fringe

and she was wearing fringe, long fringe. Her soft brown suede boots were sheathed in long thin fringe and her matching brown soft suede jacket had the same long fringe, two rows in the back and another row up and down the back side of the sleeves. And when she danced -- and she moved like she knew nobody and everybody was watching ---from the heart, from the soul, from pure why not?!-- her fringe grooved and swung and swayed in time. And it was all reminiscent of happy hippie sunny days of yore.

through the snowflakes

Rose's heart was breaking as she jogged through the gently falling snow. One enormous pain rent her heart right down the middle like a giant jagged lightening bolt sending off minor nerves of pain in every direction. It wasn't the first time in her life she knew and understood that a heart could be broken in an instant-- one moment it's a soft, beating, silent friend, barely noticeable, the next it's the whole universe, there is nothing else and it's pure scream, pure silent human agony.

The snow covered the ground in the twilight and everywhere flakes filled the air falling so gently, so softly, so indifferently. The porch lights of cozy houses twinkled and everybody else in the world, warm behind their curtains and shades, moved slowly around familiar rooms, dinnertime.

Roses ran steadily on, her mind echoing her heart with incoherent, garbled, half-thought screams of protest, "NO!! CAN'T BE!! GOD PLEASE!!... IT'S A BAD DREAM!! MAYBE A DREAM"

"Hi Mrs. Geiss!" a young husky voice sang out. "Hi Mrs. Geiss!" chimed a second child, his voice flat and obedient-sounding. Shadowy in the fast-fading light, two boys, friends of Rose's younger son, were wrestling and tossing snow at each other in the front yard of Carl, the bigger one's, home. Rose was momentarily deeply charmed by the little display of boy high-energy, happy in this Christmas-time snowfall. "Hi Guys!!" she returned, lovingly and enthusiastically.

Through the dark blanket of hurt, the shards of searing pain -- in spite of which she had decided to get outside, to get some air, to let it be and to jog -- had come a little joy, like a sliver of sunshine, breaking up what only one moment ago felt like an apocolypse.

"and that's what healing is," she was thinking to herself, as an old red and white Ford pickup truck passed her and then pulled over to the curb.

Out hopped a man, wearing an out-of-style down vest, jeans, and a boyish, impish grin. He looked like a cross between Kurt Russell and John Travolta -- in a word, cute... and somehow reminiscent of a previous lifetime. He bounded through the curtain of snow against the darkening evening toward Rose, who slowed to a cautious walk, presuming he was lost and wanted directions.

"Hi!" he said, "I've noticed you jogging around here before. Um, I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me sometime!" He said this with a winning smile, looking extraordinarily cute and boyish and ..... fun!

Shocked, Rose immediately reflected on her appearance which had been absolutely the last thing on her mind upon leaving the house. She had pulled her older son's winter hat (Homer Simpson, "D'OH!") over as much of her head as possible and the rest was mis-matched-whatever! In a split-second reflex, the thought that she couldn't possibly have looked worse dismayed her.

"Well, I'm married," she stuttered, noting to herself that she'd completely forgotten this -- being 'asked out'. The past thirteen years had been nothing but a progressively-deepening, busy mesh of pregnancies, babies, childcare and an ever-so-much-less-than-satisfying marriage -- "but thank-you so much! I would certainly consider it if I weren't married. Thank-you very much," she repeated, now feeling sincerely appreciative, but firm.

And then he was off, and she watched the tail-lights of his pickup truck through the snowflakes until they couldn't be seen anymore. And then she said, "wait"...

Nostalgia!! He had looked like a dusty, aging version of the boys of her childhood, as if some heartthrob from the 70's, along with his pickup truck, had been put on a shelf, collecting a little dust until this particular moment. And of all moments, why this one!

The extraordinarily shocking, tragic news she'd been given only one hour ago, was almost forgotten for the moment. Rose thought about Eric, her husband, all seriousness, practicality... Eric, who never smiled, never laughed and had developed a positive penchant for punishment. She couldn't help thinking about Eric, because right now, she wished more than anything in the world that she could have hopped right in the passenger seat of that red pick-up truck with a very cute man whose step was lively, whose smile sparkled, who was mischievous and boyish --and driven away. For even one hour. For even five minutes.

Rose walked over to the little park down the block. The whiteness covered everything now, all was still. The snow fell gently, slowly and the sky had become dark. At home, the kids would be hungry, Eric would be wondering why dinner wasn't ready. The kids would be noisy, Eric would be irate. Rose wandered a little way into the snowy park and then gave in to a sudden longing to just lie down on that freshly fallen snow blanket and rest. It felt good, she was still warm inside from jogging. She looked up, and everywhere, millions and millions of snowflakes drifted down, slowly, gently and indifferently against a black sky.

the Halloween Joker

and dressed up for Halloween as the Joker, he -- always so normal, always so correctly-behaved! -- began to feel unfamiliar stirrings deep within, disturbances, shadowed partial remembrances, dream-like and as if from long long ago, time before time....
and they had a thoroughly disturbing and yet compelling and, he had to notice delicious, diabolical flavor-- depraved, demonic...
this followed by creeping thoughts---definitely unbidden! definitely unwelcome! above all, horrifyingly reprehensible -- thoughts of rape, blood, murder, mass destruction, lust and the consummate satisfaction of unrestrained, uncivilized mayhem to the nth degree........

