A beautiful Autumnal day has unfolded- it began on the porch with screech owls and crickets and will be closing in a similar manner...

I have avoided writing this week as I lick my wounds and vacillate between acceptance and frustration. I still smell his scent on clothes. If I close my eyes, I can feel the embrace that seemed to at least temporarily repair all the broken pieces. I miss it. It has been a week of no contact. I miss him and still find myself wondering if  he is safe, fed, and has shelter. I am ok until I contemplate what he does in order to obtain those things, and then I am saddened and my heart aches even more. Nothing like picking at a scab to prolong the healing. There is a certain twisted satisfaction in such endeavors.

Yesterday found me burning the 8 volumes of journals I had kept with Michael. They chronicled our 2+ years together. They were a form of hostage taking for me- I got mad if he didn't write in the book. My drunken control freak wanting constant reassurances demanded of him that he read what I wrote and respond. Not a healthy game, not a fair game, and not a thing to do to someone you love. Fear of losing him and us drove me to the depths of despair. Adding drugs and alcohol onto that simmering madness was sometimes explosive. So I loaded them into the fire pit, doused them in gasoline and struck a match. A tinge of sadness came and then a great sense of release- as though I had somehow severed a bond that kept us bound to a time and place. I gave up the ghost on a beautiful day at the close of summer. I set him and I both free.

It is Sunday. Tomorrow is the Equinox. Fall is already hinting of its presence as the poplars drop leaves and the dogwoods begin to turn red. The temperature is dipping lower at night, the slant of sunlight has changed. It won't be long until the forest is devoid of color and the starkness of winter descends.

The day found me being extremely lazy. I left the house late afternoon to obtain cigarettes and petrol. I have begged out on the porch for hours on end today. I have however, continued to complete at least thirty sit ups and a few reps of planks each day, often twice a day. I am feeling the burn, and might be seeing a little definition begin to take form. I am not sure I desire ripped abs, but a more toned body would be nice. 

So I ask the universe to guide my thoughts and actions each day, to help them be divorced of anger, resentment, jealousy, and self seeking motivations. I say thank you at the close of each day for the gifts bestowed. It seems to be working a little magic in my day, although I can quickly offset any gains by not remembering to eat, being tired, angry or lonely. I also am remembering that I can reset the day at any moment- thank you Scott C...your advice when I was a drunk still rings clear in my ears, and has worked its magic for a few years now.

I close the day and smile. I remain. I remain connected. I remain willing to learn. These all come together and seem to be vital ingredients to a relatively sane and purposeful life.

Watching a brigade of butterflies, as swarms of clouds pass by. The words of many unanswered questions bounce around as I ask myself, "why?" Shadows dance, I feel the trance, as sunlight appears and vanishes. I feel hypnotized by sunbeams filtered through green leaves. They surround me, warm me and entice me. The cicadas hum and the bees fly by. I sit and stare blankly at the clouds and sky. The hammock in filtered sunlight, music in my ears. The embrace of the wind, comforting through the years. It speaks to me of being willing. Of trying something new. Of taking a chance I had not considered viable, when logic advises against it.

The ocean between our shores is vast and yet if I close my eyes, I am stepping ashore. In some dreams I am embraced as I enter the other land. In some dreams I am greeted by hostility or indifference. This makes the journey confusing. The coastline changes quickly. The sand bars shift. I see the wreckage of the crossings that came before. Stranded, bewildered. I try to avoid the reefs and find safe passage.

I am reminded by the songs in the wind that safety is not guaranteed, that disembarking in a strange land can hold danger. Like the songs on the wind, your siren song carries to my ears. Urging me forward with little heart gifts, kindnesses, passion, kisses, and desire. I disregarded the warning signs and ventured forward.

The kind, strong wind has now ceased. I am floating aimlessly. The shore, like a mirage, torments me, telling of love and laughter and of being sated and content. Yet in this tranquility, I am neither satisfied or content. So I pause, and wait for the return of the prevailing wind and trust that it will steer me in the direction I am intended to go. I do not know the outcome, only that I can not push the ocean. I can trust that all is and will be exactly as it is intended to be.

