My Blog

Anyone like anime???

PyroKitty — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 20:47:07 GMT

I have mega DVDs for sale (really cheap) I need to liquidate fast!!!! PM me for a list, or if you are local, you could just come by :)

Musings, and updates and such.......

PyroKitty — Fri, 11 Jul 2008 01:32:12 GMT

I don't know exactly how to describe it, but I have the unsettled feeling of change. I kinda like it :) I feel like getting rid of my belongings, perhaps to make way for new things, more probably to just. clear. space..... Change is in store for EVERYONE where I work, and I am unsure what that means. The owner of the place I work at posted a huge notice that there would be many changes coming soon, and we could all expect to have a private meeting with her to find our place in the new scheme of things. I am sorta scared, because if it involves my rent going up, or in any way takes away from my income, I will be devastated...let's just say that I can't go back any further, I took a cut in pay to move to a happier environment and it has been worth it, except that I have to depend on family a bit much now. I choose the things that are important to me, and I TRY to curb the rest of my spending, haha. Try, I said (well, it is not much of an option any more) I am going to Santa Fe in tAugust. I will be meeting friends there and am sooo excited, I LOVE it there! Once again though, $$$ is an issue and I wonder how hard it will be to rent a car with no credit card ???????(I have a debit card) Oh, and apparently I have developed more patience because things that really bothered me in the past just don't wreck me like they used to. I still worry about things (Virgo, the perennial worrier), but it is not too bad, I still sleep really well. I dedicate this summer to skill building, I don't have anything much on the book until fall so I will work my tail off (haha) to be as good as I can be. There is more, vast amounts of 'more' though I should probably not open the can right now. Earlier today I was so angry (enraged, really) I was SOOOO mad that I still have a tight neck from holding my body so rigid (sure could use a good neck popping and massage) Hey, does anyone know how to (safely ) pop a neck?? I know you aren't supposed to allow anyone except the well trained chiropractor do that, but I need it NOW, and have not had much luck trying it myself. Oh well, whatever (just kidding) I am around, yes, I am around for my friends

There is someone new!

PyroKitty — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 23:05:26 GMT

living in my house!!!! A cut widdle fuzzy wuzzy, beedle, doodle, black and fuzzy, puddy tat

Attention Dancers!!! Save the date!!!!

PyroKitty — Fri, 23 May 2008 12:09:19 GMT

shakra: deviance. evolution. variance. shakra.tribe.net shakra.tribalgrove.com Shakra's Transfusion Dance and Choreography Workshop! Come sweat and stomp with Shakra! This high energy and cardiovascular workshop will give you a crash course to Transfusion Dance. We’ll be focusing on the Afro-Industrial fusion side of Shakra’s style, which is heavily influenced by African dance, but incorporates other high energy movements from donor styles such as Bhangera, Hip Hop, Modern, and Bellydance. This side of Transfusion Dance will focus on bringing power and extension into your movements and embrace the need for speed when working with powerful and fast beats. Past dance knowledge will help, but is not necessary. in RICHMOND, VA. Saturday November 15th Time and date TBA HAFLA Friday the 14th at Gallery 5, 8pm

the harmful cheesburger

PyroKitty — Sat, 17 May 2008 03:09:26 GMT

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=swh_kXySSvM must.click.on.link.

