Zephyr

1. The west wind.2. A gentle breeze.3. Any of various soft light fabrics, yarns, or garments, especially a lightweight, checked gingham fabric.4. Something that is airy, insubstantial, or passing.

It’s just after midnight and now April 30. I’m glad. I’m glad because yesterday was a milestone in my life, in my journey of healing.

Yesterday marked the day, two years ago, that I found out about HUSBAND’s double life – that he was a cheater – that he had a relationship with another woman in every sense of the word.

The day came roaring up in some ways, yet snuck up all at once too. I saw it coming, I dreaded it coming, yet all of the sudden it was here and in front of me without me really knowing. We have all the kids at home right now…ready to celebrate the graduation of one of the tribe…and the focus on changing linens and making sure cat fur was vacuumed up and everyone got their favorite room and we had all the right food made me forget for a minute that this was a day to be remembered, to be marked.

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As I looked around at one of the intermissions of the blessed chaos, it hit me with a SWOOSH that this could have looked so different. It could have been such a different day for me. For HUSBAND. For the graduate and all the other kiddos. It could have been a day of dread by the kids, wondering how they could negotiate between their separate parents at a single event and time. It could have been a day when I was forced to look at the person (or one of the persons) who had decided covenants weren’t for keeping and when I may have had to watch HUSBAND play role of lover to another woman. It could have been a day of tension, of terseness, of jockeying for position and fighting for affection and…desperately…seeking…love…

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But instead, the day was like a zephyr. Like a gentle breeze I watched my beautiful children interact with care and fun and depth. HUSBAND and I have a rhythm now, and things flow amongst us and our home and our family without fits and starts like in the past-even though I wasn’t able to see the ruffles when I was living them. Now, the colors of our lives are woven into beautiful fabrics that cover, but don’t bind. That fit, but leave room for growth.

gentlebreeze

So rather than pour in and gush over me and us like a rogue wave, this marker day wafted over airily…zephyr-like, kind of insubstantial in light of the glory of being with those I love.

Two years…two years and we are all finding our way.

findway

Yearn.

I yearn.

I yearn for a country of kindness and a community of care. I yearn for kids to connect with each other and with playing – really playing not pushing buttons on a box and watching an image someone else designed. I yearn for people to look each other in the eyes and see the heart of the human and to have compassion.

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I yearn for integrity and sacrifice from myself. From those I know. From those I elect. From those I listen to on Sundays and those that teach our children and those that enforce our laws.

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I yearn for places that animals can roam and flowers can grow wild. I yearn for ideas from the people to be percolated and considered not thrust aside as meaningless or naïve. I yearn for leaders to listen but, even more, to hear and for the same radical change that we’ve dared to embrace in technology and gaming and communication to happen in education and healthcare and politics.

I yearn for peace…peace that passes all understanding that comes from facing pain and grieving loss and then knowing there is love. To know the LOVE that wrote our names in red as He gave His very life to provide the salve for our wounds.

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I yearn for gentleness and grace and mercy and kindness. For cheaters to see the pain that is inside them and face it and deal with it instead of passing it on to other victims. I yearn for addicts to peel back their wounds and look boldly into the vortex of their agony and to reach out and heal and walk in courage.

I yearn. Do you?

yearn

X = courage? Or badass…

A Xenolith is a (beautiful) rock fragment that is actually foreign to the igneous rock in which it is imbedded. These lovelies get melded right in…embraced if you will…in the hard and mundane yet exuding their glory and sparkle with strength.

Xenolith3

That is the picture of the betrayed…the broken…the abused…the destitute of spirit. Covered in the package of hurt, continuing to move through life looking bland and ordinary, we are stunningly beautiful in our core. That outer wrapping is foreign…it is the inner place that is authentic. We have received the worst of what humanity has to dole out, and we have survived. We were promised love and devotion and got manipulation and abandonment, yet we hang on and keep believing and hoping, whether in this person or another or in ourselves. That place, that incredible amazing place that somehow stays alive despite all odds that is wrapped in the layers of our being is nothing short of miraculous beauty. Like a xenolith.

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And that human xenolith…we are also xenacious. Xenacious people yearn for change…deeply desire things could be different and don’t stop trying. That is a characteristic I find nearly uniform amongst people with deep wounds…

We want things to be different.

And we are willing to be part of the change.

Xenacious xenoliths are courage.
Xenacious xenoliths are badass.

courage

 

.Weight.

WeightOfGrief

Weight of offenses against you.

Weight of misdeeds, intentional and not, curled in and through your being.

Weight of abandonment. Of abuse.

Of corruption. Of deceit. Of exploitation. Of injustice. Of perversion and manipulation. Of hatefulness and rage and retaliation. Of resentment and vengeance. Of scorn and mockery and neglect.

