survival – Opinions Of Eye

Yet I Live

“Nothing is better for self-esteem than survival.”

― Martha Gellhorn, Travels With Myself and Another

moluscators

If not for the Lord, my life is lost, my soul buried beneath issues and vanities. In my longing for a father, I find it in Him. He teaches me wisdom and picks me up when I’ve once again skinned my spiritual knees. When I make mistakes, and they’re many, when I choose the wrong road, and that’s often, He forgives, directs, and provides for me. This is my testimony that thus far, I shouldn’t have made it alive, much less profitably, and still I’m here. My way is full of enemies who hate for no reason, other than color, or jealousy, or because I refuse to die. I’ve seen them tapping their foot, looking at their watches wondering, “When will he fade out?” For that I’ll give thanks again to my Daddy, my heavenly father, who puts light back into the burnt out shell of me. The devils know me as I walk past, whispering “Thissss issss he who left us and yet lives!” Yes, I live, at times only a breath away from crossing over to the evil camps of malignant foreboding that shudder with anger at my betrayal. My body belongs to that camp but with the help of my Father, I’m able to choose whether or not I stay there. That choice is my everlasting evidence that God is real, for where He to be my fantasy, surely you’d read of the savagery of my soul and the punishment of madness that overcame my mind. Thank you Father for the self control you give me and teach me to use. Those choices are hard, and as with all discipline, painful. I press on, with no turning back, to see what things will be revealed in the blasted lands of my life.

Rescue

“and it was he who some fifteen feet down spotted the body of the young man floating like uprooted seaweed, upward, a brilliant white in the underwater space, and it was he who grabbed the body under the arms and brought him up, and also he who made the young man vomit all the water he had swallowed.” ― Roberto Bolaño, 2666

bbaannsshhee

Wave after wave full of debris. It’s not just the water, it’s the stuff in the water that hurts. I’ve learned through years of playing in these waves, how to hold my breath to wait out the turbulence above. Being beneath the ocean isn’t always a bad thing, but necessary for my survival as I dive into the deep to let the rolling trouble pass. Lately I’m a land dweller and though having never entered the ocean for years, I can still learn from those water bound lessons. It’s not so much the living, the actual breathing and going through the days that brings the danger, but its the stuff that’s in the living that hurts.

There are many ways I’ve held my breath to get under the trouble. Substances, relationships, danger seeking (i.e. adrenaline junkie), have all held me below. With all this avoidance and struggle its nice when I see a boat. That’s how God intervened in my life. He sailed through the storm and found me gurgling and diving just to survive the day. With loving hands he picked me up, asking nothing from me. I never made promises to Big Daddy (that’s my affectionate name for God), saying “I’ll do this or that if you save me”, I was just a panic ridden, scared to death young man who needed the rescuing power of God which He was happy to provide.

You may not appreciate this power to rescue but believe me, when trouble comes and your life ebbs, you’ll grab any hand. Though not just anyone could save me because I have this tendency to jump right back into the frothy waters, that’s all I knew how to do. His hand not only rescued me but gently held me in the boat long enough to help me expel the water I swallowed and show me that I can ride the waves for exhilaration. That’s the wonder and love I have for Big Daddy, he teaches me a better way. So here I go, pushing ahead to the other side fully aware that though I feel like the waters will swallow me, I’ll still be saved.

A Death Called Dove

“What a short time I had been given to experience love. I felt as my life had only recently begun and now it would surely end at sunrise.”
― Meredith Taylor

sweetesttootsieroll

Found then a little dove cowering in the birth of new

A blade came near and scant to miss

only a hairs breath relinquishing bliss

Flying before her time with wind both a friend and foe

Thinking to see, her wings grow tired

Blind fear rushes never more inspired

A shy grasp at what becomes a mysterious fateful lore

Trying but giving away the hidden life

Reduced to nothing and shut in by strife

Again the hungry clock stood its watch over gentle dove

Only to alight were she would never to fly

Wings fail to carry her to comforting sky

Talented feathery quills of reaching passion stoned to silence

Will giving her gifts to the clouds that call

Only create little pieces in the memory of all

Just dreams of doves laying torn in dawns fading embrace

O fragile dove you’ll ne’er see forever pain

Walking in silence ’cause your wings are maimed

Also published in Broowaha Citizen’s Magazine

11 Things I Wish My Daughter To Know – Wisdom for my daughters –

Athena, Goddess Of Wisdom

1) Hold your head high, you’re beautiful, every day, all the time. When a man asks you to change your appearance to be acceptable to him, walk away and be yourself. Develop your character inside. Beauty is deeper than an outward appearance.

