spam List – May, 2014

07 Wednesday May 2014

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because I can only love a man who does not simply tolerate my penchant for playgrounds, he must be a man who gets his play-groove on with me…

This, is the story of a 52-year-old woman with an above average IQ, and the Emotional Intelligence Quotient (EIQ), of a four-year old. I will apologize to all of the four-year olds in the world here and now, they probably would have figured this one out long before I did.

As I believe we all do, I have some emotional triggers and fears, primarily surrounding the people I hold dearest; my child, my mother, my closest friends, and the man in my life, known as the BB-Dragon-Knight (BB-D-K). I live in a different town than all of these, my favourite humans, so one of the ways in which I stay connected, and ‘OK’ in these relationships, is through the various and respective methods, means, and patterns of communication specific to each one. My mother and I phone, she does not do text, my son and I phone regarding most things and text regarding the little stuff, like when I will next come by in my work travels, to receive and reciprocate our weekly drive-by-hugging. The BB-D-K and I phone whenever possible in the evenings, and text often, on days and nights we do not spend together. Always, we let the other know when we will spend time with the other important folks in our lives, and may be somewhat incommunicado. I like this. I do not need to be in contact 24/7 when we are apart, but given past experiences, I like this a lot. Apparently, I am very attached to it. This particular Marcela Moment of the Month (yes, I realize it is early on, but really, it’s a gooder), pertains to him, the BB-D-K, and a complete and utter disregard for what I often advise and model for the folks I work with; critical and logical thinking skills during times of stress, emotional and otherwise. Take my advice people, I was not using it.

The trigger, as they generally do, originates in my past, and the experience of hostage-takings in e-communication by humans I once cared about, as well as a life fraught with some fairly horrific circumstances, events, and much loss. But still, it has nothing to do with the present. Absolutely nothing. I have no evidence what-so-ever, in several months of time spent with this truly soulful, smart, honest, humble, loyal, and adorable-as-all-get-out human being, that logically speaking, would support or lead me to the place I have spent too much time in over the course of our relationship, and particularly the four days preceding this one.

He is, other than my ManChild, the only human on the planet who does not simply tolerate or put up with; my inside and outside crazy, my flying pigs and other winged creature tattoos, my inner and outer child, my intense, at times over-the-top passion about issues related to my work and the world we live in. He is one of two humans on earth, who engage , encourage and indulge  these traits and passions, fully, without reservations. He gets on the swing and climbs up on the playground equipment, and he always worries and admonishes me when I swing too high and make the chains bounce, or when I spin myself in circles until I’m dizzy and wobbly-kneed, just for the amazingness of it all. He admonishes not because he thinks it is silly for me to do these things, but because he could not stand to see me hurt.

So what happened? Well let me tell you! I spent a full day and two lovely evenings enjoying him and his surroundings, and left refreshed and energized early Friday afternoon to go into what are my most gruelling workdays, the weekends. We communicated via text message at approximately 11:00 a.m. on Friday morning prior to my departure, LOL-ing about the crazy goings on in our respective work worlds that morning. I went about my work, sent him a couple of texts, photos of interest from my day, and the ritual good-night-text in the evening as I lay in my own bed and counted him as one of the all-time best blessings in my life. I did not get one back, since early in the day, or the ritual good-morning-text, but I have some idea of what his work world looks like so I did not fret, too much. Yet.

By Saturday evening I was somewhat anxious and memories of e-communication-hostage-takings began to creep into my mind, and fear began to grip my oh-so-vulnerable heart. I am a human service professional after all, and so I counselled self: self, remember to examine, very thoroughly examine, the evidence:  1) Do you have anything to base this anxiety and fear upon where this human is concerned? No, I do not self. Thank you self. 2) Do you realize, self, that you are likely projecting historical events into your present, and that there is likely a logical explanation for the ‘dead air space’ you fear so much? Yes, self, I realize that, but I cannot think of a logical explanation, I have right out asked him why the dead air space, and told him in several texts that I am concerned, worried that something has happened to him, or someone close to him. 3) Seriously self, relax, you know he is likely with one of his children, or just sleeping a lot, the last several weeks have been gruelling in his world too! 4) Ok, I’m certain he will say good morning, I will try to sleep. Fail, epic fail. No visions of sugar plums dancing in this self’s head, just horrible accident scenes, and worse, a ‘Dear Marcela’ letter in my snail-mail box.

