The Universe, Red Cardinals, and I don't Love Ya!!!!!!!!

*warning: do not read if you are not open minded or do not have a sense of humor, some of the following may be offensive to your religion, or faith*

The universe, red cardinals

and I don’t love ya!!!

Freshly washed hair

Towel on head

Muted Sounds

Nature in pastel colored hymns

Birds, soft piano notes

Wind swishes a hug around my turbaned head

Spilled coffee

Towel is gone now

Hair still wet, I am cold now

Birds, shrilling loudly

Storm came through last night, blew man sized

Tree limbs down across the lane

I wish my towel back

Metal from the chair, my arm rest,

Hurts my elbow

We needed the rain. My Mom would say, “Thank you Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” She never really says “Thank God.” She does say “Thank the Universe.” I think it makes her feel safer, like including everything that is and ever was, but is afraid to commit to the word God. She said this morning she had an epiphany, that God is really the Sun. I told her, “Mom that is just Pagan belief. Like in Mother Earth, and Everything.” She said, “No, I really think it is not a he or she and that God is really the sun.”  Her saying that is like we are back living in the age of hieroglyphs or cave paintings and grunting our words like Morse cord. She is sincere. She is very aware, and in tuned with things, but sometimes way out there. But I like her that way. I was talking to her on the phone when a red cardinal flew towards her window and almost hit it. She was excited because she thinks her mother, my Grandmother sends a sign from Heaven, or wherever, The Universe, (my mom would say) because she has passed on, she sends a sign that is a red cardinal, because she loved birds, and cardinals especially. So that was my Mawmaw saying “Hello”, and getting into our conversation. She, my Mom, tried to leave a message on my Facebook page but wasn’t sure if it was my page or someone else. I don’t know why it’s confusing. I wonder if it’s more that her body has only so much give left in it and she gets tired, or frustrated, or her body hurts, and maybe she loses patience. Her body does hurt. She has fibromyalgia, which is a strange disease, or disorder, or thing that means her body gets tired, and hurts all over, and her brain gets foggy. Mine does too but it’s a different thing. 

I consider myself a Christian Agnostic. There. I am outed. I have said and you have read it here. I think I can be both, I know I can be because I am. I cannot commit to being ‘born again’ if it means I cannot be in a place where my Mom is when I die. I love her too much for that. Or my other pagan friends. Or family members. I feel that I can be Christian because I do have Jesus in my heart. I talk to him all the time and God too. But I don’t know about all the other religions, and I don’t want to condemn them because they haven’t said a phrase to make them go to a Heaven instead they go to a place and suffer for eternity. I know God is the ultimate judge, but there is too many inconsistencies with the ‘born again’ Christian religion, and it makes me feel like I am boxed in. And that others are boxed out. I do believe in Jesus, I love him, I think he was a funky hippie guy, He was an illusionist, and magician, and he just loved everybody. But here’s the way out there thing I’m thinking, don’t judge me for it, it’s just a thought. What if Jesus was everywhere at all times, if time is simultaneous and he was Buddha, and he was some other God also in another time, and another place, and her too, why not? But the agnostic part means simply I do not know. I will not know until I die, and hopefully I will know then. I wish to remember, if we do go at it again in another life, trying to be our most ultimate selves, the best of humanity, sort of karma-ish but without the bad stuff. The bad stuff just swallowing back into itself like a black hole, no eye for an eye. I don’t like that. I don’t believe in a Devil. I do believe in hell, but of the personal kind, the one here on Earth, the disorders, and diseased minds, This blog entry wasn’t supposed to be about heavy stuff, and religion, but it goes where it goes. So don’t bible thump me, don’t throw stones, or paint a scarlet letter on me, don’t  turn me to ash, don’t hate or judge me because I am real, and I am sincere, and I don’t wish anyone harm. I wish there wasn’t hate. But there is, and I will expound on that later, in fact that is part of, or some part of how all of this relates.

I am outside

No longer Alone

My youngest comes out

With her dimpled smile

And ready mind

She stables me

Not like an animal

Puts the blanket on me

Fluffs up the pillows

 Tells me she loves me

Before I have a chance to tell her first

This is what she says, my eight year old

Daughter, Raimey,

“Mom. Did you know that thirty ants can carry a whole watermelon? The whole watermelon. One L. Not two. And they have to be really strong ants, really strong.”