Crazy Women Writers

I remember a long time ago, my friend Renee mentioned that a mutual friend was enrolled in a college class called, "Crazy Women Writers". My interest was immediately piqued, because one of my very favorite, possibly my very favorite, kinds of writers and kinds of literature were the works-of-crazy-women type.

In recent years, I was unable to read books by crazy writers -- male or female. I was unable to watch disturbing movies, especially if the type of disturbance was psychological. Also, I had a lot of trouble listening to or reading the news, I avoided it and if I was exposed to a story that demonstrated man's tendencies to be less than humane or worse, I quaked in fear and horror.

But as of late and to my great great joy, I am once again enjoying and savoring the works of some of my old favorite crazy women writers, as well as some new, young ones. I found myself ordering all of Lauren Slater's books at the library... Lauren Slater's writing is notable I think first for it's creative language-play (and here I'm deeply jealous) and second for not letting any repression or fear of public opinion stand in the way of self-expression--and I admire that! But more than those things, I like Lauren Slater's writing because her personal experience and her mind have wandered to places far, far beyond-- places that seem magical, mysterious, frightening, interesting and unconquered -- uncharted territories.

The fact that once again, I can fully enjoy reading the books of crazy women writers, indicates to me, like nothing else that my own state-of-mind is more-or-less stable.

Yes, for a while there I was, well...at least kind of crazy! And that wasn't my first go-around, but my second! It was during the crazy time, that my mind was too intensely and precariously fragile--like the finest crystal or a gaping wound-- to even consider, much less indulge myself in and enjoy, any of the craziness outside myself--it was just too overwhelming, too perilous, too much!!

From the vantage-point today of ground that I can stand on, that has some solidity, a mind that can take things somewhat for granted and not see absolutely everything in its mysterious existential strangeness, I can assure you that there is a quality to craziness that is finer in experience than any known by the sane and normal world, more precisely-tuned, exquisite. As lost and as dark, as lonely and terrifying as the crazy place is, it has it's brilliant, hyper-spiritual, dazzlingly beautiful and deeply unknown side too.

No regrets here, no wishing anything had been different. Sometimes I really wonder how people who have been normal their entire lives can take so much limitation. For it does seem to me that the borders and boundaries of what is considered sane and normal by our society are frighteningly and blindly confining!!! It's like living inside a fishbowl which is located in a room, in a house, in a town, in a country, in a world, in a universe... and only recognizing, believing in, knowing and being aware of the fishbowl!!

Integrity

Speaking of Integrity, one day as I was observing my young daughter's elaborate, creative, all-the-time-in-the-world, complex make-believe, the word "integrity" popped into my mind. I thought about it. I observed some more. I thought about it some more.

What I was seeing, I believed, was Integrity. Realizing this, I also realized that natural child play was very moving, refreshing, vulnerable, concentrated, serious, purposeful and meaningful (other adjectives besides!) In a word, Integral.

Unlike adults in our society, she wasn't spending three-fourths of a day in intense preparation--utilizing whatever she found around the house for materials and props and proceeding to carry out a complete partly-planned, partly-inspired, always purely creative project--for any reason whatsoever other than the project's own longing for realization and fruition.

I wondered then, are children integral to begin with? Is integrity inherent in humans? Is it possible?! that through socialization, education and child-rearing, integrity begins little by little to erode and dis-integrate, until eventually the adult, by now thoroughly trained and encouraged to behave unethically and to take every advantage of others in the name of self-interest, comes to believe that the pursuit of money, things and social status is the end-all? That he/she and they can't even remember, don't even know what integrity is?

Integrity, Integrate, Integral... Dis-Integrate, Dis-Integration....

After I began to think about Integrity, I began to wonder who an Integrated, Integral Adult whose Integrity was fully uncorrupted and intact would be -- and here's what I imagined:

Integral meaning 'whole'-- I imagine an integral adult has the spiritual, emotional, mental and physical, both inside and outside, more or less in balance. I imagine an integral adult would generally, if not always, behave with consideration and kindness to others, because he/she would recognize the critical importance and responsibility of trying not to damage the well-being of self or others. I imagine the integral adult would know how to listen to him/herself and to others in an attentive, non-judgmental and open-minded way--not feeling threatened-- because the sense of self is peaceful to begin with. I also imagined the integral adult would know how to listen to and trust his/her own heart, knowing when yes is right, knowing when no is right. I imagine an integral adult would enjoy this day with a glad heart, being aware of the temporal nature of everything in this universe, being aware of the simple, gentle beauty in all creation, knowing well enough that whatever happens, in the cosmic scope, It's okay.

I don't know anyone...well the Dalai Lama does come to mind....