The brain ran on and on into Sunday morning, all that day at work, and through the night while I frantically tried to finish a very important court report involving some very important little people in my work world. I was to to be in court, a nasty commute away, first thing in the morning. The report completed, tired, anxious self dressed and mostly together enough to testify coherently, I went to do my job. And then I drove another two hours to look for the BB-D-K, and find out what horrible life tragedy had befallen him, someone he loves, or be-still-my-heart, to hear what I knew in my core had to be the real truth; he is done with me. He will kick me to the curb the way others had, but gently, for he is not like them. I will take it like the proud woman I am, drive home crying like a child once he is well out of sight, and begin the process of grieving, immediately followed by a bout of workaholic feelings-stuffing, and bacon. Large quantities of bacon, when I was able to stomach food again. I knew exactly how it would go.

I reminded my tortured self during that drive, that my BB-D-K was not anything like anyone else I had ever dated, been married to, or in a relationship with, so far from it in fact. But the thoughts and fears that had tumbled in my head for the better part of three full nights and almost four days now, had taken such hold that it was impossible to counsel self logically at this point, and the panic grew and eventually took over, as I neared my destination. So I re-focused all of my energy on driving safely, no point in arriving dead, it was already such a mess!

I arrived in front of his house to find his parking spot empty, and my heart sank. It was his day off, where was he? I knew it, he was in the hospital, haemorrhaging to death, or tending to someone he loved in a major crisis, and he was unable to let me know. Or worse, he left town because he could not bear to hurt my feelings face to face, and I would receive the dreaded ‘Dear Marcela,’ letter in the mail.

I left a note in his door, and almost started to drive back, broken, to my own town and abode, but decided to take a final swing on the swing set with an ocean view, at the end of his road. It was the saddest swing, ever. I could not see the view for the tears, and could only think about when he stood on the play set directly in front me, several weeks ago, when we were still together, BB-D-K and Myla. My BB-D-K. His Myla. It was tragic. I sent a text to let him know that I had been at his home, that there was a note in the door, and that coming to look for him was no more of a choice than when I was worried sick about my ManChild recently, and hunted him down, also.

And then something told me to turn my head toward the road, and I as I did, I spied his Pathfinder coming down the hill! I listened for where the motor went off, yes, just down the road, where the Dragon lair is! I waited, surely he would see my vehicle and come find me, apologize, explain what horrible fate had found him or someone else, why he was unable to communicate with me for almost four torturous days.

I walked toward his house but he was not on the road coming toward me, so legs shaking, I made my way around to the back, to where he always sits, enjoying a stunning ocean view. He was there. My BB-D-K, alive, not bleeding, looking tired but very well indeed! He said “hey you,” I said “would you like me to leave,”? he said “no, of course not, what do you have to say”? I said “don’t you have anything to say to me about dead air space for almost 4 days”? He said: “I sent you texts on Friday to let you know I would be with my son, and Saturday, and yesterday, and I wondered why you were getting all upset.” I was stunned, I told him I didn’t get any, showed him my phone, our thread, there was just me to him in there since Friday morning… what the hey!?! I asked him to send me a text, he did, I saw it go out, but it never landed in my phone… what the hey?

And then: a few minutes of poking around in contact settings, the settings for his contact info specifically and I find this option: ‘Remove this number from SPAM list.’ Seriously??? I had accidentally sent his number to the SPAM list, a function I did not even know existed, but now remembered seeing, and ignoring, some weird little message about SPAM coming up, right after I sent the Friday morning text before I left. Not once, did it occur to either of us that I was not receiving his messages. His phone showed them as sent, my phone worked, I tested it, several times a day over those four days, by texting self, obsessively, and then getting irritated every time it landed in my phone because it wasn’t from him.

OMG, really!?! My three sleepless nights, my four unable-to-eat or focus-on-anything-else days, my very own, personal hell, all of it, was entirely and utterly, self-imposed. I had been outsmarted by my very own Smart-phone, and tortured, by the EIQ of my inner four-year old. Wow!

So, the moral of this story has several key elements: 1) do not, under any circumstances assume that simply because you have sent a text, the recipient has received it. 2) Understand your equipment’s various functions, and most importantly 3) do not, like me in this series of unfortunate events, paint your present with the dirty paint brush of the past. It makes for a muddy and diluted painting. It did not serve me well, never has, and this hard won lesson is just one more indication that it never will. I have worked very hard to understand my past, forgive those who harmed me and others I love, and move on. I am not perfect at it, yet.

