Feelings unsaid

We keep quiet because we fear to hurt,or more likely fear to be hated by one we strive to make happy,someone we long to call friend.
They talk in daggers, kick the ideas we hold, but they are our friend so we stay silent until the end.

It is hard sometimes, living in a place where your values and thoughts are either dismissed as the minority, a special case, or worse that you as a person don't really even have those beliefs in and of yourself and through your logical, emotional and spiritual development but rather that those beliefs are thrust upon you or part of a mass mind set that you just fell into in order to fit in the group.
There is I guess another option to, shared by someone dear to me that I am just ignorant.
I was going write more, but the fact is I still can't. I wish there was a balance in the world, but there is not.

Motherhood

So about 8 months ago I said I was going to post regularly...it didn't happen. What did happen is I gave birth to a beautiful and cheerful boy. He takes more energy then I had expected.
I have learned there are women out there that seem to be able to have a baby, a career, and time to socialize without letting one seem to slip: But that is the extraordinary exception. I've had to come to terms that I am not one of those one in five million women who are the exception.
As soon as I set a goal to do something for myself or otherwise, something will come up: My son will have a bad night and need to be held almost all day, the house will be extra dirty or we'll need run to the store/doctor/whatever. I can not devote a day to be in a fantasy world to write fifteen to twenty pages. I have learned I must ignore the assumptions that since I am a full-time mother I must have loads of free time.
I have learned from a childhood of trying everything just enough, that while it aloud me to do a lot of things, I was never able to refine any one thing. In other words, I never devoted enough time to be a proficient. I don't want that to be true of being a mother and wife. If there is anything worth putting aside some of my other ambitions for (at least for a while) it is my family. It may be sad to say when people ask that I have not done more financially or in a field, but It is a choice. For me, I am a mother and I want to be one of the best despite the cost.

Safe in my hands,
Where the world can’t reach.
I hold you close to the soothing beat.

Sleep now, dear baby,
I’ll be the watch.
The sea will toss and turn,
But I will cradle you,
Until at you can swim.

Soon you will leave me,
To battles of your own.
For now, though,
Awake to a smile,
Dry your tears with my touch.

balance

So I've decided t that this blog is suppose to be a place for me to show/express thing that are striking or important to me. I therefore will be posting more often. I also want to know peoples thoughts on idea, if you feel so inclined.
Now for the post.

Poem

Did you do this?
Could you do it now?
Directing your tasks,
Asking that and
This, waiting for the home.
The order to stay,
But Shoes are strewn
Socks dirty
Kitchen a mess
I like the mother see,
The tasks you left,
When you dream.

A moment we are together,
But now It’s gone.

I cry
A child, lost.
Wanting and suppressing.
It’s not mine to ask,
But I long for it all the same.
Your time,
The shelf I can’t reach.
Your attention
The item I can,
but know I’ll get caught.
I am still young.
I don’t know the words to say,
Desires are nameless,
Yet you ask,
Silence replies.
I cannot help it,
It’s real and out of reach.

Your attention hard to steer.
Can’t you see the future?
Consequences? Deadlines?
No, it takes time
It takes growth.
You are the son.

I lay on your lap,
You hold me together
Guard me from the darkness
That reaches.
I tell you about the darkness,
You only partially see.
Protect me.
I am the daughter.

Balance, Balance!
The scales in motion long to stop.
Then we see our eyes,
And create,
Finally one.

The poor

One thing I have learned quickly is that Los Angeles has a lot of poor, and by that I don’t mean people who are just on food stamps and government supplement but actual poor who make beds on the streets and dig out recyclable bottles from trash cans to make 5 cents selling them back. The beggars here are more forceful, but they almost have to be with the amount of competition they have. Are most of them probably on drugs, yes, but not all. A lot seem to be mentally handicap, disabled, or just old. Those are the ones I most see in the trash cans at night.
The mild weather and largeness of the city provides, I guess, a better place to sleep out on the street then a place like Montana, where they would freeze. Frankly, I don’t know what else Los Angeles has to offer them, maybe benefits maybe not. All I know is driving back the mile from USC I see them, pushing carts, carrying bags of empty water bottles, their honest livelihood. Keep in mind I haven’t seen Skid Row, nor do I want to, would you? Drive where some people are so desperate and mental messed that they would pull a weapon on you for a dollar? Yet this is where others who have no place to go live, without solid shelter. Of course we could say, they just need to get off whatever drugs they are on and get a job. Like that is easy. I am clean, intelligent, and considerate with a BA degree and a work history of people being happy they hired me, yet I’m struggling to even get a call back on jobs someone who didn’t even graduate high school could do. So tell me, who will hire the bum off the street, who is so mentally messed up from either drugs or simply a life of being thrown to the wolves? I wouldn’t. But if you did what would you pay them? Enough to get an LA apartment with no credit and buy food, pay bills, health insurance, and have money to make repairs?
I then drive to other places and I see the wealth. Beautiful cars, homes, shops, ect. I don’t have anything against these things. I wish deep down as I pass these places that one day I’ll be able to buy a house in a safe neighborhood, with a yard and a garage. That one day, I can buy the cloths I want to, the ones made out of fabric other then polyester, that are tailored for my body instead of the stuff I find on the sale racks at Burlington coat factory and Ross. I get annoyed I have to watch how much I spend on groceries and can’t just buy the really good cheese at the Santa Monica farmers market, when a year ago I could have got it without a second thought. I dream of buying that cheese, those cloths, and that home. Yet now I know that while I eat that cheese, there will be someone else who just dreams of sleeping somewhere with a working shower and bathroom all their own.
So what is there too do? Force others to share? Give up all that we have to others? What of the drugs? What of the fact that some people aren’t educated? Will steel? Have been taught to take what they can? Might not know how to socialize in public settings anymore?
The sad truth is I don’t think any one program will fix this. You can get rid of drugs (which I think would fix a lot) but you will still have the sick, mental handicapped, old, and those who don’t have working skills or just can’t get a job. You can provide better education. You could set up a business that would distribute the profits equally, but who would take the pay cut, when they’ve had to pay for school to be an effective CEO? And the list goes on. But I guess, the best we can do is remember that they are, and that they are people like us and do what we know how.