2) Respect yourself. In all you do and say, be a woman of class and honor. You will not get respect until you respect yourself.

3) Follow your dreams, never let a relationship, whether it be friendship, or love, rob you of what you dream.

4) Be independent, make sure of your own finances, health, and career. Always have a way of escape – financially, physically, and emotionally.

5) Beware when you find yourself rescuing a man, whether financially or emotionally. They will use your motherly instincts to manipulate you and guilt to force your hand to provide for them.

6) Every gift has a price, you may not see it at first, but it’s there. Don’t take lavish gifts from men, they will pressure you with it. Earn what you want on your own.

7) When a man hits you, he WILL hit you again. You need to leave right away or know that you will get beat in the future. He will not change, you will suffer at his hand. There are no exceptions to this rule.

8) Listen to your heart, when you feel something is wrong, something is. These are your gifts, empathy and insight.

9) Precipitating a crisis to keep a man from leaving is a grave error. Getting pregnant, getting “sick”, using his secrets to threaten him, these will all backfire on you.

10) Pick the things you will and won’t deal with. Every man will have some quality that will drive you crazy, a fault that may or may not be forgivable. Choose what faults you will or won’t deal with BEFORE you’re in a relationship and stick to your decision.

11) Do not cheat on your man, this can lead to great violence toward you and injury to your self esteem. There is never a happy ending to this, if he cheats with you he’ll cheat on you. If you’re not satisfied with your man, leave. This can save your life.

These things will help keep you safe and happy, and will prevent your dad from having to kill someone…

Love you girls,
Pops

Also published in Broowaha

12152011

Skin – Yours feels good on me

Be forewarned: This is a creative application of an analogy

“The finest clothing made is a person’s own skin, but, of course, society demands something more than this.” – Mark Twain

“It’s a sad man my friend who’s livin’ in his own skin and can’t stand the company.” – Bruce Springsteen

ad libitum

Pulling out my favorite skin, one of the many I’ve gathered over the course of years, I pushed one foot through, then pulling it over my head, stood up and turned around. There, now I’m complete. I looked in the mirror, this skin is tight, it doesn’t quite fit. “After all my hunting to find the perfect fit, damn.” These things change you know, in the night while your sleeping, they shrink and grow taking on their own wild destiny. It’s hard to pull out the men, the women, from their skins. I yank and tug, making little cuts to release the flesh, loving when it just falls off, but that usually meant someone else had the same idea, using it to hide, or rather, to enhance their look. My collection is extensive and ever changing. I pulled some off of religious fanatics, some from thugs, some from pretty boy hair bands. I yanked a couple off some bikers and even a lawyer couldn’t escape my scheming thievery. All skin is beautiful by virtue of hiding mine. I sit looking in the mirror at my latest acquisition. I sure look good in it, wish I could move though, it always rips when I go outside. No worries though, I’ll keep yanking and saving them and perhaps sew them together. I’ll find one that fits and works eventually. I wish they wouldn’t leave marks on me, it blows my cover when you see pieces that obviously don’t fit on me. I’ll make excuses and hold it on while I scurry to pull another skin over the unfinished parts of me.

Also Published in: Wingposse Magazine, April 2013

12202012

Dreamweaver – Nightmares of Abuse

“My father was one of those men who sit in a room and you can feel it: the simmer, the sense of some unpredictable force that might, at any moment, break loose, and do something terrible.
[Burnside, p. 27]”
― John Burnside, A Lie About My Father: A Memoir

The following is an excerpt from the hopeforhealing.org., poetry by survivors of sexual or domestic violence.

aneasylife4u

Come, beckons the night,

Let us dance together, and chase the dream weaver
I am not laughing at you
It is only the laughter of the past
Rushing through your brain

I am harmless, why do you resist me so?
Pearls of wisdom are here within my walls
And peace offerings as well
Yet you quake at the sight of me
My power has not alluded you

Need I remind you?
You cannot resist me forever!
I am that necessary evil
Which recreates evil past
My nourishment lies in your screams
So, foolish one, scream on!

No one is listening, no one hears
Wake them; tell them of your sad tales
I will recapture them before your voice silences
But they will not find your persecutor
And will think you mad

Reach for the sun, it is hours ’til its’ dawn
As I am your punisher, it is your reward
However, for now I am your companion
Let us dance together, and chase the dreamweaver
Come, I beckon you

011912