This is the first vacation I’ve taken from work since I was hospitalized back in September 2012.  In honor of my freedom for the week, I decided first to delve into my pleasure reading, being Wikipedia’s article on Tupac Shakur (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tupac_Shakur).  He’s one of my heroes, though I couldn’t specifically tell you why.  Guess everybody’s gotta start learning somewhere ;0)  Anyways, it’s been a pleasure and even more so because, every once in a great while, I fall in love with a song (or in this case, fall in love all over again).  I’ve been listening to it on repeat (see http://thecultivationofbeauty.wordpress.com/2013/05/21/repeat-repeat-repeat-the-process-of-internalization/), it’s the stripped down acoustic version of Passion Pit’s “Sleepyhead”, lyrics go like this:

“And you said it was like fire around the brim

Burning solid burning thin the burning rim

Like stars burning holes right through the dark

Flicking fire like saltwater into my eyes

You were one inch from the edge of this bed

I dragged you back a sleepyhead, sleepyhead;

They couldn’t think of something to say the day you burst

With all their lions and all their might and all their thirst

They crowd your bedroom like some thoughts wearing thin

Against the walls against your rules against your skin

My beard grew down to the floor and out through the doors

Of your eyes, begonia skies like a sleepyhead, sleepyhead.”

Here’s a link to listen if you’re interested:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wspuBxQhSaw

Can’t exactly tell you why, but it encapsulates my mood today.  Reading about my Tupac hero, finally time to breathe.

Hope to all my readers, your days are going well.

Much love…

Photo Credit:  http://i18.photobucket.com/albums/b114/xSteFanYx16/MuZik%20ShiT/tupacquote.jpg

Only two things are of notable difference.  There are no overconfident Camden squirrels attempting to steal my lunch. And I’m alone.

Still, something has drawn me here today. I’ve known I had to come all week. I’d decided to pop the question here because I wanted to keep our memories close. I’ve never thought that the best times are always the ones from home. Now I’m so grateful that I made that decision because I can come back to this spot whenever I wish.

It’s the first time though. We never came back as a couple. I guess we were too busy making new memories to always concentrate on the past. In grief there are those who will tell you to do the same. To move on and concentrate on the future. But today I need to look back. I need to connect with my wife again. Although somehow sitting here lamenting over a bottle fizzy water isn’t having quite the same effect as beaming over a glass fizzy wine. Yet the sparkle’s still there.

Perhaps there comes a moment of realisation that memories are all you really ever have of a person who you’ve loved and lost. So I guess I have to take comfort in the fact that we were always so adept at making those.

Desreen on 20th June 2009, the day we got engaged

Today is our 2 year wedding anniversary. I don’t feel very much of anything anymore. Four months ago our divorce was final. That was a sad day for me. As of today, I have begun to put the pieces back together. I see things for what they really were. I don’t understand still, but I am accepting the fact that I will never understand what happened.

Four months ago I was a very angry woman. I felt powerless, walked upon, unappreciated and worthless. The manner in which you treated me for a year and a half made me feel like that. I longed for a little bit of kindness, honesty, caring and love from you. I received neglect, dishonesty, betrayal and apathy.

I became so angry over what you had done to me that I could not even speak to you with any measure of respect. My complete disdain for you was evident with each word I uttered. If you could have been even half the man you pretended to be you would have been pretty great. But as it stands, you are nothing. You are not a man. You are a selfish, lying, cheating scoundrel. I never deserved any of this. As for you, saying you deserved more in our divorce…No, you didn’t. You got exactly what you deserved…nothing. I was the one who was lied to and cheated on. The fact is you didn’t love me at all. You didn’t value me. You didn’t listen to me. You didn’t respect me. You just wanted what you wanted and went to any length necessary to get it.
You don’t know me. You don’t know me at all. You KNEW the woman who LOVED you. What you remember is the fragile woman I became after being lied to and manipulated. That’s who you know. That isn’t me. You know nothing. All you did was attempt to destroy me and my family and then belittle me because I was so overcome with grief and sadness. I gave you everything, and I gave up everything for you and still, it was not enough. You had to have the other women too. For whatever reason, you felt the need to play me and chase after them. The problem was that I am smarter than you…book smart and street smart.
You told me that I needed to suck it up and get over it. I have sucked it up. That’s for sure. Maybe, eventually, I’ll completely get over it. It won’t be in the same sense that you are thinking though. When I completely come to grips with what has happened, it will be for my own sake and that of my family. It won’t be for you. You don’t get to be part of that anymore. You don’t get to have me anymore.
My life with you was a lie and a nightmare. What I wouldn’t give to erase you from my life completely…to forget that you exist. You did exist, and I am forever changed because of you and what you have done. You tried to break me into pieces, but I gave each piece a name. One of me is wiser. One of me is stronger. One of me is a fighter. There’s a thousand faces of me. All of these pieces of me joined together to rise up against you. For every time you broke me, you created a new piece. Now there is an army…an army of me. So how does it feel to know that I beat you…defeated you? How does it feel? It sure feels sweeter to me.
No longer yours,
Katrina