I say back to her, “And what else do you know?”

She replies, “Eighty hairs fall off the human head every day. When you brush. Or sometimes when you’re running sometimes the hairs can fall off. And when you are brushing, but you have to find a good brush. A smooth brush. But they can take a lot of hair out of your head. You can see it in the brush. I learned that from TV, because sometimes TV can make your brain rotten, but sometimes commercials can make you learn stuff.”

“What Stuff?” I ask.

She says back,

“Somewhere in L.A., I don’t know where that is, but like there’s this Friends For Change thing and what that means is that everybody is running and doing races, trying to get active, and go on big hamster wheels from strong boy parents who build them, they run about twenty seconds, I guess. You don’t want to change your style. You want to change by being active, run, throw a Frisbee, play football, it’s hard to describe. To be healthy.”  

Then she whispers to me in my ear,

“I see a red bird. I love red birds.”

Maybe she is her great grandmother’s daughter. Or rather like her I mean, because she is. And what things do we inherently get from our genetics? Can it be likes, and dislikes, and personal pet-peeves, or the way we walk, or laugh? Even if we have never met that person that is in our gene pool? I think so.

She tells me more of what she knows, my daughter, Raimey,

“Ladybugs. Their colors. Most of the colors that are seen are orange sometimes, and red. Usually red. Orange because they have been in the sun too long and they’ll dry out.”

I asked her what else she knows.

She said, “A whole lot, but just not much.”

She also said that she can whistle but her older sister cannot.
 I told her that I can whistle and my older sister can’t either. And she’s 47.

She, my daughter, Raimey, can also pick up a whole jug of milk just with her pinky finger, and that baffles her. She wonders why she can do that.

My oldest son

First born with sixteen years

Of Life behind him

Heads out to his first job today

Breaking down a deck

Has to find a crowbar and hammer

But does not know what a crowbar is

The heat is almost unbearable

A black hat to wear to keep the sun off

His face, I find for him

He turns it backwards

Wants to spray paint it all black

Thinks it will be sick, like a trucker hat

Brings Axe body spray in case he stinks

After he works

His Dad, just awoken

Tells him that is stupid

Give him a hug, I say back

They hug, half way

With a pat, and one shoulder

Not committing to the actual hug

The full body kind

I see you; I love you, just as you are

Kind of hug

I don’t like to be patted when I’m hugged. I don’t turn away first. I am aware of the comfort level of the person I hug. I remember my first hug with a friend I had just met, when we moved here to North Carolina. Amy Wallace. She and I are both sensitive, empathetic people. Both also very loving, and aware of the other person we are with, connected I guess. We had spent time together and were leaving, and saying goodbye and both wanted to hug each other but we both didn’t know if the other would be comfortable with that. And so we did. And we laughed. And it was awkward, but not. I full body hug her now of course, we’ve been friends for goodness, how long, ten years I guess. Maybe eight. She would know. A long time. I full body hug anyone I hug. I don’t pat. Please don’t pat me either. Also, what I really want to say here, and I really want you to hear, if anyone out there is reading this. Please don’t ever write, or text, or say in any form of communication there is to me, “Love Ya.” I hate that. I was banned from saying hate as a child by my Mom. I don’t know why. It’s negative, or it shuts down possibilities for growth, for change, for open thinking. But I really and truly hate someone saying “Love Ya.” It’s noncommittal. It means I love you but I’m not going to say I love you because I feel awkward, or I want to be informal, or I just like you, or I will not go all the way and actually say, “I love you.” It can be said to anyone, and it means nothing. To me anyway. So please, please, please, if you, my friend, or family member are reading this. Please don’t say “love ya” to me.

Please either do the xxxx’s and oooo’s thing or go all the way and say you love me. You. Not Ya. Thank you.

And I love you, dear reader, if you have read all the way to the end of this. If not, that’s okay. This blog is a purging of my thoughts, and a way to quiet the endless internal dialogue. I give myself permission, my brain to move, and be active, and then it’s time for my body to do the same.

 So goodbye.

 And ….

“I LOVE YOU.”