This thought brings me solace- that a spark has ignited a long dead torch. That torch was once used to light the sacred temple of love. And while the torch is lit and I see differently, the landscape is new. The priest of this realm is striking and short on years. He speaks a familiar language, and yet some words have seemingly lost their meaning in time. The temple is far off and overgrown. I hear of it's existence and feel the tug of distant memories. The priest plays his songs, picking at strings and pulling chords that sear my scared soul. Those scars are where the light enters I remember reading.

The ritual is underway. Silence prevails. No words are spoken and I grasp to decipher the meaning. My alms are accepted. My adoration seen. Passions ignited. And still there is a longing for meaning.

That longing brings me back to my ship. Sitting in calm water. Sunlight and supplies abound. I am in great abundance, even when my desire tells me otherwise.

On this date in 1986 I moved to Asheville, moved in with a man whom I loved, began a life with him.

His name was Hayes. He was ten years my senior, and he loved me. I was 18 ( he thought I was 19 until this day 28 years ago...) I remember bursting into tears as I confessed my true age. He just hugged me and told me we would work it out.

He maintained that outlook and helped me adopt it over the next eighteen years. His passing a decade ago, just shy of our 18th anniversary devastated me. My life unraveled and I drowned my feelings in every available bottle.

I ventured numbly into another relationship unfairly. And while I loved him, my grief welled up and exploded especially while drinking. The toxicity was complete and I grew spiritually dead. I had a drinking problem and we opened a bar. He hated people and worked as the bartender. It was fun and then it sucked. I grew clingy, suspicious and very jealous. He grew weary and distant. We collided in anger doused in booze and cocaine. It wasn't pretty.

Nearly seven years ago I woke up. I saw my reflection in a stainless steel toilet bowl and prayed for help.

Help arrived via 12 step programs. The events leading to my sobering up where horribly painful. The relationship ended abruptly. I wanted to die. I was afraid. I hated what I had become.

So I got sober. I got a new life. I grew to love myself and to love others sans inebriated states. A novel idea.

Fast forward to August 22, 2014- I remain sober and somewhat involved. I have a new home, friends that love me and whom I adore.

I am sitting on my porch at the close of the day listening to cadydids and crickets sing. Occasionally an owl or coyote will chime in adding the chorus.

I find myself in an unusual place. I have been actively pursued by a man 26 years my junior. I have taken a lover who is 20, and I rather enjoy it. He is proving to be a wonderful teacher- the lessons of no attachment seems to be his specialty. I am not the best student, but I trust the universe knows best. The more I struggle the deeper I sink. Relax and it all works. Tense up and fight and I am devoured.

So I light a candle and try to avoid feeling sorry for myself. Yes, it marks what would have been my 28th anniversary. It marks a time long past. I remember Hayes fondly and say thank you for the beautiful life we shared. I am reminded of Michael and the dysfunction we shared in the midst of love. I loved him greatly, still do in fact. While we've not spoken since September 16, 2007, there is not a day that passes that I do not pray for his health, safety and happiness. And then there is Jamez...

I sip my coffee from my porch in Candler, at the base of Mt Pisgah. The magical blue eyed beings are all in my thoughts. Jamez is the latest addition to this club, and he is completely unaware.

I am thankful to be here, to experience this life. That blue heron at Beaver Lake...thank you.

A beautiful day that finds me in town. I'm missing Home on the Hill today ...

I drove into town to see a friend and go to their yard sale - as I drove down my old street I spied the couple who bought my house last year. We had not yet met.



I stopped, introduced myself and spent the next hour walking around the yard, and seeing what they have done.



I had dreaded meeting them and have avoided doing so. I am glad that spirit had other plans. As my friend rightly noted, it feels like closure to a hurt.



So I am basking in the sunshine, sipping coffee and avoiding smoking... No casualties yet 😉

Another afternoon has allowed for naps. That quiet peaceful time of day that welcomes rest, relaxation and slipping off into the unknown world and realm of dreams.

I dreamt of a Magical Blue Eyed Being again- of a day on the beach- of writing our names in the sand- of hunting for bargains.

Those eyes. Mesmerizing in dreams as they were across the bar. They taught me much about myself and about the world. I will always be thankful. 

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