I still think of Ivy every day. I still talk about her as much as possible. I try to keep her memory alive. But the fact of the matter is, I think every one seems to think I’m all better because some time has went by. That couldn’t be further from the truth. I still cry all the time. I still hurt all the time. I have many sleepless nights…one being tonight. I just talk about my tears and pain a lot less because it was so much harder to contain at first. I feel redundant on the days when I want to go on and on about Ivy…like when I post pictures or quotes or share awareness links. I feel like no one cares as much any more, like the loss of my daughter is “old news”. I guess this is also part of the process of grieving the loss of a baby….just one more thing that sucks about it all.

Something else some of you may not know is that we have decided against having anymore children…Just another difficult decision that parents must make after the loss of a baby. We had many many discussions about it and agreed that this was the best decision for our family. That decision was one of the hardest decisions of my life. It’s done, and I’m still sad about it. Every time I hear “so and so is pregnant”, “so and so just had their baby”… it’s a reminder for me that I will never be pregnant again.

I accept the fact that I will always be sad. I accept the fact that I will never be pregnant again. But I will never ever let Ivy be forgotten.

The opportunity to heal & feel better.  The opportunity to understand what happened to cause the pain so that we can prevent that (mostly, but not completely) from happening again.  The opportunity to understand why these painful events took place so that we can do our part to minimize this for ourselves & others going forward.  The opportunity to be responsible for our pain in ways that can begin to minimize the pain of other human beings.  The opportunity to develop deep compassion, empathy, and love for other sentient beings as we connect with these universal experiences and begin to appreciate what others are dealing with so that we can help them heal as we helped ourselves heal.  The opportunity to connect with our spirituality to heal, and to learn the healing & regenerative power of spirituality.

With Al, it also held the opportunity to earn a membership card.  He used to hand out a membership card to the human race in his practice.  Part of what he taught us, through it all, was to respect other human beings.  Many of us did not grow up with this value; we abandoned it while we were living inside of our pain (or unconscious of our pain body according to Eckhart Tolle).  Al helped us recover this value, as I am helping myself today, recover it at a new level.

I witnessed the anger of my child turn into pain.  In the midst of that pain, I felt peace.  A deep peace, like the peace of God.

Happy is my only horse who lives at home with me (we have a barn on property). Because of this, I had planned to bring him to college with me in a year, maybe teach him how to do baby dressage or something. Unfortunately, this isn’t going to happen.

Happy, the poor dear, is experiencing something known as chronic founder. I don’t know if any of you have heard of it before, but, in short, Happy’s coffin bone in his right front leg has rotated but hasn’t yet lowered any. It’s also different from acute founder in that it has been in the process of happening for- according to our vet’s best estimation- 1 or 2 years.

I feel so bad for him! His such a stoic boy, hardly ever complains about anything (he had ulcers for years while at with my trainer, but we never knew because he never gave any indication of pain!), so we didn’t find out that there was a problem with him until the pain got so bad he just couldn’t take it anymore.

Luckily, the only thing needed to make him comfortable is a set of special shoes. He’s completely happy at the moment, not on Bute or anything, and is entirely stall sound. Not pasture sound, or even pen sound, but we’re working that way.

Bottom line is: the poor baby is going to have to be retired, which means I won’t be bringing him to college with me . I’m sure he’ll enjoy an endless supply of grass in the future though!

