she is gathering her flying monkeys again; trouble is sure her intent 

I do not care

The Eliza compartment/parallel story continued

 

there is such emptiness, the fear is it will consume everything that matters

Eliza

The first year after went by in a rushed daze. No sooner had she escaped a stalker that she found herself having to jump and rush every time “the duke” bellowed. Or “dukie” as she silently preferred. 

Why was he called the duke? She did not know nor care because he exhausted her. At first she had taken great pity on him but he wore her thin fast. It was not just the sleep interruptions for all his demands that were in actuality far from emergency and by the way he yelled you would think that he was on fire but it was his constant heckling and suspicious temperament that kept her constantly on edge; one ear always tuned for his shout and —the fear of her safety

So that first year she did not sleep more than three hours together a night. 

While it did keep her from thinking of herself. And it kept her from going anywhere too. And maybe after the first six months she had recovered from the stalker but the anxiety attacks were constant.

Those hours he took his daily naps she would just sit and rock for hours. On the floor in a ball with her arms wrapped around her knees. She would rock. Just like that. For hours. It kept her body from trembling because it just never stopped. 

What happened to Eliza? How did she come to be there? What happened to that extinct family? Cast at sea she was

There had been a poison unleashed by a family member and blood feuds have a way of destroying your will to go on 

But after the first year, the thaw began.

 She started to remember herself 

and it started with anger 

not for herself. It was when the duke set up traps and trapped an animal and then he left it in agony for hours before he finally put it out of its misery 

That animal signified herself somehow, like dead roadkill 

and it made her really angry. Only then did she realize she was also trapped and wondered how long before he’d shoot her to put her out of her misery

And she became very ill. The nights without sleep having to jump at his call and all his demands of chores to satisfy his cares after experiencing the trauma of being a hostage to a so -called friend made her so ill. She looked like a scarecrow, she was so thin and her skin was like parchment and almost gray in color. She caught her own reflection. Mortified. Literally. And only by seeing this she said to her reflection, 

“What have they done to me?”

 but…. After a time in brooding thought ….. 

she decided she’d had enough of playing the pawn 

pawn; fawn….

and so it dawned.Because the best place to hide is in plain sight. And how can anyone reach her, if she was hidden in high ground?

as I reconsider the bland and rural flat farmland with roads called “Slaughter Road” and now with fresh eyes, I start to see it as the perfect model in which to get a glimpse of a Thomas Hardy, Jane Austen rural life

As Milan Kundera wrote in “unbearable lightness of being” “if I had two lives I could see which choice would be better.”

reasoning & scientific method

upon considering the philosophy of reincarnation 

in particular —why certain lives are selected for that individual. as I’ve said, I don’t worry if my views could be thought total madness. this is a documentation I have journaled all my life through all my diaries and mediums. I’ve been on the course and followed signs so, this has been a work with reason and thought 

and I will only say that I know and always have that it was with intent it was picked; not always do souls reincarnate as their own descendant but I know this was part of closing the circle —I think once the burden is lifted that it was not guilt for shame per se but rather the necessary experience required 

it is like a reshuffling of cards 

and wonder if this may be the way back to Persephone or them —as I’d thought I was made redundant to that life 

pages; notes for research

There is this odd thing about me where I must always finish what I start. Must always keep my word. Must complete the circle 

So what do I do?I listen to no one. I go to the servitude of being indentured because I must keep my word to an fbi person.he has cornered me; manipulated my conscience. And as I reflect on life and stand between the plains of life —I look at them in my mind. I see the ancestors in my mind abd I look around at the land imagining —the Russian-doll linage of a patchwork of so many cultures run through my retinal veins and 

stand on the precipice thinking —my ethics are my moral compass which when I am stuck anywhere, this becomes my oracle for which I gauge. and then I think some more as I suspect there is something I still need to see here.something important, like the hinge which all else will make sense

….I am reflecting on the crossing paths of ancestral parentage. And why? because they left impressions ….yes through dna ….”memory” you see? the after-taste, the residual smears of which all traces never completely leave. We carry all this. and I think sometimes for some the gauge I speak of us a tool honed that has proven well to guide to….my next landmark stop

so close to Virginia. and I think it must be where the overlap occurred. You see, first it was layers of crossing hemispheres and then it was the other where one culture stewed in itself for centuries as it imagined power beyond a little island. I must complete the circle. I began this quest in search of what has propelled me

to search for ….it has been like fog to see through but I think it means I must not look with eyes but see with my inner vision what is true and who and why ….it has mattered 

to leave a land of civilization in the 1600’s and go to a new world. to do it for what —power, wealth, religious freedom, to escape feudal law?or to build an uprising to avenge a royal blood feud?