It's like somebody punched me in the heart

PyroKitty — Thu, 03 Apr 2008 11:08:18 GMT

I found an old friend through myspace, we had lost touch several years back. Back then, she just stopped returning my phone calls, emails went unread, it was like she was erasing me from her life. To this day, I have no idea why. I heard she was back in town (she had moved to another state) I fantasized on how I would act if I ran into her, I would be cool, look away, pretend that I didn't know or remember her..Maybe i would just approach her and say hello, perhaps I would duck behind something so as not to be seen. Either way, it hurt, and I dreaded the inevitability of seeing her. People who were clueless to the situation kept asking me if I had seen her, I simply smiled and said "no", they didn't need to know anything. Well when I found her, her profile was set private, the only way I could even send her a message was to send her a friend request, so I did. I told her that I hoped she was doing well, and that I was doing great, no drama or heaviness. I woke to find a message from her. I was excited to open it, I guess I had missed her after all and desired to reconnect. Well imagine my disappointment when her response was only a short, curt sentence, she was glad I was doing well, that was it. I checked and she had rejected my request. I don't feel like crying or anything, it just hurts. We used to be so close, we had been friends since we were 15. We were in our 30's when she dropped me. Not knowing is the worst.

I am IN!!!!

PyroKitty — Sun, 11 Nov 2007 16:08:31 GMT

I am dancing burlesque at Sycamore Rouge on New Years Eve. I am excited to be delving into a new style of dance!!!! Of course now I will need new costuming, anyone with ideas message me or comment. I am going through a sort of crisis financially :( I am now working with a credit counselor and of course will ot be 'allowed' to spend $$ on things to wear. Anyone with stuff I could borrow?? robes and stuff (silky) garments I can shed? It would be appreciated ~.~

I am

PyroKitty — Sun, 14 Oct 2007 21:08:24 GMT

"I'm good at being uncomfortable, so i can't stop changing all the time...If there was a better way to go then it would find me. I can't help it the road just rolls out behind me. Be kind to me, or treat me mean, I'll make the most of it I'm an extraordinary machine" Fiona Apple~

I feel a blog coming on....

PyroKitty — Sun, 14 Oct 2007 03:01:44 GMT

um....wow, just wow...I just decided not to post it after all. I can't get past "wow"

Well, it's Thanksgiving in Canada

PyroKitty — Mon, 08 Oct 2007 03:43:38 GMT

When things go very well for me, I am brimming over with joy ...when things seem awful, my world is colored dark. Equanimity is lost to me during the stronger, more emotional times in my life. It is hard to contain my giddiness, and next to impossible to subdue those lovely, gooey dark thoughts....unthinkable to relax through the irritations that life brings. Living in between the extremes is hard for me. It may not show, but my inner life runs deep...it MAY however show to those that I allow into my inner circle so to speak, the ones I can really trust and the ones that I know have my back no matter what, they can read me better than my own mother. I am thankful to have so many true friends in my life, I am even happy that there are a few that DON'T have my best interests in mind, they are the ones that help me build my strength. I am thankful to be so strong, to feel so vibrant and radiant, even when I am cycling through the tougher times. The shadow is what feeds me, by 'shadow' I mean the hard things either in my external life, or the traits in myself that I have a hard time accepting. Those unspeakable, unacceptable thoughts and ways of being. My power lies there. I am thankful that everything in my sphere is coming together to be the most perfect of all time perfectness, and I don't mean that I always LIKE it, it is just that I trust the divine order to the world (and in my life) I am also thankful for the things that ARE working out the way I want things to, that is also happening. Sometimes it brings tears to my eyes when I think of how wonderful life can be. No, I am not chasing any white rabbits, drinking any strange potions, I am not even tired right now. I just felt like jotting these things down. The other day I was told by one of my clients that when she was around me, she felt relaxed and happy. I asked her why...she told me it was the cadence of my voice, the gentleness of my touch and the way I never made her feel rushed, she told me that my calmness rubbed off on her, I laughed to myself because the other day when I was in an irritable mood and jangly & tweeking from too much coffee I was told the opposite thing, a friend told me that he couldn't breath calmly around me, that his breath caught in his chest and he wanted to be away from me when I was in that mood around him, I laughed out loud thinking about what my client said. I take none of it to heart, and I take ALL of it to heart. I am also thankful that I HAVE a heart, that I am as complex as the microorganisms in the sea, and as simple as undertow. I am thankful that I REALIZE people have freedom of choice, no one person owns another and though control can be wielded for a time, free spirits eventually liberate themselves. I have empathy (sometimes too much) I understand, I do not wish hard times on others, even when I am bitter about my own life (which I am not at the time) I am as thankful for these things as I am for the shelter, water, clothing, family, etc...the usual things. That is all.

