Language and stories find me remembering my longing for love and romance. In some synchronistic fashion I have found words that wrap me in my own love stories and I Yearn for my lost father and the attention and excitement he created inside me. The emphasis that I was special has lingered with me assuring me on the way. Life gave me all that it could to go forward and learn, still it was not enough. There have been stories woven tightly within me. I have ventured into areas I was not ready for or should have traveled. Blind confidence shaking as I traveled, bouncing where I could hold on. My need for wanting love from my early loss continued. Yet life was telling me that reputation and sameness were boring, but needed. I fell in love with titles and all men who showed me attention. Drama and self acceptance were not my friend. I was waiting for a structure that could only be found if I used charm or saw needs in living stories. I was having fun. Self acceptance appeared, finally declaring itself in order to ride my wave into living my life. I began not wanting to show my “home” movies.
I had clarity in my poetry, hiding behind being understood for declaring who I was. Titles and behaviors no longer mattered. Feelings became a distraction, making new experiences when facing the uncomfortability truth in learning what was before me. I had done everything possible to cover who I was to distract what was happening inside. I thought I was excited. Practicing since I was a child to control my circumstances when I couldn’t find logic in what was happening. I went to my old familiar places of not feeling, or just making it up as I went. Also in the presence of grandiosity, habit lingered as I flirted with my experiences as that little girl in my fathers rifle range. I took my behavior into the 1960’s, I was going to be famous and a lot of men knew how to excite or use my dreams.
There is a wistful song
I’ve watched in language
The song is not mine to sing
I am amazed at my lack of understanding
Defects ignored while striving for work
Perhaps long hours to resist the truth
There are songs sung by some with verve
Other songs in forbearing a body’s call
I wait for my tutelage in today and tomorrow's journey
This is my world of its own peculiar assumptions
This is my life known or forgotten
None of us are normal.
Sometimes I remember I am not young, but I feel young. Shall I cultivate reality. I have a life force confused as memories come to me over and over again. As I moved out of my teens and into my life as an adult, the dance with men was not one I should have sung and now I look at what was courageous and what was just blind foolishness.
Again in the 60’s and 70’s we were the generation of freedom and that included free love. To paraphrase Joni Mitchel, she said on YouTube, Free love was conceived by men just wanting to get into our pants. I agree!