I have said that I believe that our obsessions are from those unresolved dark horses that were never set aright in that origin to that DNA’s lifetime and —once we identify this affliction we may figure a course in which may lead us towards peace and resolution 

I have a bag fetish. I have written before here how I think it is from having to be on the run through generations. The most necessary thing to have is a reliable method to transport your worldly goods. one day it occurred as I am constantly repairing my hiking backpacks like some inborn natural inclination I never consciously made —sewing, repairing my bags as preparation to leave; as armory; as combat mode hypnosis ….

Sometimes when I walk ….I can feel it in the swing of my hips and remember this same motion of walking endlessly for hours upon days upon days …,which I think is why I love to hike. It is my home I guess as I am more at ease between the worlds anyway 

The heavy fossil I found in England as a student there with my class and now seems so long ago but seems it must have ensnared then, that day that I so poigentky recall —has made me look, search, research and look back again and again to recall my elusive, lost lineage —as key; as key to what —we search for as humans 

they searched.

did we forget why or did we never think….or not think about why enough as it is easy to be lured into greed and lust and power

 and repeat the things you ran way from 

I think often about that Welsh lord whose bloodline landed them in a colony named after a queen who would have been his enemy and consider what a plantation would have meant to him and serving the crown then becoming a forefather of the country. 

I think I understand why I turned out the way I am. I can trace an aristocratic lineage of Normans and Franks on one side of one —but a bastard—with —of whom crossed with a native Indian tribe and on another, a proud line from the tribes of the east which means I am made more tough from resilience and fortitude. I have worn it on my face, I look of all these things as I have never blended, especially not growing up in that house, but I learned to wear it like armor  

Lately, I keep hearing my mother calling my name. It makes no sense. I will actually stop short stunned in what I am doing. It intervenes whatever task. I will think she expects me to answer or go to her and start to—until that part of my mind that addresses logic instantly throws cold water at me. It has happened more than just once or twice. In fact, it’s been happening a lot and at various locations. She had different ways of saying my name, different tones where her pitch would rise at the end, like a kind of opera howl or another where she is using her coaxing to entreat me to go somewhere with her; and this too has varied in these instances where it seems she is calling me 

I’m glad you are there.to know what/who is real that you are there and still see me I am made stronger within 

 

find the frog 

the armor of flesh

when you need a hug, find a vintage leather jacket and pull it tight.it feels just like a hug

 

scattered pieces

what happens to those emotions that got stifled behind the “shush” and “shut your mouth”?I imagine them now. Like stick figures. Incomplete. They run and scatter like dead leaves on an autumn breeze each time they dare to try and come out.I am outside of myself.i have wandered away.I don’t want to go back; so ….I look at them now…. and stare off to see others flying away that look like the string of paper dolls my grandfather was so good at making with scissors…. some too, torn off and duplicated and retried with frayed edges.they blow on the wind .look at them fly like flying kites that sail aimlessly across the sky as if it is the ocean as if it is the galaxy ever lost in outer space ….earth to lostgirl ….

the dissection of

emotions that I often write about 

I am just the sample; apparatus 

as I recognize …. “you intellectualize your emotions ….” my first therapist told me ….take them out, put them on the table yes like I have noted some others do to avoid facing emotions; so, well— and …. I can only write about what I know —so this, it is based off of my own.And to compartmentalize to compare it to intellectualize; it is somewhat the same —to compartmentalize you step away from emotional events as they are arranged in different boxes— each box is for a different mood and work as distraction tools in order to cope through life; specific to the self’s interests of that self’s need of protection and thus jumps in patterns like hopscotch; whenever one becomes uncomfortable or boring but —when you intellectualize it is with a more conscious objectivity; to reason with one’s self but to cut the connection with the emotion of it***

so.what if I reached for that first stick figure that ran away.that got shut up—pull it back ….what—what would you say little-stick-figure?I face it now.it is small.and blank.but the ink is running as if from tears on the paper and leaves a pool.”I’m sorry,” I say to it 

but it seems not to know the words.it’s hardly heard anyone ever say them

go to sleep little earth

 

