Tornados (June 2011)

Tornados are patterns.

Fractals within a greater storm, whorls spinning off from the larger cyclone. 

I dream of tornados, destruction, blitzkrieg, screaming, hiding, being chased, born down upon, surrounded, inescapable.  Portents of places or people or events or emotions which I will live in my future time.

Tornados are patterns.

That is all we have left.  A relationship has problems.  Ours has only patterns.  What once might have been solvable problems are devolved to knee jerk response.  A dizzy dance of attack and retreat, a dueler’s fray with a coward’s way.   Could we break out of these patterns?  I could not do it alone, certainly, and I feel so very alone.  I have always been alone, it seems, I was merely unaware.  What do I want?

The universe is calling.  I cannot miss the clarion cry this time.  I just do not know how I am supposed to answer.  My beliefs extend into this physical realm, sacred sexuality, exquisite sensuality, anguish and ecstasy in equal measure.  I have absorbed so much anguish.  Have I truly known ecstasy in equal measure?  Have I had to create this on my own?  In a world where fair does not exist, why should I expect that I should receive what I have given, be provided what I have denied, find what was never lost? 

Have I spent my years distracting myself from my true calling in an attempt to find empty love, or is this all leading to this point in time?  Can it be both, that I wandered far from the path but found my way back?  I am like that.  Have fuel, will travel.  Find a point in the distance and wend my way to it.  Sometimes I may turn, or take a road which does not lead as I expected, or retrace my steps from a dead end.  Sometimes my aim is true and quick and I understand the lay of the land well enough to know its limitations.  And sometimes I try the most remote path, the dirt road, the farmers way, just to see. 

How can I remain patient with a tornado on my tail?

He pushes.  I become happier, freer, and he pushes.  He throws the abandonment card in my face.  He tells me I’m the one keeping us from making it work.  He embroils me with my weaknesses and entangles the little girls within and I falter in my happiness, falling back into fear.  Like the crab in the boiling pot, he pulls me back down.  And I feel trapped, nowhere I can run that I do not lose so much that I will feel I have lost it all.

Is losing not liberating as well?

But if I lose my son, again?  If I lose my horse, my nonhuman family, my charges I agreed to take into my life?  If I lose my respect for myself and am swallowed with waves of regret and self recrimination?

If I lose my reason for living?  

I wanted windows when I could not find doors.  Now I see so many windows.  Options, ways of being, caring being offered to me, gifts of joy and love and respect.  But I still have no door, no way out that does not leave me physically and emotionally destitute.  And he would gladly push me there, into fear and anguish, if he thought I might actually be happy without him.

I have no place to go to ground.  I said I reclaimed my safe space, but it was tenuous at best.  I reclaimed my power, my truth, my magic, but I have no place to put them.  My soul lives in an open field with books stacked precariously like delineations between my inner self and the outer worlds.  He plays games to hurt me, and I play games to survive his hurt.

Just as he played games to survive their hurt.  I get that.  In my brain I get that.  Damaged as a child grows a twisted tree.

I wish I could have a miracle.  I wish I could find/manifest/be offered that job and home and peace of mind at taking it that would make this worth the pain.  I thought he had been worth the pain that I had gone through at losing everything before.  This pain is so much worse, I have lost so much more than I thought he would make me lose.  My entire life time of tears does not compare to this single year.

Tornados are terrifying for good reason.


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