Have A Little Middle

 Am I so high maintenance that you feel it is better to shut me out when I am screaming for help?  Or did your store of caring run dry, because you are killing me.  Boy, I ask for simple things that were supposed to be easily given.  The truth, your trust, your honesty, your love.  Unconditional if you could give it.  But I would take any love you could offer; any sweet words whispered in my ear to let me know that you are still here and not a figment of my imagination.  The darkness, it rolls in on me sometimes, and it pulls me further under its murky depths the longer I struggle to keep my head above water.  Screaming and gurgling in the rushing water, I reach my hand out hoping to grasp yours and find nothing but air.  I can feel the arms of despair clutching at my legs, desperately trying to pull me into its final embrace.  Where are you when I need you the most?  The hand you so readily offered before has evanesced into a white mist quietly retracting into the everlasting night.

What is it about me that drew your eyes that first day we met?  What made you stay?  Made you say all those lovely things?  Spend all those lovely nights, just the two of us, whispering promises as we lay in each other's arms?  Why do you pull this all away now?

The only thought circling my mind is that it is all my fault.  I dragged you in and pulled you too close when you wanted distance.  Pace yourself, you said.  I will come when I can but pace yourself, girl.  But being the fool I am, your words went unhindered and I dove headfirst into what could have been eternity with the love of my life but has turned into Hell full of tears and broken promises.

Now you have left me behind as you venture out to find a more normal girl.  One to keep you company and prevent you from wearing the smothering cloak of loneliness.  We will still be friends, you promise.  But I cannot be with you like this.  I cannot be want you want, what you need.  I am just not a strong enough man for you and you deserve so much better than what I can offer.  Please understand...

My toes inch closer to the edge as a sharp wind blows passed, whipping my skirt into a fervent frenzy.  I wonder if six stories would be high enough.  But it is poetic for me to do it here, on the roof of the coffee shop where I first saw you and felt that spark.  I can only pray my body lands correctly, my head makes contact with the cement below.  I need this to end.  If it fails, you won't even be there at my hospital bed, crying into my comatose form as you question why it had to be this way.  What you could have done to change things and prove to me you were real.  That our love was real.  Because in the end, it was all a fantasy of my ever-lonely mind.  The product of an over-active imagination too used to picturing and planning other people's supposed lives.

(Originally posted to Lingering Aftermath of Illspoken Words, 11.20.2012.)

Is It An End Or A Beginning?

 It is a scary thing to see your life come to an end before it has even really begun.  Everything you have ever strived to accomplish and even those that have not yet crossed your mind surface in the most painful way imaginable; taunting you because that small part of your mind telling you that you can accomplish anything suddenly turns into a very prominent noise telling you how much you have failed.  Then your brain returns back to why your life is ending anyways; was it something you did or did fate just deal you a cruel hand?  Was it honestly your choice to jump from the roof of your apartment building or was it always destined to be your fate?  

As the ground rushed up to meet me, I could not help but wonder which answer was right and how could I have let things get as far as they did.  I have always been in control of  my own life every step of the way but somewhere along the line that control skipped tracks and here I am, about to introduce my skull to the pavement rushing closer.  It is funny how so many thoughts can go through my head in such a short time considering how quickly I was free-falling.  It feels like time slowed down for me so that I could have enough time to seriously contemplate my situation.  How did I get here?

The coffee shop on the corner of Castle and Broadway was my favorite place to linger.  I had my favorite chair in an alcove; a mini chaise lounge of the most obnoxious gold and orange, next to the window looking out to the busy fountain courtyard of the square.  It was here I found the most inspiration for my writing as I imagined the lives of the people outside; who they were rushing to meet or who from they were trying to escape, what greeting they used to meet their lover when they walked in the front door, how many children they had and how many they actually wanted.  It was a location rich with local color and culture.  The baristas all knew me by sight as well as a few of the other regulars who knew better than to be sitting in my chair at 6 p.m. on the weekends.  Jimmy had just brought my medium, decaf, dark roast coffee when he walked in.  A man I had never seen before walking with purpose and confidence towards the counter.  There was nothing readily special about him compared to the others I have seen walk in but something still held my attention.  I could not tear my eyes away from the structure of his face - ears too small for the size of his head, nose too big, and a jawline any sculpture would fantasize about.

(Originally posted to Lingering Aftermath of Illspoken Words, 10.31.2012.)

Now That You're Gone, All That Remains is the Ghost of Love

 I swear, the most interesting conversations I have are with my boss' wife during lunch.  Last week was all on religion, it being Ash Wednesday and she a Catholic.  Today was all about my dark side.

I told her how back in high school, I was dark, wore only black, never smiled, and talked about ripping a guy's heart out and nailing it to his wall.  People were scared of me.  My coworkers now don't believe it looking at me - sweet little me with my nerdy glasses and dress clothes.  But I had a serious dark issue back then.  She asked what I'm scared of and I listed off items, mainly of the supernatural quality and she asked "Do you have any non dark ones?"  Only a few came to mind - moving, finding a man I can trust, having children.  But the bulk is made up of ghosts, zombies, vampires, mutilations, etc.  She theorized that this darkness came about after my brother's untimely, gruesome death and upon contemplation...I think she's right.  Tony died in May (Mother's Day) when I was 13 - the last week or so of 7th grade.  8th grade was when I changed to the dark side and my half-goth appearance, my delvation into Wicca, my renouncement of god.  She asked why I'm not like that anymore and I told her the dreams are still bad, my thoughts turn to supernatural murders, and I tend to think pessimistically.  This was really all brought about by my telling her how much I like ravens...how they are revered by one group and considered a death omen by another.