I'm so FUCKING happy!!!!!

PyroKitty — Fri, 17 Aug 2007 21:55:41 GMT

I finally finished creating the choreography and I LOVE it!!! It's not often I can say that, I've been tweaking this work over and over again and FINALLY I have something to work with (It's for the 27th of this month) stay tuned :D

I have a question

PyroKitty — Sat, 11 Aug 2007 20:00:00 GMT

I'm not even sure why I'm blogging... It's been so long since I've been able to drink alcohol due to certain issues...It's funny, but I'm trying to wean myself back into having that option...funny, huh? I don't talk about it much (my reason) but I'm almost at the point that I'll be able to have no worries. It's not like I wanna be shitfaced all of the time, but I miss altering my consciousness. Finally I can join the ranks..Of course there are other ways to be intoxicated and I'm sick of leading the clean life, though it's not totally been by choice. I miss having access tothe best, freshest mushrooms in the world, I have had some purely mystical experiences (involving wolves, Native Americans and ravens) that left me permanently changed (even now) I can't even put some things into words, I might seem crazy if I tried. I'd love to share though, I miss sharing those things. I'm enjoying my clean and lucid day, but am also wishing that I could escape at will, knowing I could always return. I don't know why I'm sharing this with whoever reads my blog, but I feel like hardly anyone really knows me, I mean KNOWS me. There are a few peeps who are close to me, close enough to have access to the real me, but only a few. I would like to share myself more freely, how do I even go about doing thaT in the midst of a busy life? Will someone tell me?

Freedom!!! I'm home!!!!

PyroKitty — Sat, 28 Jul 2007 23:46:40 GMT

I have been trying to merge back into the 'oddities' of everyday life, it hasn't been easy. I finally cut the sparkly red 'Transformus' band from my wrist, for some reason, I kept forgetting it was there...really I think a part of me was wishing that my experiences there were more like real life and this present reality only a dream. I was able to relax, see old friends from long ago...do things out of character, rethink my character, and wrap all of those things into a bundle to bring home with me.( maybe my true character has finally been unleashed...) Since it is impossible to change the past, I have accepted it and now I move on, my heart filled with things that are beyond words. I have been pacing around restlessly, now I realize that i really am free, I am aloft... there is nothing to worry about, only little celebrations, even the bitter feelings are a celebration, the doorways that are opened always lead to the light. I dwell in the dark, knowing that clear sight will be mine.

no fucking way!

PyroKitty — Sun, 04 Mar 2007 02:51:07 GMT

tell me it isn't so , hahahaha curious?

My basement

PyroKitty — Tue, 08 Aug 2006 16:58:40 GMT

Through the landing filled with coat and hanging bags filled with God knows what, I push my way through, almost falling down the rickety steps. The spot of white paint, no, the disaster of the white paint spill litters the brown stairs reminding me of the accident Mike had as he knocked over the can of primer. His cursing rang through the house as the mess was wiped around to create a lasting memory. He mopped up as much as he could, afraid of my reaction. I’ll never forget. I am at the bottom, looking around my basement, the foundation of my house; the metaphor of my life. Dusty, crusty old boxes with mysterious contents line the wall. Shelves made of cinder blocks and straight board to hold the objects that if thrown away unopened would not be missed. Oh, how I long for that angry energy that would lend me the strength to lug all of these boxes up the creaky stairs, through the forest of coats~ some never worn, out onto the street. Beside the trashcan they would rest until Monday morning when they would be hauled away. Why must my motivation be fueled by anger? What is it about pissiness that compels me to clear out the old? I don’t even want to look in the boxes, besides; the dust would be too much. Let me be with my irritated agitation, clearing out the basement with a mask on so I won’t take in the filth.