I sit now, this moment, with masses of gratitude for the man known as BB-Dragon-Knight, for he had a choice in the perspective from which he could view my comedy of errors: 1) She’s bat-shit crazy or 2) she really cares about me. He chose 2, and added that he quite likes my crazy. Further; he was less irritated than worried, about me getting so upset, kind of in the same way he worries that I might hurt myself when I swing too high, or spin myself in circles. Because he cares about me, and he does not like to see me hurt, let alone be the cause of my pain.

With all the brilliant insight I have at this moment, tongue firmly implanted in cheek, and so much deep, honest caring, yours as always,

~Marcela (Myla): Unfiltered.

 

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Open letter to my child

23 Sunday Mar 2014

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Me'nSunnySwinginMarch 22, 2014

Dear Sunny, SunnyBoyManChild, Babycakes, number one and original MarsupialBaby, yes you, my heart and soul, my son, Thomas George Raphael Turjancik:

I woke up in Ruswil, Switzerland, at 5:00 a.m. on this day 23 years ago, and said to your dad: “George, wake up, our son just made me wet the bed.” Your dad, whom you will finally see/meet again for the first time in 20 years, a few short weeks from now, was ‘tired’ from our wedding only two days earlier, rolled over and said: “you’re funny, go back to sleep.” At that point, my not-so-inner-mama-bear came out and told him to get the fuck up, we are having Baby-Thomas today! He got up.

We drove to the neighbouring town of Wolhusen, for Ruswil was too small for its own hospital, and it turned out that March 22nd 1991 was a busy day for their tiny maternity ward. In a normal week they have one maybe two babies make their planet earth appearance. On this day however, there were three of you at once, and all three with mothers in varying stages and severity of real and perceived emotional and physical distress. It was a bit of a cluster-fuck.

The one doctor on duty was running back and forth between the three of us, as were the midwife and a couple of nurses, and they were all very relieved when I finally said yes to the laughing gas. That is, until they saw just how happy it made me. I had said no to pain-killing drugs, odd when you consider the dope-induced crash and burn we experienced later on, but at the time, I wanted to feel everything about you, your arrival in my life. I was so giddy that it got hard to push, and the doctor (a male) yelled at me and said “come on! haven’t you ever done this before”? I responded, not so gently with “NO, have you asshole”?!

Your father had had a traumatic experience at the birth of your half-brother Roman, so he kinda gave up on us when it got real. It was a bit of foreshadowing, no? Not a dig at him, not at all, just my reality, and (y)ours I think. Not everyone can stomach reality and truth the way you and I have all these years. But I digress. So, at 1:29 p.m., that time zone, that place, in that moment, you made your début, and my life changed, forever. It changed in a way that is so profound, so beyond my capacity to articulate, well, in these or any other pages, I have written, or will write in the future.

I have often thought about that moment when I realized I was in it alone, as the moment our bond became absolutely bullet proof, for life, no matter what. And so it has been. Through the good, through the bad, through the very very ugly, and painfully, through the indifferent (or ignorant) attitudes of those, whom to this day, feel it is their job to judge and critique, me, and Universe save them from my motherly-wrath, you.

And just as you know and accept my humanity, I am not under any illusion that you are a perfect human, or child, but you are the perfect human-child for me, and truly, had I had the option of choosing, I would have chosen you. Why? Well I am so very glad you asked!

Why do I love thee Thomas? Let us count the ways:

<3 I love you because you have given meaning and purpose to a soul broken, too often, by the cruelties of those with no connection to self, no conscience, no heart.

<3 I love you because no matter what ‘they’ say, you saved my life when I did not believe it was worth saving, but you were/are.

<3 I love you because like your birth, relatively short and painless in the grand scheme of things, parenting you has been a gift and the singular greatest blessing and experience of my life.

<3 I love you because you shine Thomas, I do not wish to set you up for a fall by placing you on a pedestal; but you shine! I knew at 1:29 p.m. on March 22nd, 1991, in that little Swiss hospital, I know it now, and everyone who takes even a second to talk to you knows it, they tell me, all the time.

<3 I love you because you have a deep and profound understanding of my humanity, my imperfection as a human, as a parent, as a ‘helper,’ and you are the only human on the planet who loves me not despite it, but because of it, unconditionally, always; In the same manner that I know and love you, and your perfectly-imperfect humanity.

