Saturday, December 14, 2002

I'm holding an unopened letter in my hand. It's addressed very sweetly in her best handwriting. There's a happy snowman sticker on the back, his scarf flying in the breeze. One stick arm is waving. The other holds an American flag. Scribbled on the front in red is, "Happy Holiday to all postal workers."

Yes, this appears to be a sweet, innocent holiday greeting from mother to daughter. Yet, my heart is beating fast and my hands sweat in anxiety. My instincts scream, "Danger!" and "Poison!!!"

I don't know if I dare open it - especially after the last card she sent. I've lit candles and incense in hopes of scaring the daemons away, but there are no external daemons. Fear is my daemon. It's amazing the power she still holds over me - the power of a disapproving mother who overuses the whip of shame and the mace of guilt on her powerless victims.

I have had so much love in my life, lately. I'm afraid that if I open this letter, I will become blind again to all the love I'm now able to see.

Nothing says I have to open this letter. I could just return it. "Return to sender. Keep your words of poison. I do not want them."

Thinking ... I have not yet decided what to do.

...
...
...

Just open it.

...

Not poison. A plea. The power has shifted from mother to daughter. If I wanted to, I could be cruel and lash out and hurt back as much as I've been hurt. There is absolutely no desire within me to do so. A few years ago, I might have been cruel, but the love that life has shown me has made me stronger than that. There is already enough hurt and sadness in the world without inflicting more.

The door has opened. And, I'm afraid.

Wednesday, December 11, 2002

Ok.

So, maybe I'm not quite ready to move into a little cabin in the woods just yet. I've come across a few human beings who make living in this society a little bit worthwhile for a little while longer. One is a female friend who I just seem to click with. She's the coolest and she's fun to dine with. We only get together about twice a month, but it's quality time. One started out as a friend-of-a-friend and was the only person I quasai knew when I moved down here. He has since turned into a friend, and he's fun to spend time with and is a quality human being and fun to hang out with. Another is a really manly yet sweet guy I've been keeping a bit of company with now and then. I like his perspectives on life, his sense of humor, and the way he treats me. If all men thought and behaved like this guy, the world would be a better place.

I'm just trying to remind myself that there are plenty of people in my life who make it worthwhile to NOT move to a little cabin in the woods. As I think about it, there are several more: my friend who moved out here from Michigan, my good friend and former lover in El Segundo who is still a good friend, terrific sculptor and artist in every sense of the word (never have I met anyone so meticulous), and my former sister-in-law who validated my decision to bail the hell out of the patch of uncultured tundra to which I was prisoner.

Yeah. Hello, society. I'm hanging out for a while.

Sunday, December 08, 2002

Urges

Every single day the urge gets stronger to sell everything I own and move to a little remote cabin in the mountains. I believe that if it were not for my son, I would do so.