The girl who cried wolf just got mauled by a bear

She is beautiful; she seems to always get what she wants.  She exaggerates all accounts and her life is a fable in which one must sort out the truths from the inaccuracies she peppers her stories with.  She is passionate and every experience is moving or traumatic.  So when she told me her husband hit her, I took it with a grain of salt and made sure to suggest the logical things like call the cops, leave him, etc. without ever really believing it happened.  She played the perfect wife and mother: doting, charming, compassionate and exuberant as always and again she spoke of physical injustice done against her.  I knew she too was guilty of the same, so in hopes of remaining aloof I offered my sympathies and told her to give him space and get away, but she talked of impossibilities.  Her theatrics lessened and I started to see the girl who was so used to crying wolf for attention, making something out of nothing.  When she called me this morning this girl I saw was scared and shaken and was no longer playing games, there were no wolves, only a bear and she needed help.  Her husband had been arrested for domestic assault and battery because she finally decided enough was enough.  I wasn’t there to fight or scare of the bear but let her know her heroics in facing this challenge was not only accurate, but admirable.  I felt low.  Low that she had to face this alone.  Low, because I had believed she had been making nothing into something when in reality she made something into nothing.  Next time, if anyone calls wolf, I will run to their side, because even if there isn't a wolf, there is a lonely, lost shepherd.

Forest

The dark forest lies impervious to time, or so it seems as a dark heaviness continually clings to the ground.  The old trees hide their secret, hidden in the forest floor.  This forbidden secret lies undetected but upon every one’s mind as they traverse the dark condensed foliage.  One feels the presence of something more, yet it slips behind every shadow and brush of the breeze.  The darkness, silence, and heaviness suffocates, gripping the sky as it pushes to bury the forest in their darkness…a secret lies where light cannot reach.

My Life in Story Form

Do you ever pretend you are writing the story of your life?  Creating dialogue in your head for the conversation you wish to have or creating your own soliloquy on the monotony or chores or the deep passion you hold for your husband.   Do you pick out some new detail to describe in some incremental abstract way to try and add meaning to something that isn’t there?  I do.  It has become this weird desire to paint my life in words, as if my story is worth telling and my revelations and reflections are striking.  For example, I was baking and it struck me how the flour looked in contrast to the beep blue of the bowl.  This is the thought that followed:

She was not fully unaware of the art she was mixing.  Such vivid hues, aromas, and tastes could stir several people.  It awed her how she could send even herself into a trance by the smell of the cinnamon which transplanted her to her youth, a smell that often lingered in her mother’s home.  Were these the same spices her son would remember?  She tossed her head as if shrugging her shoulders, moving on to the next thought.  The flour she has just added to her mixture struck her as beautiful and clean.  She smiled as the white played a stark contrast to the deep blue mixing bowl she was using. Almost like snow falling into the sky.

Free Thinkers

All of our lives we are encouraged to think outside of the box while this twisted dichotomy exists when we are however, taught to conform.  The public and even private school districts teach us in one uniform way, making us educational automatons.  This complacency results in mediocrity, stunting our society as a whole.  How many “free thinkers” are there?  Instead our culture has become a social network, trying to fit in with one another rather than an industrial or innovative one.  Why are so few taught to question things?  Why are we so content with allowing things to be because “that’s the way they are?” What passion is left when we simply accept all we are told? 

My husband and I were talking about this in regard to freedom.  My husband is a soldier in the United States Army and he has already spent a year over in Afghanistan trying to help the populace gain their own independence and freedoms that have been denied them.  He talked of the difficulty in helping these people when they had no desire to change their situation when they were used to living the ways they had been taught.  I brought up the fact that our society is not so different, although the comparison lack because ours is less severe. How free are we though when we are taught to conform; when our social settings and media influence most modes of thought?  When we function as a homogenous blob, only breaking away into self when our own selfish needs are wanting to be met.  Now I obviously do not thing this applies to every person, but sadly a large majority of our populace.  I guess in the end all I am advocating is question everything! Seek what stereotypes you perpetuate and find out if this truly is who you are or if you have been nurtured or conditioned into such actions.  Learn who you are so that you can learn to think differently from others, but back up what you have to say with educated, thought out material

you voyeur you!

I have come to realize that blogging is really just a playground for the voyeurs and exhibitionists at heart.  I will admit to both.  The other day I had thought about scrapping the blog altogether because I felt as though no one was reading it and then I realized I was indeed an exhibitionist; let me explain.  You see I started the blog as an outlet of emotions I felt could only be expressed in writing, so I decided to start this sort of online journal/portfolio of pieces.  So here I share some of my most personal and inner thoughts and all the while I am hoping people are reading…watching what I am saying and doing. 

I also plead guilty to voyeurism as well.  I skim from blog to blog trying to find something that excites me, hoping to look in on something unexpected and private.  I look to vicariously live through them in hopes of inducing a similar sort of pleasure in my life.  So if you happened to stumble across my blog and you wish to see something different I hope you found it. :)

Pain

There in the dark it beats

Pounding, breaking me down.

Harder, faster and unrelenting it torments me.

Sharper than a knife’s point

And heavier than lead

It pounds.

Unseen, but ever present it remains

Hidden in a catacomb, similar to the darkest cave

It beats me,

Some days it overpowers, some days I do,

It pounds within.

Incomprehensible to all,

Except to those who have also experienced its

Unrelenting reminder of power.

So I grin and bear it with a smile

Yet dark it remains, as it

Pound in me.

Forever pounding, biting,

Reminding me…

It tries to kill me, slowly,

Yet, I beat still

                                                 And I, I pound it.  Unseen.  Pain.  Me.

Other Mothers

I have a son who is almost yen months and already I have learned I really do not enjoy talking to other women with children.  Let me explain.  I know I do not know everything about parenthood and I will readily admit any and all of my flaws, which are many, I assure you, but there are those women out there who seem so pretentious.  For example the other day I was at a baby shower and a lady commented on how well behaved my son was.  I thanked her for her compliment and assured her it had nothing to do with me, but was rather due to his temperament and went on to explain that although he is more temperamental while teething he was is no way extremely difficult because I had not had to stay up all night rocking a screaming child like many friend have had to do.  Then some woman listening in on our conversation made the snide comment, “oh just wait.”  Now I will admit I am probably making more of this this is was intended or needs to be, but that simple phase indicates 1.  I do not know what to expect from my child 2. My child will be this horrible 3. This implied that this woman knew more than I did.  I happened to know that this woman also only had one child and while her child was a little older the kid was of a different gender and temperament.  This one incident alone is not the issue; I seem to come across this fairly regularly that if there are so many “expert moms” out there then how come a majority of our youth are still learning more from their teachers rather than from their parent and how come the family is still becoming more and more of a rarity.  I am not saying I am blameless either…I am sure I have done something similar, but now that I am so annoyed with it, I have decided to put my foot down.  I will call women out when they make such comments and refrain from speaking in a similar tone.  Advice is fine, but the snide belittling is uncalled for wholly unnecessary!