<3 I love you because you never made me park around the corner to drop you off at school, you always thought I was a cool mom;  I imagine a foul mouth and tattoos help with that, but hey, I’ll take it

<3 I love you because you never stopped skipping across parking lots with me, hand in hand, or ‘walking THIS way,’ in grocery stores.

<3 I love you because even when you said that Sunny, SunnyBoy, Number one Marsupial, and ManChild were one thing, but BabyCakes quite another, you never got pissy with me for all the crazy nicknames I have for you. I do, by the way, know that your name is Thomas ;)

<3 I love you because despite, or because of, my fairly strong beliefs about the world and resulting influence in your life, on your beliefs, you have managed to find your own truths, and never been afraid to debate these things with me. I will high-five self for teaching you how to think, not what to think.

<3 I love you because despite me, and my influence, you have become the deeply thoughtful and kind human that you are.

<3 I love you because you really and truly are, the Sun that brightens my worst days, the Shine that makes the sunny ones even brighter, my one and only, always unconditional cheerleader, my one and only child, the best one for me, by far.

Don’t let the darkness in the world make you jaded and broken, the way I was for too many years Sunny, focus on what is good and on doing good, surround yourself with others who are good, and do good. The other is simply too painful, and such a horrible waste of time and breath. Such a horrible waste of time for your compassionate soul.

These past 4 years, including your 22nd, have been fraught with challenge upon challenge, and much loss and pain for both of us, individually and collectively, yet we have proven to one another, and the ever hovering detractors, over and over again, what I have said here: our bond is bullet proof. For we have both taken some shrapnel, at times from one another, only to come out stronger, than ever before, our family of two.

I love you Thomas with something so fierce that it defies mere words.

Always, with everything I have, got your back! No matter what!

All my love, and then some,
~Mama: Unfiltered

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there are days…

10 Monday Mar 2014

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nanaimo-jan-4-6-2014there are days I wish:
I didn’t feel(you)so deeply,
didn’t love(you)so completely,
could love on(with you):
so sweetly in ignorance –
of your pain,
and mine.
 
~Myla, here and now.

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Slave

05 Wednesday Feb 2014

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For.You.Pic.4For you…

…I hung suspended in time, until the arrow of (y)our essence punctured my heart, and it bled, like a red candle, hot, languid, to the centre of my humanity, into my soul…

For you…

…I have waited, poised, with the faith of one blessed with the knowledge that when you breach(ed) my armour, I would see you, know you, and encounter precisely, whom I intuited you to be…

For you…

…I wear, with the deepest humility, the open shackles of (y)our love, black for the darkness you embolden me to embrace in the profound absence of shame, white for the light, the surrender of my heart to (y)ours, and any vestige of ill-will I harbour toward those who came before you, us, you are not them, we are not they…

For you…

…I will bare my true face, devoid of the pretense and painted masks we both disdain, knowing, that trust is earned with honesty, and love, is at the core of your desire to see me stripped, of the tattered remnants of defense that remain, to shield the nudity of my core, from (y)ours…

For us…

…I will, at liberty, be a slave to (y)our love, barring only that my enslavement, should begin to take precedence over my respect for, and love of, self, and threaten to subjugate, my own soul…

With reverence, for you Affy, and for me, and for us, and with all the love I have,

~Yve.

(Photo: Craig Morey)

Edited February 12, 2015

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On recovery and the dreaded ‘R’ word…

24 Friday Jan 2014

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No, it is not (drug)- Replacement, not even Relapse, though perhaps they both fit, also. The ‘R’ word I speak of; or words rather, are Romantic Relationship. Double R-whammy! You know; that thing you are told from your very first (recovery) meeting to stay out of.

Let us be clear on my position: No-where, to the best of my knowledge, in the primary book, in its many incarnations, of my preferred 12-Step Program,  does it say to “stay out of relationships.” That little tid-bit of life-advice seeped in from various unaffiliated treatment programs over the years, and was adopted, by many, as program dogma. It says somewhere in that same book, that relationships are often a difficult area of recovery. That is all.

