"It's as if a great bird lives inside the stone of our days and since no sculptor can free it, it has to wait for the elements to wear us down, till it is free to fly." Mark Nepo

Sunday, February 10, 2008

Something Else

Sitting on the floor with Toby this morning in our usual spot. He's playing kill the octopus. I'm a prop in his game - the retriever and fellow growler. I'm bone tired and something else. Not feeling playful at all. He's all boy right now. Rough and tumble. Flying helicopter legs. Gaping maw full of puppy teeth driven by emerging adolescent energy. 

Even his soft puppy wool is gone. There are wispy tumbleweeds of it drifting across my kitchen floor.  All that's left of his early puppyhood. His coat is smooth and sleek - the individual hairs coarse. His ears are still soft and sweet, but he won't hold still long enough for me to find comfort in them.

The sweet puppy breath is gone. His once always adoring eyes are frequently full of challenge. Greetings that were once full of inside out pleasure are more often than not manic cartoon dog attacks of insane energy. Hind legs tucked up around his ears. Front legs back by his tail. Eyes glazed with glee.

Pat asked me this week if it's harder for me to love and be loved by a man that it is for me to love and be loved by a woman. 

Yes, damn you.

Men leave. Men hurt you. Men are full of hard unreachable places.

I wanted a male puppy. Three of my four dogs in adulthood have been male. I love their mellowness, steady disposition, big lumbering affection.

I can't ever remember not wanting to be married. Wanting the security and safety  and strength I believed a husband would provide. Not realizing how much that desire was my unfathered girls desperately wanting daddy. I can't ever remember not wanting my marriage to be something else than what it is.

A week ago I heard the father who gave me life tell me to live this life. The joy and hope I felt then has become throat-closing sadness, and something else.

When I'm correcting Toby I can feel a force of energy demanding release. It's not energy his transgressions have earned or ever could earn. I refuse to give it voice. I am reluctant to give it a name.

Cupboard doors that I touch somehow slam. Hard. My shins and toes hurt from banging against door frames that are somehow in a different place than they were a week ago. I step on cat litter in the bathroom and find Sigourney Weaver's Alien suddenly desperately trying to chew its way out of my chest. 

Toby is being what he is - a pup growing into a dog. Marriage is what it is - two imperfect people sharing their journey and becoming together. My life is what it is - according to the voices of last weekend, perfect for me.

So this something else that demands voice - it is what it is. It will be heard one way or the other. I asked for the truth and can't send it back like undercooked fish at a restaurant. It has a name. Rage. It has a need. Release. It has gifts to give. It's time to find out what they are.


La La said...

Wow! There you go again -- beautiful writing and such depth!

My rage is manifesting itself in this ugly eczema rash all over the right side of my body. It's weird that I know it's rage! I don't know how I know. I just do.

Sending love as your rage finds its voice and gives its gifts.


Jerri said...

"So this something else that demands voice ...."

In this last year you've gone straight at the things you didn't want to write about, straight at the things you wanted to run from. You found your voice and used it to spin a tale that held us in the palms of your hands.

Now something else demands voice. I am sorry for your pain but happy to hear that you are listening to those demands from deep within.

Maybe the joy and hope of last week are signposts, showing you the way to go, sent to encourage you to follow this path.

All I know for sure is that you are loved and that your voice--your particular voice--is needed in this world.

Carrie Wilson Link said...

Way to get right to the pain and start poking around. You are so brave, so honest, so amazing.

And the writing! How about that! Wow. Just wow.

(BTW - just don't give the book away for free.)

MY OWN WOMAN... said...

Some people must face their demons head on while others prefer to tuck them away and not dredge them up. "out of site, out of mind."

My husband is the "out of site, out of mind" type while I'm the...let's face the demons and get them the hell exorcized.

I've been married 30 years and he has only been able to give me glimpses of what he endured in childhood. I want to heal him; but I know that only he can heal himself.

It is hard for me not to get angry at his family for what he endured, but I must remain silent because at this point in his life, that is how HE has chosen to handle things.

Ohhhhhhh....but if only I could.........

riversgrace said...

Welcome to the 'courting' rage club. And welcome to using art to request a dance with it. Hard enough to be with it, thank goodness for the brush strokes of words....beautiful writing, Deb.

Anonymous said...

As always, your writing blows me away, with its truth and beauty.

Rage is something that I find myself in a dance with, too often. Yet, pushing it down, makes it grumble louder and takes it toll emotionally and physically. It is a voice that must be heard, but you know that. The lessons are in the truth. You have found this all along your journey so far.


M said...

One of the things that I am discovering as I travel on my own journey, as I read about yours, it that it is often a difficult trip. It never seems to be what we expected. It's like going to the Grand Canyon and expecting it to be the most magnificent place in the world. If your expectations were bigger than life, you will find disappointment. It you were expecting the beauty of nature, you will be amazed that anything in nature could be this glorious.

I'm discovering finding the truth is the same..and it seems you are as well. We want it. We yearn for it. We search for it. And when we find it...well, many times it is hard. Not just hard, but harder than anything we ever expected.

Stay on your journey. Continue to seek the truth. The bruises and the stubbed toes will heal. The rage will disipate and you will be left with what you are seeking.

All my love.

kario said...

Toby and Walt are so blessed to have you in their life. This thoughtful, courageous person who takes the time to examine why her reactions are what they are.

With your rage and your loving kindness wrestling each other, you will come out the other side stronger and more whole. I am sending you love as you move through it all.

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