Master of most

I am in need of a master in the old sense of the word. I need a guide and mentor. There have been times when I have expressed my need in a lot of different categories. I search for a spiritual mentor, especially in terms of my supernatural tendencies and tend to encounter folks who say "Yeah, me too- and then continue to tell me how their experiences were more significant than mine. Or they nod and patronize me-amused at my inexperience and smug in theirs. I search for a costume/clothing mentor, and they say I'm doing it wrong because it is not their way. Like the old Chinese man in the wood- I need someone who sees that I want to know and is confident enough in their own skills to not worry if mine are or become greater. The key may being finding someone who is not emotionally invested in the outcome. And by emotionally invested, I mean someone who will not feel they are less if I excel. Makes me sound arrogant doesn't it? Well ask me if I care- It's the energy I can feel coming from who I ask-

challenge from Joel Davis:

Essay question of the day: Is it easier to pick up nuns or bartenders? Discuss in 200 words or less.

My vote is with nuns. A bartender, especially an experienced one, knows bullshit when she sees it and, in fact, expects it from any man who knows she is a bartender. A nun on the other hand, has a zest and love of life that that does not always sense an ulterior motive. (I am using my Aunt Mary as a base comparison here)

I am what I say I am-

my definitions because of my job:

I am dedicated. I can stick with the job and get it done.
I am ingenious. When it needs to get done, I'll use what's available to make it happen.

I am creative.

I can lead crews. I can anticipate production needs


I can teach. There is appeal in teaching an individual skills and practices that can begin change on a community level, then to a county one.

Time to Grow up

I have to turn down another job offer because of cash flow. I am not amused. I'm pissed as hell. I hate being a grown up and having to think so much of the bottom line. I am encouraged to keep looking- to find the job when I feel productive and satisfied. I did. And I have to turn it down because it is half the hourly rate , AND half the hours. I'm the money and I have these boys to make sure have a better life than I did. I have to make sure they learn to push themselves- to take advantage of every ounce of education they can squeeze out of every brain they find. I have to make sure they don't grow up like me and one day decide "Today I will grow old because I can no longer dream or hope for something better for myself". I was never taught these things. I did not have anyone to believe in me, to talk to, to guide me. And now that I am lost, I will have to be their guide. It's too late for me. I will stay at my current employ. I will grow old and humorless, but by God they will not be like me. Patrick said he wanted to be like me when he was about 4 years old. He said I was strong- like a mermaid. When he was older he said if he were a hero, he would be a child of Athena. I have no idea who he is talking about. I had to give up being that person. Today, I am no hero. Today, I got old and grew up. No more dreams for me, just for them.

every morning

when it effects your sleep- like insomnia or nightmares when it effects you self image when your talents are unused and forgotten when it effects you ability to interact with you family and children you gain weight, have stomach pains, and basic health is compromised you shut down emotionally and spiritually, because who you know you are is not ok where you are If it is a relationship, you are encouraged to out- even helped If it is a job, you are supposed to be grateful you have it, look on the bright side and ignore the bad parts, endure it, and convince yourself it's not that bad. off to work I go-

An artist is born with a heart half broken. Life and it's trials can increase that proportion. It can never be lower than half- except for when we are engaged in our art. The greatest hurt comes from those who do not respect this fact, who tell us our problems are not real, we should be glad for what we have, or just how it could be worse. It can be no worse than knowing yourself, knowing your place, and exactly how that place connects you to God and not being able to be there.