Circling ’round, hours and days

Bleed into months, I’m sure it’s been

Since last my joy was seen

Up and down, my heart can’t stand

Another trip of round and round

Circles I trace in steps and bounds

A glimpse of joy, I’ve suddenly found

So fleeting as these moments pass

My happiness escapes me fast

The more I feel the more I try

To make those feeling pass me by

I bathe in sadness, hide in pain

Then happiness is here again

And so I go, round and round

Is there any peace in this illness to be found?

But glimpses here and moments there

I face them with a most dubious stare

Inspect each feeling as it comes

It’s just too much, I’ve got to run

I feel so much I need to dull

The ache inside this incessant skull

I hope and pray that I one day

Find happiness that’s here to stay

© Ani Boghossian

I ended up sleeping in until about 10am this morning as I’m still adjusting to the whole different time-zone thing, so I also missed breakfast.

Most of the day I spent just lying on the beach relaxing as well as looking after my Niece whilst my sister/fiancee spent some time to themselves. I also tried a rather…odd custom here known as “Kava time”. It’s a coconut+water mix, mixed with a grounded Kava plant to produce a drinkable liquid that is used as a drink to “communicate with the spirits”.

It also numbs your mouth.

So aside from that, sleeping/sun bathing, eating a seafood pizza and dinner, today has been rather mellow. I did remember to record more today for my vlog, but sadly I get embarrassed since this is my first time doing vlogs and I’m not used to it at all. So hopefully it ll turns out good enough for a first video and isn’t too short of a video. Photos though I got plenty.

It is said that one of the principles of creativity is to have had experienced childhood trauma. Read the works of any great Irish writer (Frank McCourt, Oscar Wilde, James Joyce) and you will clearly see that youthful pain and suffering fueled much of their creative genius.   And while I do not claim to be remotely on par with these incredible storytellers, to read any of my writing is to know that  childhood trauma played a significant role in the determination of my creative voice.  To be honest, my youth unfolded like the first and final draft of something that could have been so much better. There simply weren’t enough stretches of peace or joy in it to attend to the edits necessary to have made it bearable.  It isn’t that I am filled with regret for all of the things that might have been.  It’s more that I am blanketed in a sadness for the sheer waste of it all.

Intuitively, I know that my broken juvenile years  can’t be the full measure of why I write the way I write.  Something deeper, more sinister, is afoot.  No, something bigger and more malevolent presses my pen to the paper. For me, the value of nothing out of nothing comes something. The nothing started even earlier than the moment when I began to write.  I have no doubt that what little creativity I possess is the function of some neurological quirk; that I have just enough of psychosis or depression to fuel an interesting poem here, an article there. That creativity (if that’s even the word for it)  is not, in any circumstance, the product of “talent” or creative muse, but rather arises more as a testament to a damaged mind that perceives the events of my life from a slightly skewed or twisted perspective.

Perhaps it was the combination of the two: an injured adolescence and a form of brain damage.  When I was four years old, I fell down the stairwell of the two story duplex my family lived in while my father was stationed in the Navy.  I was rushed to the hospital because the fall had resulted in a crushing blow to the front temporal region of my skull.  Surely, my brain was impacted, if not forever altered because of this accident.  Combine that blow with the endless physical and sexual trauma that rejoined the family the day my father retired from service, and then, perhaps then I can begin to put my finger upon my “creativity.” Ask yourself…what can be more creative than scrambling daily throughout your entire childhood to find a place to survive.  Out of necessity, the damaged mind constructs a false reality in which to take shelter, and it is this false reality that takes its form in the expressive arts.

I may never know what truly fuels my creative process.  The sands of time that fill the hourglass of my life have nearly run out.  While I am by no means an old man, I am, nonetheless, a tired man and my time upon this tortured plane of existence called “life” can now be measured in moments rather than years. I will leave behind me no great works of art, no lasting legacy of poetic genius.  Even the memory of me will fade before the ink is dry on my final written word.  Mine has been a lonely walk: solitude whispers a silent story. And as we all know, life and living require interaction. But I was born alone, have lived alone, and will undoubtedly, die alone.  And that doesn’t require creativity.  The “why” is no longer relevant.

This then, is the life and the death of my creativity.