I heard for many years, from various program (power) couples, how I needed to focus on myself and stay out of these silly, silly relationships. For too many of these years, I did not actually have the voice to stand up for myself. To let them know it did not seem right for folks who had used with someone, got clean with someone, and went on to (re) build a life with that same someone, to pontificate on the topic, to folks like me. To lecture me about staying out of a relationship, to roll their eyeballs at me whenever I shared in a meeting (or privately), about how difficult it often was to function in a pathologically-partnered world. To bring me to tears of frustrated invalidation with self-righteous tirades on how to love and accept self, to be a proud single parent, and other similarly stupid bla bla. To patronize me to this day, almost 16 years and much personal work later, about how I need to focus on self. And all of that, while, they tell me about how they could not have made it through this that or the other major life event without the support of the other half of their twosome. Addiction left me utterly alone. Bereft. Abandoned by self, community, society and family, my child removed from my care. A woman in her mid-thirties, forsaken, just before Christmas, in 1997. Sick, sad, hungry, tired, beaten, broken, deeply wounded and ashamed, on the streets of a city, literally looking from the outside in, through the windows of Starbucks, thinking: I do not belong to this world any more; or to anyone in it. I am completely alone, disposable.

Again, let us be clear: I have waded through more shit in life than most people have flushed and come out smelling like a rose. So if you wish to get loaded again because your other human did, or because they turned out to be an asshole, or because your mother died, or your dog ate your shoe, please, by all means. Using drugs, or food, or gambling, or consumerism, or sex, or or or, are always options. So is going outside my back door at night when I hear Mr. Bear out there, but I won’t be stepping out, to make his acquaintance any time soon, either.

So here’s my deal: I made a commitment to myself and to my child when I got clean, that I would not use, no matter what. No matter what is all-encompassing for me, and since April 25, 1998 I have honoured that commitment. I have also honoured my need and want as a mature, wise, intelligent, well-educated, funny, energetic, passionate, loving, accomplished, human-woman, to pursue love, and my very own, personal, version of the romance fairy tale. Interestingly enough, I have actually spent more time being single in recovery than ‘coupled,’ though I have enjoyed, as well as suffered a number of shorter and longer term relationships and/or dating scenarios. Every single man I have dated, slept with, been in a serious relationship with, had the same choices I had, in regard to the relationship as well as recovery, if he were a member of this not-so-exclusive club; many were not. It is not a pre-requisite.

How does this all relate to my recovery and continuing personal growth, my argument that it is not the place of well-intentioned program members, to tell me what to do in my personal life? In a nutshell: I have continued to do my work, within the parameters of this program and well beyond them. I am not stagnant or stuck in never-ending cycles of abuse and/or patterns that I could give you a hundred ridiculous victim-blaming-physcho-babble names for. I am human, and I long for another human in my life. One that is capable of the same kind of fun, commitment, craziness, passion, Madd-love, that I am. Had I been stuck or distracted from my recovery and personal work, I could not possibly have a) stayed clean, and b) come to the following stunning insight, one of many, in the days following an entirely unexpected, heart-wrenching and cruel ending to what I believed, with everything I had, was my final romantic relationship: I have a deep and compassionate understanding that we all come to our shit honestly. Along with a life well lived, and multitudes of horrific life events and barriers triumphed over, used as opportunity, this makes me really good at my job. I get it, but can usually stay detached enough from the person/family/issues/circumstances/systems to see it all clearly, the good, the bad, the ugly, the indifferent. I have realized recently, that the same compassion and understanding about how humans get how they get, makes me really bad at navigating the bad, the ugly and the indifferent in various personal relationships. I am learning that just because I get why people behave like ass-holes, does not mean I can continue to provide them with permission and forgiveness when they dump their neglect, shit and abuse on me, treat me like human waste, without consequences. Primarily, the consequence that they miss out on a really cool, really smart, really loyal and loving friend, lover/mate, sibling… Period.

This insight translates as well to many false-loyalties I have continued to hold in terms of friendships. I should never be working harder in any relationship than the other party, to maintain the quality of said friendship. So; the point? The program has taught me much over the years, including, how to get better at relationships, all relationships. Not by watching others have them, not by reading about them in self-help or Social-Worky and Psych text books, not by listening to my counsellor expound on how-to, or not, but by having them. By being real, 100% unadulterated, unfiltered, pure Marcela. Because that, is what the program, has given me the most of. Unfortunately for the 12-Step dogma-sheeple and related literature, pure Marcela comes equipped with critical thinking skills and the capacity to take what I need, and to dissect and disseminate the rest, as I wish.

Gratefully yours, always,

~M.

November 10, 2013

 

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