Of infidelity. Of betrayal and collusion.

Of exposure.

Of distortion and evasion and slander.

Of selfishness. And ill will. And disdain.

Weight of grief.

Valentine’s Day

Valentine’s Day has never been a real favorite of mine. Since we moved around so much, I found myself excruciatingly nervous about whether I would receive Valentine cards and was deeply grateful when my little handmade box got deposits.

ValentineBox

Valentine’s Day as a young professional brought the proverbial roses and/or chocolates. Always appreciated, never over-the-moon. Had I not received them from my lover, I would have been hurt I suppose, yet the day never held great significance, truth-be-told.

Valentine’s Day as a married woman was fairly routine too. Through the years, HUSBAND would leave me a lovely card, often send flowers by delivery or bring them home after work. He cooked a delicious dinner and gave me chocolates for dessert.

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Valentine’s Day 2014. Nothing.

I didn’t get anything. Well…I did get a card. A card that was not lovely and loving, but funny.?

It was a little niggle in my soul, but nothing too big. We had been married 27 years and were busy and had my parents living us and things were different. I had gone out and purchased Valentine’s cards for our children, and HUSBAND, and for my dying father to give my mother (something he always did). And I picked up three lovely, simple, crystal bracelets that looked like something daddy would give mom and that mom would like and I gave them to daddy to give to mom since he could not leave the house. And he cried. And she cried when he gave them to her.

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There was a little niggle, but all these things took over my heart and my mind.

So a few months later when I had discovered infidelity and I was ravishing records to try to put what life appeared to be and what life was together into one picture, I found a simple little email in HUSBAND’s account. It was from 1-800 flowers for a discount for Valentine’s Day flowers. And I asked him if he’d sent SW flowers. He had. He had ordered her flowers, an elaborate bouquet…one of the most expensive they’d promoted. And then he told me he had canceled the order because she said she had to travel and wouldn’t be in the office. And she really didn’t like flowers. Waste of money. She likes plants.

Paypal confirmed this story.

I love flowers. Beautiful, fresh flowers. I know they are a waste of money and they don’t last. But they are beautiful and if you get the right kind, smell good too. I love them and always have. She doesn’t. But she was going to get them.

Valentine’s Day. Still not a real favorite of mine.

NoValentines

Underneath

New York City fascinates me…for all the obvious reasons…the flash and theater and amazing eateries and Wall Street and Central Park and Prospect Park and Bryant Park and coffee shops…oh…the coffee shops…

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But more than all that and the other thousand things I could list, I am fascinated with the life underground.

I am fascinated that the subway stations are such a part of the fabric of the streetscape that sometimes they are hard to see. I’m fascinated that people, young and old, fat and skinny, employed and homeless, move at a (relative) uniform (fast) pace and don’t see 20 stairs as a barrier to use (unlike much of the rest of the US). I’m fascinated that no one ever seems to glance at a schedule, or look at a map, but they get everywhere they are going. I’m fascinated that people bring their groceries on the subway, go to prom on the subway, go to work and school and dates and doctor’s appointments and meetings with their architects and, now that I know what I know, meetings with their whores. On the subway.

Subwaypeople

I’m fascinated that there is a whole life underneath the ground. A life that includes shops and restaurants and advertising and crime and cops and rats and music and people. There is New York City on top, in the light. And New York City underneath, in the dark. And they are both filled with drama and death and life. The underneath knows about what’s above, but all of what’s above doesn’t know about underneath.

SubwayMusician2

My life had an underneath too.

There was a little bit of underneath that I knew about, but lots that I didn’t. It knew…my underneath knew what was above and outside, but only let little snippets of itself be known. Until it had to.

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My marriage had an underneath too.

There was almost nothing of the underneath in my marriage that I knew about…except little snippets that HUSBAND shared…little little snippets…until a big snippet came out and all the other snippets eventually appeared from underneath.

OneManTwoWomen

I’m not willing to live with any underneaths in my personhood or personal life anymore. Truth is, they all are one anyway, they just like to keep the lines of demarcation and pretend they each have their own territory in my soul. But they were at war, battling…the underneath and the above.

They were at war. And I won.

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There.

There is a place I always want to go.

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There, when I’m here. And when I’m there now I’m here, and I find another there. It’s an odd reality – there is always another there, yet it never looks quite like I thought it would, so instead, I want to be – there.

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Is it just me, or do many of us want to go there and then there and then there yet we never get there?

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Or, if we do sometimes get there, we realize we never wanted to be there at all, yet here we are.

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And deep inside we wonder how we got there at all.

howdidweevengethere

I am not sure. But.

DareYou