*****💭A Breakthrough dear ed

so it occurs only now, as it seems remiss not to identify 

if I was so busy listening to my mother’s problems well it may somehow dawn where I forgot to think about me.nobody asked, I had to be quiet; blend with the furniture so as not to incite the rabid Hitler man masquerading as some jolly dad outside the yellow house.there, to site; I learned to ignore myself ….sometimes it’s a plus because you have no attachment to any outcome. but the numbness hurts even worse than the pain it hid after awhile. especially as you cannot identify it.it got lost under “shushh!” and “shut your mouth” but it is there.it is.forgotten without a bandaid it morphed into so many celves you see.where did she go.it does not matter.it just is….only I am quite stuck with that stabbing numbness worse than Novocain as it wears off.it should matter.gosh where did I put ….her….there was no place for her, you see 

Thoughts to notes/edencrypt

 

Thoughts to notes/edencrypt

“You don’t sound happy,”

what Bran begins with when he called today….we spoke for four hours. four. we had to charge as we spoke at some point but ….there are some people in your life that you are fortunate to know when it seems no time has passed ….we fall right into conversation. He is so easy to talk to I had forgotten this between us ….after so many years, just his voice ….and then it all comes back

maybe I needed this now ….I don’t know

after such loss of faith in people again and again 

he said,

“I admit I have been reading your blog—you seem always to say the things I am feeling —when I am feeling—but you don’t waste words, your words are so dense and …. you know—I’ve missed your writing, Beth who is what ….you write so well…. and coming from a Welshman that says something,” he teases me 

****

So tempting to just go, like 

if I leave now ….I know I’d keep going and never look back but 

to run blindly —we can’t do that again ….you can draw s road map with all the lines of where I tore my flesh with sharp objects and in most lights I hide them so—who needs tattoos when you are deranged and,you know, I remember the first one ….right there ….it is silver now; that one was for my mother ….I listened to her problems, I was her shrink and then —what did I get ….I met Chris just a little after my mother died —talk about projects; I did not come up for air until I had to call 911 that day 

to look objectively as if that was a sketch of how that looks in a dissection. what parts would I erase? devastations. back to back. should have made a better decision and how different would things look now

 so, you see,

it was panic. and he was not a great decision for me

the only problem with Bran was —well, at the time neither of us were available and I guess that gave me more of an excuse to beat myself about guilt but now?he says to me when we spoke,

“I don’t think she would care if I got on a plane and didn’t come back for six months or more.”

about his wife Clair who had just become pregnant when —why—Bran and I parted ways ….now over eight years ago.

shit. The child…. who is now eight and —I have to hold my hands over my ears when he talks about the child ….life is so fucked up 

“You just don’t seem happy,” he says, “I don’t like the thought of you ….with those delicate hands, miserable in the world.”

Chin up you are on your path

 

how different everything felt a year ago…. today

 

I think getting away now is exactly what I need. and so yes, I think about Bran and life 

and change

 

Last night I heard from Bran. He asked if we could meet ….

Yeah bitch

 

what idiots; them all. I have never figured out why I pretend with them. I think my greatest flaw is that I ignore myself 

and it is on purpose like a habit that I just never cracked because then —hey, I’d just be letting myself off the hook

why make it so easy for myself? hair shirt.self flagellation because I got used to the pattern; it put me to sleep 

I walk away 

   from myself 

to think 

I am smarter than all of them. why did I let them man the ship? and why did I feel the obligation to ….parent all of them? you know, on the outside what you see is one thing —marshmallow ….my mother’s husband said about me, “you seem like a pushover on the outside. Like a powderpuff marshmallow cheese cake,” he said in some reluctant moment of some epiphany about me ….”but that is not really true, is it—it’s an act; you are tough as nails underneath that fluff you put on….”

then the sneer; he had slits for eyes, and evil like the devil as every compliment he ever gave me was a backhanded one —as well, we know, he literally used on me liberally 

and he was a stupid man 

too

why the fuck did I let him —ahhh well …. so

why ….after all ….no it was because I thought they (the fools I bedded —or I really should say lately, embedded)needed me. that seems at the center of …. my programmed self —if I am needed then ….like that heinous man, may he rot in hell with his daughter ….then I would not be flung away 

whipped. beaten. flung. sent away….

stupid men —I just look at them and look at me as I’ve walked away from myself and want to observe my self as the animal 

the human animal ….but no, it seems I want to be beyond that so I need to prove I can take humiliation 

