Thursday, September 6, 2012

Lantern in the darkness for me


This is not aimed at anyone of you. I am just shaking the dust off that part of me that writes this type of stuff.

Should you find this a gun to your head/heart it is not aimed at you by me. Some truths and all lies belong to us all. any puddle you will find your own reflection.

Vulnerable reader use caution. This part of my psyche takes no prisoners.


"What?" I say, my head jerking up.

I listen quietly to the silence the darkness casts off.

I shift on my fence post and shake my head.

Again the night wind beckons me to come out.

I lean back and suck in the coolness with my nostrels flared like some wild untamed range mare.

Again I hear your soul calling me.

I grumble and I resist the call of your broken soul. My head bobbing like a horse rolling there bit, as I  try to conjure up the words to say to you.

I am comfortable on my fence post and fat from inactivity. I arch my back and stretch reluctantly. "Been out to pasture a long time" I murmur. "The softness and compassion are gone from my vocabulary....are you sure you want me to reach for you dear one?"

Again the silence pleads.

"all.....right" I say collecting my lantern and  hopping off the fence. I set my lantern down and stretch again. "then lets do this."

I kick the lantern over.

The flames rush away from my feet with a woooooooof.

Your eyes dilate and the wave of flames levels the darkness to smoldering dust. You, for a heartbeat, feel fear as your mouth falls agape. This is a side of DOGDANCING you have not seen before.

You exhale the air trapped in your body and the force of it sends the smoke around you rolling back to me.

I part it with a wave of my hands.

"Red rover, red rover, send DOG right over." I say quietly as I take flight.

Your eyes lock open as you watch me closing in on you.

The impact of my body sends up both over and over in the ash. When we come to rest. I sit on your chest for a moment. Both of us panting. Both of us blackened with soot. You close your eyes anticipating my rageful words.

My tears drip like rain and plink on your face.

You open your eyes and search my face.

I scoot off of you and kneel next to you. My head bowed as the tears make tracks down my face.

You reach up to comfort me.

My hand snaps out and grabs your wrist bending it off to the side. "we have wasted our lives, you know."

You squirm as I lock eyes with you. You drawn back aware that I am about to go all caps-lock on you.



I can tap into that part but it will not allow me to write unfocused. That part wants a subject. I am finding my head rolling like a Rolodex looking for someone to focus on and write TOO.

I have never tired to force that voice to just write.


Lets see if I can force the issue.

I am now writing to YOU.

yes, you.


I let go of your wrist and tip my head skyward. Again nostrils flared I suck in the wind.

"There is no one coming for you." I say lowering my eyes to again meet yours. "There is no one out there looking for you. If you want to be a part of this world you have to put forth the effort."

"we are all lost in this world. Surrounded by people and all alone at the same time."

You sit up and sigh deeply. "I am afraid of being hurt, afraid of having my guts ripped up, afraid of being rejected."

I push you down. "Being present in someones life is not the same as being in someones life."

I turn away angry and stand up kicking the dirt. "Its so simple. Look your family in the eye. Listen to them. Stop what you are doing and listen to them...liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiistennnnnnnnnnnn to them. Hear what they are telling you. You are getting glimpses into their are witness to a treasure they will not always share. Childen are spiritual conduits. Do not miss the magic and the wonder in th


Nope can't even trick me into writing today. Its just not going to happen.

I can feel that connection there, but can't force it write. I know its there with in me. I awake from dreams and can taste her on my tounge. I hear the singsongy rhythm she writes to in my ears.

That part of me went walk about a few years ago after the radiation treatment.

Throws myself down and has a temper tantrum.



What are writers suppose to do when there inner voice/muse/whatever dies or gets damaged?

I am not feeling physically well. Been some rough days of late. They are treating me for low B-12 levels. I have swollen lymph nodes across my diaphragm and its painful. My anxiety of course is off the chart as I think I am dying.

I keep remembering the note I was asked to give to a tween child of a patient who died at my work.

It read simply.

"Keep Living. Love Mommie"

I want to write about that note and the secrete I have carried for 20+ years of how I gave that note to her daughter.

Even beyond that I want to look at a mother facing death and struggling to find the words to help her child cope with her looming death. How she stopped focusing on her own self and found the perfect thing to say to her child to help her move on and not get stuck in her grief.

Nothing I will ever write will have as great impact as those four words.

I am struggling with calling the doctor about the painful lymph nodes. Some days I wish I had a handler or a keeper. I am not really capable of taking good care of me. Others, yes, me no.


Maybe my writing is a fluke? Talent vs lucky arrangement of letters?

What will be the last thing I put to paper before I die? Will it be worthy of being read?

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