More learning...a pleasant recounting.

PyroKitty — Sun, 06 Aug 2006 23:29:14 GMT

One, two, three messages on my machine. Just as many missed calls on my cell, this is all in the course of two days. I don't even know this man, we've only emailed and talked by phone. If he is eager for a phonecall, he should keep it to himself...it is not attractive, and a turn off. At first, he sounds nice, normal, even like someone I could have chemistry with. Slowly unfolding before me though was this clingy, exclamation point of a man. He told me about his obsession with the gym, and how he kept trying and striving to achieve the overrated 'six pack' yet he never gets one because he doesn't take steroids...I know this junk because it is what he chose to talk to me about. A wise choice I might add, it only made him MORE attractive to me. I assured him that the only person he had to please was himself, he should love and accept the body he came with. You know what he told me???? That *I* was the one who had to like it (his body) he even mentioned me giving it the 'Kelly' stamp of approval. Yech! I must add that by now I am REALLY attracted to him, it keeps climbing, soon it will reach the summit and we will get married or something. Yech! I told him that I just got off the phone with my friend Ron (you know who you are) He said "well, that's OK, as long as you didn't tell him you loved him" WHAT??? I love many people for many reasons. I am now alarmed that this one has my phone number (when will I learn) At least I blocked anyone from finding my address through Google. I told him that I didn't even know him, he had no right to tell me who I could and could not love. By now, I knew there was NO chemistry between us (i suspected as much) Why, oh why can't I just have normal experiences with men?? Intelligent men, who don't start to act differently when they perceive the green light are almost impossible to find. When they are spotted, it is even more rare to actually have mutual attraction. Sometimes these things take time. I'm still trying to figure it out. I guess I still like the excitement of men who are no good for me (in a 'bad boy' sort of way) What's THAT all about?? I hate that. I must add that I had a really great time with a normal man last night, it was refreshing. There is still the allure of the 'bad boy' haunting me. I wonder if I will ever grow out of it?

Freaky shit on 95

PyroKitty — Wed, 02 Aug 2006 20:11:29 GMT

We had a flat tire on 95 where there is barely a shoulder, the a/c stopped working so we had to turn off the engine (to prevent overheating), then had to stay in the car bc there was nowhere to go . It was awful, I really thought we were all going to die, trucks kept almost hitting us. We had to cal 911. It took over 20 min. (in a hot, still car with two panicking kids) for them to come. Finally they came and the cop wove an orange flag to 'protect' Mike (my ex husband) while he changed the tire (brave man) We were lucky Mike was there bc I forgot my phone, and couldn't open my door bc of the traffic. I guess it is lucky we are still here. Now I will never complain about having no a/c at home (well...) I've experienced what it must be like to die in a hot car. At least we were able to open the windows and the breeze from the trucks (about 5 inches away from our car !) saved us. I couldn't show my panic, bc it was scaring Annabelle, she was crying and trembling. I felt pukey. On the other hand, we saw 'The Monster House' and it was pretty good (and cool) so the day hasn't been a total wash. I hope your day has been going better (than ours) Weylin even decided he DIDN'T want to go to Game Crazy (!?)~~does not compute~~ We are now thankful to be in our hot little house.