It is a constant headache, a crippling distraction that you wish could just vanish, but if only it were that easy..
It is the feeling of being physically capable, perhaps a tad bit lethargic with the excessive napping, which is your way of escapism, but still feeling your mind being heavily weighed down and worn out. It is the feeling of that wretched lump in your throat. It is that obdurate voice in your head that tells you that however much you try to distract yourself, you do not have the right to be happy. Depression is that voice, unforgiving and diabolic. It is ever so cunningly devoted to remind you of every aspect of your past that brings you shame, every person that treated you wrong, every quality that you lack. Deep down, even if you try to believe otherwise, you still think that every thing is your fault. Hence, you feel inadequate. Every single day.  This shitty feeling drives you to try and help yourself; counseling, inspirational quotes, love, support and hobbies. But why must the sense of relief be so temporary? It is a cruel joke played on you. You feel invincible, you’re convinced that you beat the devil, until that lump in your throat comes back. That little nerve-bending voice makes its return, making itself at home in your conscience. You let it stay, you lose yourself in your thoughts. You cannot stop thinking about it. Wallowing in misery seems easier than keeping yourself together. It is easy to be hurt. It is just so easy to hate everything. It is cowardly, it is the way it is.

A happiness that was locked away was unlocked by you.

All I can do is cry and regret now but someday I want to smile brightly at the memory of you.

Who knows when that time will come but I will wait for it.

“Don’t cry because its happened, smile because it happened”.

I will always remember that quote that was on your phone. The quotes you live by.

Again, I know better not to feed the depression monster but the spiral begins and cascades way too quickly for me. I need distractions. I got the afternoon off from work the other day and too easily fell into a depression pit because I didn’t have work to distract me. Can you believe it? I’ve finally become a robot whose life is work.home.sleep.repeat…  Sad.  Then I began to weep. The weeps turned into heaving awful sobs and I woke up with puffy eyes again. Alone.

Depressed , awfully  and utterly alone.

And in the turn of a momentary misunderstanding

We find ourselves, face to face ranting;

I can feel you’re broken – and me, it’s breaking!

I wish I could talk to you without shaking,

Tired of mistaking love for hate!

As I know I’m no longer the man you want to date;

But please let’s put aside all we have to debate;

And once again try to come together; relate!

We’ve made mistakes which has changed us

I know what we’ve been through has more than drained us!

We both question what the years have gained us,

Hoping they’ve done more than having pained us!

2:30 pm june 17^th 2013

Ron bergquist

Carving the Flesh

It kills me to think I had to do this again,

Try to shove you away and say I end;

With you and say I can’t hold true

We are obviously not meant to be!

When you say you’ll never be with me

Again – and I sin with slits in my wrists ;

Now and how I could die for you and prove,

That I love you: Be the man for you, in all you want;

 But your kisses and affections come as taunts!

You haunt my dreams and all seems unreal!

EXCEPT WHAT I FEEL!

You traverse your word, and whirl my world;

Confused and confounded nothing is sound;

In your proud state of hate and mind, that unbinds

Me and you – to think that was true – really isn’t

And again were prisms of reflections and ‘isms

Of prisons – of which you’ve hidden him’

From me and the truth that we could be together

Forever!!

11:26 pm June 17^th 2013

Ron Bergquist

Emended; Burned Into flesh

There I was in a parking lot,

Hugging my best friend,

Staring at the trees that were bending,

Blending dreams on horizon with reality;

Presenting the fragility that this could be

The time we hugged for the last time;

As if our world was ending!

 I realized then; it was only the beginning.

Eventually we’d pull apart and began to walk;

 Talk as we stare at the trees and finally feel the breeze!

Slowly then, when it all slowly makes sense;

We’ll have seen the forest grown dense;

Immense thoughts we fought surface and face us

 against us again.

No more relapses of memories that have past us,

I can’t trust the moment, when it will bust?

I cannot deal with this! I wish I was an alien,

Seein’ everything from space’,

Dreaming to replace a shit world.

In which everything I love whirls in the opposite direction;

Like the erection of an Australian; stranded on an island;

Is how I’ll make you feel in the end; ‘cause I’ve dreamed our end

And I feel its time I put thought to rhyme and told you,

Were long overdue to be through!

I know one day you’ll regret losing me as you plummet

To the darkest depths with no precept;

Never ever again to be deeply received!

Too bad destiny finally reveals what shouldn’t be!