I can take pain 

but I have had enough of that by now that instead I want to fling it at them 

Here, you take it. I’m so much better than you and you never realized I was just being kind to come down to your level 

but now I’m bored. I’m sad. disappointed mostly. people. I just expected more, like higher standards but no; they plod with their simple bullshit stuff and chew their own tails for pleasure and so why am I ….amazed with their disappointing behavior….when it’s predictable and I knew it every fucking time 

I think I must just feel like tipping the scales just for the added challenge but it’s become so very very very very dull and empty 

https://youtu.be/acoknuTpPOM

 

 

it was here

and then it was gone

I hate when people have to take a picture of themself every five minutes. It is so boring. They are so boring. They need so much attention 

(An aside for Electra; if it were not for our charm I truly believe we would not be here today)

 

The house on the hill continued

She goes through the villege on foot and finds her way through the trees. Peace at last. And forgets the world. She forgets about all which darken her world; she puts aside atrocities and things that are sad but beyond her control ….she stares into green….she lets it blind her, she gives herself up to it, and she says “I am myself,” as she breathes out

She walks through a grove and feels suddenly lightheaded. Was it the water she drank too fast? And berates herself for being an idiot. She looks around to be sure no one sees her as she feels about ready to pass out. She finds the nearest bench and sits ….what happened back there? she asks herself ….breathe…. 

when she looks at her phone to see the time —it shocks her to see it is ten minutes later

she must have ….

So she gets up and casually looks around to see it anyone witnessed her there. And walks towards the center of town. 

She goes into the health food store and asks up at the front if they have any tofu

A man behind her chuckles and so she turns.

Someone with a crate of exactly that is behind her. A delivery person? 

He is tall with that kind of wavy hair that has its own mind. It is gold in the sunlight and eyes like …. she is distracted 

“I can give you a discount,” he tells her and inclines his head towards the door 

She realizes he means to go outside as he seems about to leave with what he has in his arms  

 un marqueur pour une page.  pourquoi cela devrait-il me surprendre ?  comme un boomerang

fais attention, ma douce

 

“I am quite penniless,” she had told him that day at the Red Boar Inn, “so if you are thinking to sink your teeth into some old widow, you should go bark up another old tree.”

He had laughed when she said that but he saw she meant it. She had no time for silly fools, her eyes said to him 

Why did he watch for her from his car? What caught his eye ….once again 

The house on the hill

 

There is an old winding road, called Cherry Lane; it twists like a glorious snake, lined with the most picturesque houses along the narrow lane; cheek by jowl. One like a chocolate box and another something from Architectural Digest made entirely of containers lined up neatly and another beside down always past the rabbit hills is one that looks medieval.

And as the young man drives along the road he stops to wonder about that strange widow. 

As he had followed her here. She drove up the hill. The only hill anywhere around 

He looks now at google maps and tries to determine the property ….what does this mean ….and

he feels foolish now because he cannot get out of his head that silly song ….”on the street where you live….”

And now sits there in his car looking up at the hill where he had seen her disappear in her pale colored car

Another kind of Another Story

How she joined the Widow’s Club

One day she stood stock still staring at nothing. She was on the corner of Wilson’s Street beside the shop that said “Hardware” but there was no hardware inside. 

Was it that which stunned her to wonder if she had gone mad….someone jostled her from the curb ….

“Oh….”she looked up. A crumpled and lost expression fleeted away in a flash as she faked a smile, “thanks.”

For he had grabbed her from getting run over. 

So she kept going down the street deciding to be Gulliver in future. Just accept that all is madness. 

“Excuse me!”

She turned. It was the young man. He ran up to her. 

It was strange. What was he doing there? 

“Uh—my mother was much the same when my father passed away,” he said 

For a moment that madness of suspended belief had her on edge. Then….she accepted the assumption as it was easier than to argue 

“Oh,” she said and took pity on the young man for his kindness. But then she was not sure what he was actually saying so she stood there again stock still; just as before. Lost and crumpled on the corner. Her little raincoat a size too big engulfing her and her hair blown array in the wind as the gusts suddenly were quite strong.

“There’s a widow’s club where I think you may find others like you,” he said

At first this smarted a bit. 

“Ahem ….” her throat caught tight 

“I run it,” he said. A funny expression on his face. “….actually.”

Still she stood there wondering if he wanted a donation? And stared up at him

“Why don’t you come with me? I can show you where we meet—it’s at the Red Boar Inn down the road.”

She laughed,

“oh really, a red bore? Sure, I’ll go see this, as…. yes, the better half has gone.”