Chrysalis

Last night, sitting in Vinyasa flow I was filled with overwhelming tranquility. The whir of the fans overhead, the quiet swishing of the big, white paper lanterns, the feel of hardwood beneath me, the last vestiges of the day's light pouring into my third eye...I don't know, its a beautiful moment in time. To be in blooming lotus with your head tilted toward the sky, begging some unknown entity for the knowledge to move forward. I guess that's why I keep obsessing about butterflies. There is something innately progressive about them...the process of change and how hard that can be. For me, it is like I am learning how to live all over again. I am in my own chrysalis...resisting movement, resisting change. But its a biological process we can't stop. And I am paralyzed with fear about what the future holds. I have to share what I have read about this process in a butterfly, I find it weirdly fascinating, so humor me...

"Like other types of pupae the chrysalis stage in most butterflies is one in which there is little movement. However, some butterfly pupae are capable of moving the abdominal segments to produce sounds or to scare away potential predators. Within the chrysalis, growth and differentiation occur. The adult butterfly emerges (ecloses) from this and expands its wings by pumping haemolymph into the wing veins. This sudden and rapid change from pupa to imago is called metamorphosis."

I am holding still, but moving nonetheless.

Thoughts on Child Molesters

I've been doing a LOT of thinking on this subject, being a mom and all. And, of course, I worry about Liv being the victim of some degenerate pervert. And if, by the way, she ever was, there would be no end to the tortures I would perpetrate onto that monster. That being said, what really gets me is the way that some people are wasting all of their time lobbying to pass laws that prevent sexual offenders from living in their neighborhoods. This troubles me because that's the equivalent of saying that somehow their children are more valuable than anyone else's. Because, let's face it, the child molesters have to live somewhere, so if they're not living in your neighborhood, they're living in someone else's.

Okay, now for my second problem. How on earth is preventing a sexual offender from living in your neighborhood going to really protect your children? Wake up, folks. No law can stop your kid from being a victim. Only you can. If we're not confining these people then they pretty much have the ability to go anywhere, even if we tell them they're not allowed. That's like assuming my two year old will not run into the street just because I told her not to. If their is an ice cream truck on the other side, she's a-running whether I told her she could or not. I guess the point to my rant would be, wouldn't our time be better spent making sure these sick monsters are permanently confined in mental health or correctional facilities? Why are we letting them out and then waiting for them to offend again? Because the chances are they will.

I guess my feeling in a nutshell is this: Just because you get a law passed that says a sexual offender can't live in your town, it doesn't mean that they're aren't any already living there who haven't been caught yet. Also, if a child molester isn't allowed within a certain number of feet from a school, does that mean he will abide? Well, if he was willing to destroy a child's life in the first place, I doubt that law will have any meaning to him whatsoever. So, to me all those laws really do is give us a false sense of security.

This issue has been annoying the hell out of me lately...so I had to get these thoughts off my chest.

P.S. I realize sexual offenders can be women, but they're mostly men, so that's why I said "He" and "Him".

The Deep Down Desire of A Butterfly

The process of metamorphosis can be scary, I imagine. I think about caterpillars, in their snuggly gossamer beds, only knowing what they know. It must feel so safe to be there, in that place where nothing ever changes: just the same lull of wind pressing against the soft cocoon. Then, out of nowhere, god knocks on the door and says "out, out you go!" Down the bark, down to the world, getting your wings...I wonder about that first flight...does it hurt? I bet it does. And deep down inside that tiny, winged soul is a dream of white, soft, simple beds that nestle in trees.

Depression is A Warm, Snuggly Blanket

People throw this word around a lot : Depression. They say it with such nonchalance sometimes "I'm so depressed, Jimmy broke up with me", I'm so depressed, I gained 10 pounds over Christmas", "I'm so depressed I didn't get that promotion." You know it very well may be that all of these people are truly and clinically depressed. I don't know. But what I think is that they think they are only because some TV commercial gave them a label for their perfectly acceptable feelings. Our culture would have us believe that negative feelings themselves are unnatural. If you go to a doctor, they give you a pill to make it go away. But how can they say that a person taking a shot of tequila at 8 am is not doing the exact same thing?

I guess what I'm saying is that sometimes I feel like I'm not allowed to be sad, that for some reason I'm expected to just go on in my life and pretend like the insides of me aren't twisted and scarred and bleeding. No one wants to really, really see the aftermaths of mourning and grief - its too frightening. But its real. So, I'm tunneling under the blankets. And it sort of feels good to be honest. Isn't that why people are always stating that stupid thing "be true to yourself". Whatever the hell that means. My interpretation is that I need to wallow for a while in the sadness, because it is natural and true. And don't worry, I always wait until 5 to drink tequila

Blasphemy

Well the Lord didn't answer my request to get rid of the gloomy weather, so I'm sort of mad at him right now. For that and for letting my sister die. I won't hold my breath for an apology...God doesn't work that way. It's his way or the highway to hell, I suppose.

I get so annoyed when people talk about miracles. I don't mean little ones, like seeing a beautiful butterfly (hello, Amy), or the first daffodil of springtime, or the smell of your baby's skin, or the feel of your dying sister's hand tickling your hair. I mean big ones, like the Lord Jesus saved my child from drowning, or I was down on my luck and I found an envelope containing $3000 when I was on my way to buy a gun to shoot myself (thanks be to Jesus). To me it is the height of arrogance to assume that luck and someone else's carelessness is a sign from above. Why would god pick you? What is so special in you that god went out of his way to save you when He lets millions of people die in Africa every year who never get to experience the taste of chocolate or clean water? Babies die horrible deaths every day, and God does nothing to stop it. But YOU, you're special.

I don't know, maybe I'm mean but I just can't wrap my brain around these thought processes. Such loonies who contribute all their successes to a higher power, and believe that any time they are defeated they just didn't believe enough, or weren't good enough. I swear to you Amy didn't get cancer because of something she did, and she wasn't allowed to die because she was horrible. We all know she was the most giving, selfless type person. These things just happen in life and God doesn't have anything to do with it. I wonder if he isn't just indifferent regarding this place. Or likes to just watch what happens. My daughter loves to build tall block towers, but is overjoyed by knocking them over. Why? Maybe God is this way too. To make such beautiful things and people and then watch it all slowly deteriorate when you have the power to stop that from happening - it baffles me. Are we made in his image, really? Why can't I understand this behavior then? I guess right now I'm thinking about mortality too and questioning where I'm going when I'm gone. I'd say right now my shot at heaven isn't looking too good.

Grief

Well I'm into my grief almost two weeks now and I have to say, it is not at all what I expected. I guess I thought I would be non-functional when Amy passed away, I thought I wouldn't be able to even get out of bed. But here I am in this sort of numb fog, going through the motions of life, eating, drinking, even laughing sometimes, in a parody of what was once my normal life, a normal life which of course means, a life in a world where Amy existed. And then once in a while, it will hit, this wave of pain so deep and searing, and it takes me under and I can't breathe. Once the tears have come and then gone, a calm comes over me. A calm I know can only be coming from Amy. In this way, I know she is sending me strength from above. Because I have to keep going without her, I have to for Liv. But sometimes I don't want to.
Losing someone you love really sucks.