PERSEVERANCE

PyroKitty — Fri, 28 Jul 2006 03:27:26 GMT

The glass misses my head by less than a foot; it shatters on the wall behind me. His eyes are wild like a cornered dog. I consider turning on my heels and leaving the room. Anger wells inside of my heart as unshed tears burn behind my eyes. I go for the broom. He is to clean up his own mess. Feet fused to the floor, he refuses. We are locked in a struggle of power, no one will win I realize, while blocking out the voice of reason that reverberates silently inside of the room. It wraps itself around me, the conviction that I should never give up on him even though I see the devil itself as I stare into his unyielding eyes. I walk away anyway. Wincing as I listen to the thunderstorm going on behind the closed doors of his bedroom, tears threaten to flow…I sit down instead. I do my best to ignore the crashing and ripping that I know he will soon regret. It is so hard to watch him destroy his possessions, things that he loves. I peek in his cracked doorway just in time to see him rip up the artwork he worked so hard on and was so proud of. In a frenzy of confusion, he looks at me. His creations drop to the littered floor in slow motion. I transition from sadness to apathy. It is apparent there is nothing I can do. Soon there is silence, I can hear a muffled sobbing as I picture his spent form heaped on his bed, eyes fixed on his torn artwork. Deciding it better not to enter his space, I call a friend, honoring his need to be alone with the misery he created. She reminds me not to ever give up on him. For the rest of his life, I will be the rock he looks to for solidity. Shame overtakes me as I remember the way discord had been one of the cornerstones of our existence for so many years. When his father lived in the house, chairs were broken as they were knocked over in anger. Voices raised in wrath that was expressed in bursts, pregnant with unspoken needs. No wonder he was plagued with demons and tortured by the feeling that he was unlovable. My friend encouraged me to let go of the guilt and start over in each moment, sometimes you need to be reminded. Hanging up the phone, I become aware that he’s standing behind me, eyes rimmed with red. He shot darts into the balloon, but never thought it would wither away to die. Turning towards him, we allow tears to flow as he laments the destroyed art. “I didn’t mean to do it mom,” he said, burying his face in the crook of my neck. I felt the collar of my sweater becoming wet. Over his shoulder, I can see his little sister trembling, huddled against the doorframe, Painfuly aware that her mother’s arms and attention usually turned toward her brother who commanded a lot of attention. I watch her, alone in her sorrow; making a mental note to take her in my lap soon and lavish her with all of the attention she needs. As my son clings to me, I realize the enormity of the responsibility that comes with being a mother, “I’m scared…” her chest heaving in shudders of sorrow, I open my arms wider, she tentatively joins our embrace. My friends words reverberated in my ears, “Never give up on them”

One of the worst evenings of my life

PyroKitty — Thu, 27 Jul 2006 02:39:14 GMT

The pause, a break in conversation. I look down, around- anywhere except his eyes, which were fixed on me with the hunger of a starving man... I can't even remember their color because my attention was directed towards my right foot, which was tapping rapidly under the table. 'Soon, it will be over' I tell myself as he once again refuses to order his entree...'I want to prolong my evening with you' , his lips pursed as if in a kiss as he uttered those dreaded words. I cringed, my legs grew even more restless. In between fits of conversation, his gaze met mine, "This is all so weird", I shared, "not to me" he returned. I shifted in my seat. I could tell he was wooing me with his best version of 'bedroom eyes', I imagined him naked, and wrapped in a sheet (thank god for the sheet) The thought came unbidden, my whole body turned inside out. I adjusted my legs once again to keep my foot from falling asleep He tells me, "I could get lost in your eyes", then he bashes people who use cliches...I wondered if he had any idea (?) I remained silent as he accused me of 'batting my eyes' at him. A feeling of heat started in my belly, rising to my forehead. I recognized it as nausea, faint but perceptible. A worthy excuse to go home, but WAIT...He has yet to order his food. "They must know , this is a first date" , he said as his finger snapped for a waiter, All I could think was, 'they probably/hopefully guess this is our last'. Just because I'm present in body (not mind, or spirit), he assumes I am interested.. We ordered, at last, the waiter seemed as relieved as I felt. It was scarcely three minutes before the food was placed before us. We weren't even warned that the plates were hot, perhaps they wanted him to burn himself (as I did). Cracking open my taco salad, I wondered if there was spittle mixed in with the beans. I'm sure we were the most annoying table of the evening. Others came and went, yet we set like plants, rooted to our seats. When the bill came, I offered to pay half, "This is a date" he said, refusing my money. I bristled with dread, hoping this would be the last time I ever heard his voice. That stare took in every move of my 'batting' eyes. He walked me to my car. CRINGE, CRINGE, CRINGE CRINGE, CRINGE... A huge black cloud blanketed the sky with the darkness of a threatened storm, I reached for my umbrella as he leaned in for a kiss. I turned my head, but he was too quick. His lips barely brushed mine as I imagined myself as the witch in the wizard of oz after water was thrown on her...melting (and not in a good way) Wafts of aftershave wisped in the air, permeating me with his scent. Once I finally arrived at my front door, I stripped off every stitch of clothing and ran up to the shower. I scrubbed every trace of him from my skin AND my aura. There is NO place like home.