This thinking re-ignited my love of "The Raven" and how I'm really terrible at analysis.  What goes on in the poem?  Mooching from a Yahoo site, someone posted some commentary on the symbolism in the poem that I find fascinating:

"In this poem, one of the most famous American poems ever, Poe uses several symbols to take the poem to a higher level. The most obvious symbol is, of course, the raven itself. When Poe had decided to use a refrain that repeated the word "nevermore," he found that it would be most effective if he used a non-reasoning creature to utter the word. It would make little sense to use a human, since the human could reason to answer the questions (Poe, 1850). In "The Raven" it is important that the answers to the questions are already known, to illustrate the self-torture to which the narrator exposes himself. This way of interpreting signs that do not bear a real meaning, is "one of the most profound impulses of human nature" (Quinn, 1998:441).

Poe also considered a parrot as the bird instead of the raven; however, because of the melancholy tone, and the symbolism of ravens as birds of ill-omen, he found the raven more suitable for the mood in the poem (Poe, 1850). Quoth the Parrot, "Nevermore?"

Another obvious symbol is the bust of Pallas. Why did the raven decide to perch on the goddess of wisdom? One reason could be, because it would lead the narrator to believe that the raven spoke from wisdom, and was not just repeating its only "stock and store," and to signify the scholarship of the narrator. Another reason for using "Pallas" in the poem was, according to Poe himself, simply because of the "sonorousness of the word, Pallas, itself" (Poe, 1850).

A less obvious symbol, might be the use of "midnight" in the first verse, and "December" in the second verse. Both midnight and December, symbolize an end of something, and also the anticipation of something new, a change, to happen. The midnight in December, might very well be New Year's eve, a date most of us connect with change. This also seems to be what Viktor Rydberg believes when he is translating "The Raven" to Swedish, since he uses the phrase "ets sista natt var inne, " ("The last night of the year had arrived"). Kenneth Silverman connected the use of December with the death of Edgar's mother (Silverman, 1992:241), who died in that month; whether this is true or not is, however, not significant to its meaning in the poem.

The chamber in which the narrator is positioned, is used to signify the loneliness of the man, and the sorrow he feels for the loss of Lenore. The room is richly furnished, and reminds the narrator of his lost love, which helps to create an effect of beauty in the poem. The tempest outside, is used to even more signify the isolation of this man, to show a sharp contrast between the calmness in the chamber and the tempestuous night.

The phrase "from out my heart," Poe claims, is used, in combination with the answer "Nevermore," to let the narrator realize that he should not try to seek a moral in what has been previously narrated (Poe, 1850). " 

Interestingly enough, the raven also appears in folklore of the Ilse of Man, where my ancestors came from.

The following is a tidbit from "http://www.whats-your-sign.com/raven-symbolism.html"

"the raven's intelligence is possibly its most winning feature. Indeed, these birds can be trained to speak. This speaking ability leads into the legend of ravens being the ultimate oracle.
In fact, the raven is often heard to cackle utterances that sound like "cras, cras." The actual word cras is tomorrow in Latin. This lends more fuel to the legendary fires that distinguish the raven as a bird who can foretell the future, and reveal omens and signs.

Countless cultures point to the raven as a harbinger of powerful secrets. Moreover, the raven is a messenger too, so its business is in both keeping and communicating deep mysteries.
Raven symbolism of wisdom and knowledge-keeping is connected with the Welsh hero Bran, the Blessed whose name means raven. Bran was the holder of ancestral memories, and his wisdom was legendary. So much so, that he had his head (the vessel of his powerful wisdom) removed and interred in the sacred White Mount in London. Ravens are still roosting there (in the Tower of London), and they're thought to keep Bran's wisdom protected and alive by their presence.

Other Native North American tribes saw the raven as the bringer of light. In fact, southwestern tribes (Hopi, Navajo, Zuni) felt the raven was flew out from the dark womb of the cosmos, and with it brought the light of the sun (dawning of understanding). Consequently, the raven is considered a venerated bird of creation, for without the raven, humans would forever live in darkness.

Dr. Carl Jung deemed raven symbolism to represent the shadow self, or the dark side of the psyche. I very much like this. Why? Because by acknowledging this dark side, we can effectively communicate with both halves of ourselves. This offers liberating balance, and facilitates tremendous wisdom (something the raven would be very pleased with).
In other words, through the consistent unveiling of inner depths, and the positive/active utilization of inner impulses the esoteric secrets become exposed to the light of our own consciousness. This is at the crux of what the raven speaks to me. "

Food for thought.

(Originally posted on Mindful Fiascos, 2.29.2012.)