11:48 pm June 17^th 2013

Ron Bergquist

Last week I had what I can only describe as a post-apocalyptic mind circus. I woke up unsure whether to cry, pray or be scared. But this one was much too close to home. You know it’s strange how your dreams manipulate the people in them. The dream with my Dad and the newspaper didn’t look like my “current” Dad did at all. It looked like him when he and my mom were newly married and he was wearing a brown suit a la: Mad Men. Very not my Dad…I just knew it was him.

This dream was just so vicious. That was MY mom, it was her, no soothing mind alteration to soothe and differentiate fact from fiction. It was my beautiful mother covered in blood, beaten and a wailing. I can’t even recount the full dream here because I am crying just typing this.

I chose to blog because it is now 3:02 AM and I don’t want to call and disturb my Mom/Sister with my crazy ideations. I just don’t understand why my dreams have been so disturbing of late. You hear all sorts of notions, theories and hypothesis about dreams...I just simply want to sleep.

(Pardon if the spelling/grammar are a little off. Not used to blogging half awake, crying and overwhelmed with emotion)

When a tear drops you think it falls to thing but it drops to your rose that you own but you never see until the day you die, When you die a single rose is given to you by someone and it tells you your life story. When you cry and shed a single tear you dont know how to feel but sorrow, Angels always there for they are your guardian angel and protect you the best they can… Love your life and if you shed a tear, Remember your rose, your rose is you, your colour, your beliefs you forget your rose you forget you.. Love yourself and dont be scared toed a tear for your rose will be waiting and your guardian angel will be there for you .

~Angel In The Dark

She smelled rough, like the willow trees at the boundaries of our estate. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it wasn’t familiar either, and familiarity was what I was craving for.

She looked the same as I remembered her, but she felt different. Not a ghost of her brilliant smile was evident; not a trace of the sunshine she once carried around with her could be seen. Her honey brown hair hung limp and heavy on her face; the edges of her eyes were ringed with deep shades of blue and purple.

She bent her head over the keyboard, frowning in concentration, as each note she hit sounded a shade darker than the last. It was beautiful, but sad.

The cold melody echoed around the room, freezing in the air where it hung awkwardly above the both of us, like all the words I never said nor will now be able to say.

We stayed like that for thirty minutes or so;

I was praying she’d stand up and rush towards me with her arms wide open like she used to.

I hoped I’d be able to feel the sweet rush of her skin against mine one more time.

I was longing to call out to her, longing to scream.

But she didn’t do anything,
and neither did I.

After a few minutes, she stopped and closed her eyes.

Her hands shook but she carefully kept it hovering at about an inch above the keys. The only sound left was the sound of her tears hitting the board, and the sound of my heart breaking, lamenting the loss of a mother and arrival of this stranger.

That was the last time I heard her play;
that was the day the music disappeared forever—

from the room,
from her life,
from mine.

My heart decays like ancient shrouds,

And the evening sun is gleaming

All through the sullen clouds.

There are pieces of my being,

Which are left to be repaired.

Many words not worth repeating

Remain waiting to be shared.

So I ask myself…what now?

Life will never be the same. Now I need to learn how to move on from these major changes in my life. Can I? When it deals with the heart one cannot honestly say it can move on to someone or something else. Losing key people in your life can overwhelm a person to breakdown, and believe me I have had a few breakdowns. I know exactly what I want but wanting and getting are completely two different things.

Well, I have denied it, I have recognized it, I have mourned it, I am mourning it, I’m trying to let go but don’t know if I will ever be able to let go. I am trying to accept things, The reality is, I don’t know if I can accept the mistakes I have made.

I wake up some mornings and have hope, love and joy for the day. Other days I wake up sad, mournful, confused with my heart in pain. I try to see the positive. I can be positive for others, why can’t I give myself these pep talks?

I feel like I am walking down a dark, wooded path lost. I don’t know where I fit in this world anymore. What is my purpose? Why am I here?

Some people said no, and some people really didn’t know.

One person was irritated, but was not not happy.

No one told me that they were happy.

Why are Christians so unhappy?

Well, a more important question is, are they really Christians?

I’m beginning to think that there a lot of people (a lot of my friends) who call themselves in-Christ, but really aren’t. It’s such a sad thing to imagine, but it just feels that way these days.

All this unhappiness is making me un-damn-happy.

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