FALLEN ANGEL

PyroKitty — Sat, 15 Jul 2006 04:05:43 GMT

Flaxen tresses tangled in my tiny fingers as I looked up into her face. Her bright blue eyes were shining orbs as she gazed down upon my naked body with love and awe. Father had taken me within moments of my birth wrapped in his warm black wings. He placed me back in mother’s arms only after I satiated myself at the breast of a stranger. My mother’s name is Bronwyn and when I am in her arms I grip tightly because I know Father will soon take me to that odd smelling woman to feed. Several times, I have seen Mother shed tears while cradling her engorged breasts. I wanted to drink from her but Father said no, “I don’t want Bronwyn hurt” I had to learn to use my teeth, he said. They were as sharp as razors and so diminutive that one could hardly see them, but once I finally tasted that first drop of blood, the hunger preceded any fondness I had for Mother. I rode into life on a river of blood, slipping easily from between Mother’s legs. Once we were cleaned up, Mother was led through a field of poppies to an isolated concrete platform with a throne that rested against a huge Goddess figure carved from stone. Her legs were chained to the base, hidden beneath her flowing dress. Father had the stone embellished with all of the finery a deity should wear; a bronze breastplate covered with jewels surrounded my imprisoned Mother. I heard Father talking to my Nurse, “Bronwyn will feel safe here, she won’t want to escape, and perhaps her milk will dry soon” Then I heard murmuring as Nurse replied in a soft manner. Father usually wasn’t visible; he was a shadow that changed forms as the sun moved in the sky. Mother looked sad. The sweet liquid I so craved pulsed beneath her veins, but the milk leaked all over the thin bodice of her dress. Soon, I could see clearly beyond her face. That hair went on forever, changing direction with the wind. Once again, my wet fist grabbed at her amber hair. The quivering of blood danced with her steady heartbeat, enticing me with every thrum. Luckily, Father retrieved me in time. What I stole from my portly Nurse woke up all of my senses. I watched as wind rustled the crimson poppies like a serene river disturbed by a rock. I could see my mother from a distance. Ensnared to the throne, I heard as Mother turned towards her Deity, “How could you leave me like this Mother?” She asked. I felt her grief as she once again rested her back on the dazzling breastplate of the Goddess. I couldn’t help but love Father each night as he plucked me from her arms, placing me in the firm grip of Nurse. Practicing with my needlelike teeth, I pierced her flesh, taking in the tangy nourishment along with her sweet milk. Mother wept audibly. Father beamed in the moonlight. There were others, older than me. They would sometimes carry me back to Mother. With each drop that I received from Nurse, Mother became less and less important to me. Father showed himself to her one night. “You look the same” she said. Clearly a man, he wore wings like an angel only they were black, his skin ashen, eyes sunken, teeth like mine, only larger. He reached below the platform and pulled out a glass of liquid, clear as water. “Drink” he held it out to her, “No” she asserted. “Drink or you’ll never see him again Bronwyn” His voice grim and serious. She reluctantly took the urn and drank. He vanished like smoke wisping around the corner. Her teeth chattered. With heavy eyes, she leaned her head back. I clung for hours before she turned cold. He allowed us to be together until her body stiffened. I didn’t even miss Mother. Evil had won, Father laughed. He had given her potion that would paralyze her body. Cradling me in his bat-like wings, I wondered with admiration if he had fallen from the heavens. The others helped Father drag her onto the pyre of wood. Once it was well lit, he pushed her into the river. Watching, knee deep from the field of poppies we all saw as she sat up. The charm had worn off. “Pity” He said. Unearthly screams rose as cloaked in her own burning hair, she vanished. Father smiled down at me. My eyesight was good, but I still couldn’t watch as my Mother burned alive, her ashes crackling above the still waters. “I have much to teach you son” He said, turning me over to Nurse who was sore and pallid from all of that bloodletting.