It's hard to wash away the sun

I had a dream with a song that went,

It's hard to wash away the sun
for after all is done
the rays, light, and shadows
linger on, even after the sun.

We all have choices to make during the light of day. Some choice to hide and some to play. I've chosen to walk an only slightly visible path. I don't know what is coming and it was scary. I am not scared now though. Now I am holding to what I know, what I have been promised, and the light that God has given me through the shadows of the trees. In the back of my head, I know that what I do or don't do will stay with me once the day is done. I just hope that sometime when I wake-up tomorrow, in a month, or in a year that I can see something good reflecting back in the light of the day.
For now, I am walking with my eyes half closed, until I can adjust to the sun.

Story

So the other day I once more became excited about a novel I started two years ago, and decided to work on the prologue. My husband, (insert big smile here), gave me confidance to continue working on it. I've decided to post some of what I wrote here, just because I want to share it so far.

Song of Evéa

Evéa-
my home land
thy forest grow greener
thy rivers run longer
thy richness greater
for in the earth is our heart.
Thy safety, thy peace live on.

There were times when this song would lift my heart, in hope. But now as men sing this song, I only feel the decay more deeply. My trees once cut into homes now are chopped and my fields, that bore up the nation are burnt in war. I am told this is the fate of all countries. Either a land must fight against its friends, or it must feel itself torn from within. I thought this saying was true for other lands but not for me.
That was when the treading I felt most deeply were farms, children, and roads. Those are years that my waters ran clean and my earth seemed to ring with joy. Evéa has always been a place of peace from other wars of man. My wall like mountains and narrow touch of the sea has protected my people form the throbbing of other nations. I thought the rich forests, rivers, and plains would have protected the land from within but that is not how men get peace.
This war began and grew as a cancer.

Doing something because you want to

When I graduated High School, I wanted to write, I loved it and it was easy. That same desire followed me into college. When I found out at my sophomore year that my university had now started a undergraduate creative writing major I enthusiastically changed my major. the first two semesters I loved my creative writing classes. The homework was to write and read for workshop what others students wrote. Writing was easy, and the stories I liked were wonderful to read and those i didn't I would just read what I needed to give a comment(harsh, but for me necessary).
Then second semester of my junior year I noticed a change, writing was no longer as easy and not near as fun. I tried to brush it off, but then came senior year. Instead of inspiring me, the workshops just convinced me that if the members of my class were a real sample of the next generation of writers, I would have nothing but the old classics to read. It seemed no one knew how to write anything that didn't involve humanity/morality is horrible, sex and molestation, or drug use as the central theme. I felt like my writing was boring too or not good enough. Consequentially, I stopped writing prose fiction (although I didn't realize it at the time). Despite this fact, I continued to think that I would magically write volumes after I graduated and that my husband would have to pry me off the computer, but it didn't happen.
I would write a little bit, but not regularly or in vast quantities like I thought I should.Thus, I became more discouraged and writing became even harder. This cycle repeated until I ultimately told my husband, "I've made a huge mistake, I don't have what it takes to be a writer. I am no longer going to write."
It was soon after this that I again found hope. After a year or wondering why I couldn't write it finally clicked. The strange thing is that I thought I knew this before, but really it took time to learn. I needed to write because I wanted to and for no other reason. That concept was hard for me because I thought reasons like I needed to help bring in income, or I needed to write something to inspire others were much more important reasons, but they aren't enough. I learned that if you really want to do something well, you individually need to find a way to take satisfaction in it. I don't know, maybe I'm wrong, but I think at least with thing that you create, if you don't care about it or if you are more concerned with the outcome of what you are doing then in the joy of creating; how will anything you create have a life either individually or on its own?
Well I guess this post is rather rant-like but perhaps its not.