Body Talk

I suited up in my rapier armor for the first time in a very long time. It took a great deal of effort. A full time desk job has taken a huge toll on my body. I fit in want ever exercise I can, when I can. Sometimes. We had started P90-X, stuck with it for 3 straight weeks and I was starting to feel and see results, not only in how I looked, but in how powerful and in control of my own body I felt. It was easy to stop and hard to start again for one simple reason.
I hate all exercise videos. Using one is an unequal compromise. Videos (and gyms, for that matter) can't help me. Self image is the same as faith- the intent determines the outcome. It taints or tints it.
When I put in a video, there is no real goal to me. The movements feel purposeless. I focus on feel the burn and pain. I feel compared and unsuccessful. At the end of it, I have gone no where. My scenery hasn't changed. My body is tainted with the feeling that I have wasted my time. I can not perceive that I have actually done anything. And my efforts at fitness are only marginally successful.
When I ride my bike, I focus on reaching and pushing- make it to the top despite the burn and the pain. I have a tangible goal to focus on. When I climb up a boulder, or a waterfall, when I hit the target 10 times in a row, when I set out and I get there, achievement tints my self image. The body that follows shows that. I had always maintained that a muscles made from baling hay were far more sexy than the ones from a gym. The goal tints them. Makes them shine.
I am not a body builder. I know for some the reps and quantity are the goal. It plain old isn't so with me.
Climb every mountain
Swim every sea
I have conflict because my full time job means precious little time with family and even less to do things like mow the lawn. It is hard to walk away from my moments with them. There has got to be a way for a mom to find balance. And be forgiven for doing so.

just the obvious

Almost every faith believes it is the best. I have run into many people who near taunting brag has been "You would be better off if you had my faith." I was belittled and hurt by the paraphrases of this statement. Then I looked at the words floating behind my eyes and took the tone, the emotion- mine and theirs- away and read the words "...if you had faith like mine...". I moved the importance and emphasis around and edited like a mad woman those overused prepositional phrases. If you had faith -
Serendipity was right :-)

The Apartment

"Get Back to" is no longer an acceptable goal- continue is my second magic word-
The Feminine Voice Dare is continuing

Homes of scholars rarely have more than one bedroom. If a scholar sleeps in a bed, company is even more rare, with the exception of a lover who will go down on you while you read poetry. Especially John Donne. These lovers are never forgotten.
Scholars congregated in the Row. Coffee houses and Chinese take out were a stumble away for bleary eyed writers who had forgotten to eat or sleep. I had done a ton of shopping to prepare for writing my story. I had been collecting one liners in a little notebook- good lines I would build around on a day like today. Deep breath, hot coffee, and not a thought in my pretty little head. I needed a practice write- a warm up ramble before the nitty gritty. I lounged on the window seat- more an exceptionally deep window sill, about 3 feet wide. The glass is very cold. I'm in a fishbowl looking at scholars scurry for caffeine 3 stories below. A tall, strong, stereotypical square jawed man in camouflage trips on the curb with his eyes on his phone. He is caught by an old, Hispanic drag queen with a bleach blond Cesar cut. I have inspiration for my warm up in the blend- a solider who made tap shoes from grande pins. I hop down and cross the open living room. The whole apartment is one room. Kitchen one wall, windowed wall, sleeping area, library. I had hung old stained windows or sheer silk floor to ceiling the divide and offer privacy. The colored light and rustle from the vents are a kind of meditation while I walk to my desk. I started keying away. The radiator next to me hisses while keeping my coffee slightly warm in the percolator. 750 words, and I need reference material. I head to the shelves and run my finger along the book spines.

"Finding what you need Marnie?" Dexter's voice drifted down. The library wall wasn't just in my room. The shelves started in the basement and layer upon layer, extended up the 6 stories of the building, wall to wall, floor to ceiling. Each apartment's floor stopped 3 feet from the stacks. A scholar stepped onto their platform programed by key words in their writing with their reference needs. Everything any of us would need to know is on this wall somewhere. Platforms hummed by as scholars needed reference material on floors other than their own.
"No Dexter. I'm really not finding it," I tried not to get distracted be inviting titles.
"What're you after?" Dexter bent down and turned his head to look at me.
"I'm not even sure. I'll know it when I see it."
"You always say that." Dexter smiled at me and dropped down the cookie in his other hand. "You know where to find me."
"No poetry today Dex?" I pulled a book on Fred and Ginger off the shelf leafing through for the jargon of tap dancing.
"Naw. Jimmy is being greedy with his horse training books. I can't get to his stacks."
"Damn it!"
"It's not just you it seems. Sounds like Jimmy won't let anyone down there, Dex,"
"Prick. I have some mac-n-cheese in the oven right now. I'll have my reference books on a hour or two. Then, Marnie, I will be king." Dexter flourished his bathrobe and made a face.
I laughed and waved him away while I sat back down to write.