IMPENDING THUNDERSTORM

PyroKitty — Wed, 12 Jul 2006 21:44:05 GMT

Present in the air like a thin soup, I inspire deeply the sensation. Scent of an oncoming rain. Large droplets felt on my arm, Looming clouds, a luscious grey brown, Impending thunderstorm. Present in his eyes, alive in his talk, She sniffs around the feet, Of a newly freed man. Angry tears squeeze out of my eyes, Looming ugliness, a dull wasabi green, Impending thunderstorm. Present in my thinking, like a tumor, She mops up the profuse drops, As he cries in her parlour. Weeping inside, holding up my head, Looming breakdown, black as spilled ink, Impending thunderstorm. Present in the realities of my children, She takes them by their tiny hands, As I pace the floor of the empty house. Showers pass, soaking my clothes, Looming emptiness, smoky lonliness, Impending thunderstorm.

MIRROR BROKEN

PyroKitty — Wed, 12 Jul 2006 21:22:31 GMT

Winding up, he talks fast, panicking about the next day. Blonde hair covering his eyes, spinning in his own stratosphere. The nightmares feel real, wild eyed, morphing into a fiend. Wide eyed innocence, out of control, objects hurled across the room. The nightmares feel real, they come in the form of threats. Imagined blood oozing from the knife, embedded in mothers chest. The nightmares feel real, doors slam hard enough to crack plaster. Obscenities shrieked, following the trail of threatened blood. The nightmares feel real, they come in the form of abuse. Sister, hiding in the corner, as he shouts her into submission. The nightmares feel real, rolling in the form of waves. Ten years old, dreaming his death, hating the body he came with. The nightmares feel real, fading in the soft shape of whispers. Gently calming, talking him down, the mirror broken on the floor.

THE UNKNOWING

PyroKitty — Wed, 12 Jul 2006 21:11:19 GMT

Awareness stands at your side - like a trained dog. Wisdom buzzes around your ear- like a summer junebug. don't bat it away as it touches your face. Disaster looms about -like a future sentence. Prison lies ahead - like a hidden garden. Plant plenty of sunflowers and look above. Pain exists in your heart- like a jeweled path. love lives there - like an expanding balloon. breathe into the opening - allow it to grow. Awareness, soft as the fur of a kitten. Wisdom, sharp as the beak of an owl. Disaster, inevitable as the suns next rising. Prison, confining as a closed mind. Love and pain, similar as sifted flours. Live the life doled out to you. Part with the expectations of grandeur Largeness lies in the unknowing.

Birth Cry

PyroKitty — Wed, 12 Jul 2006 02:06:12 GMT

Nestled in the burnt orange easy chair, I rock. Moving my body slightly forward, then back, enough to gently jostle the baby attached to my breast. He sleeps with his mouth slightly open, milk pooling in the corners. Content to remain joined with the chair, allowing my head to loll backwards in nursing mamas’ bliss. Mother and child settle into the background, like a forgotten painting. When he rouses, we walk the floor. It’s amazing how heavy an eight pound infant feels when he never leaves your arms. Breathlessly, I reclaim my spot in the chair beside the table with a stack of books and empty teacups littering its surface. Family has gathered around to look at the baby. I gladly hand him over, shaking out my tingling arms and stretching my back. Making my way to the kitchen, having to walk slowly because of the incision, I apply warm compresses of Goldenseal to the wound. Surgical births are so prevalent now that they are thought of in many circles as the norm, but I wonder; how would my mothering life have been different had I had a natural birth with my first baby? The Rite of Passage refers to an ordeal endured in order to surface as something different; in this case from a woman to a mother, both mother and child giving a part of themselves. Many babies come forth through the canal of birth, dancing in conjunction with mother and her body, riding the surges of energy to this side. In natural birth, you are so completely in the moment, at one with your body as it rolls through each contraction. The body is allowed to flower on its own, organic processes are trusted. The Rite lies between the beginning of labor and the mystical moment when the baby latches onto the breast. Surgical birth however, happens so quickly, the body is not given the chance to open on its own. Baby doesn’t have to work along with mother to see the glaring light of this world. Pain associated with this initiation, for me, happened after my baby was born. Weylin was taken straight from my belly. They cut through many layers to reach him. He cried when they brought him out. It certainly wasn’t the warm, nurturing experience I wanted to give him, but “Hey, at least you have a healthy baby…that is all that matters” I think surgical birth needs to be taken more seriously and realistically. While sometimes necessary, most often they are not. They rob not only the mother of a potent birth into motherhood, but also the baby of a fully realized mother, not to mention the physical contact the baby loses with the squeezing uterus and hugging birth canal. The process of descending transitions the baby from the floating Eden, just below the rapidly beating heart to the outer warmth of the mothers’ body. Knowing that I missed something important, I softly cried while changing channels of the TV. Thrust into this role, in the ten minutes it took them to take him from me, I gazed at his perfect face, my womb empty, yet still full. Knowing that the cesarean birth was necessary didn’t change the reality that a part of me still wasn’t ready to emerge. As I brought Weylin to my breast for the first time, I felt an imposter in a world I knew nothing about. The process felt so incomplete, I didn’t earn my way into motherhood. My experience was surgical, not the planned homebirth we so longed for. The first view I had of Weylin was of his head, shown to me by a nurse with a plastic glove, over a surgical drape. His tiny face was scrunched up in a threatened cry. My arms deadened, fused to the bed, I was unable to reach for him. They took him from me, It didn’t matter anyway, they wheeled me in one direction, him another …I never saw his whole body until later. When at last I lay propped up, Weylin in my arms, I nursed him, coached by my midwife, not my instinct. Sobbing in the privacy of my own room, I finally released the birth cry, Weylin asleep by my side. Me, writhing in the pain of imagined failure. I began my process of initiation. It was just as painful as birth would be. Something in me fell into place. Feeling like a mother for the first time, I realized this would be a process. This journey will be my lifetime.

BECKONED TO THE DAY AWAY

PyroKitty — Tue, 11 Jul 2006 01:12:17 GMT

Beckoned to become the day, Like a child i play and play, and run through amber waves of sky, the clouds call me to the by and by. Running on the dark green grass, I scrape my knee, was going too fast. Forgetting not to tie my shoe, I'm ten years old and i am you. The stain of blood upon my knee, Takes me to the bandAid tree. Like a bird in the wind,i relax in the breeze As mother kisses my wounded knee. Above I am beckoned by a crow, To fly with him to a distant tree I follow~~~ Beckoned to become as i once was, in the hollow trunk of yesterday. I pick up my pen and take off~~~ Beckoned to the day away I pick up my pen and fly for days. I am air I am fire I am love I am bones Sing to me now, An incantation Sweep the greens, And the old blossoms Into the kettle with the bones. Singing And Dreaming up a past, That will fit in with this day. As the words dissolve In the ever hotter brew My esscence blends with the steam Which rises above it all. I look onto my bones, The redness of the sea Surrounding me, As my pen moves across the page. Green sea inside of me There are no limits when the pages are empty. Colored penscript Fills the lined paper. Soon to be read. Soon to be red Soon to be swimming silently with the wooden end Of a witches spoon. As she sings, She sings up the child that i once was.