My Mother Was Silenced

I've wriiten poetry my whole life and now I am putting music to it so people can feel the ideas. 

Feelings are enticing passage ways.

I've been focused on external goals instead of connecting with creation flow - the mysterious beast that it is. 

Chasing creation instead of a worldly goal is the way I want to go - because my worldly goal is easy, understandable, tangible and mundane in comparison to the magic whispering your name...come, come and play inside creation.

I am a storyteller of feelings, dreams and the deep dark underbelly of the human universe. I travel to the places that when spoken of, a wave sweeps across a room and one realizes most ears have been plugged. Hidden coves of sparkling ether and tight crevasses that make your stomach churn. I return from these lands broken, bruised and buzzing with news and pearls of wisdom but I cower in the far off corner of society, embarrassed by my disheveled appearance, fearful of being misunderstood, thrown to the wolves of my mind, not recognized for the traveler I am, dreading the dirt casing covering my skin, nothing more than the broken eggshells of my birth, will be so repulsive others will squirm away, and the most undesirable fate known to mankind, loneliness, will befall me as it befell the traveler who preceded me. And to myself I say, perhaps Dear Earthling, you should find another patch of grass whose residence think dirt looks good on you. 

I have no interest in sharing a raft down the creative river. I prefer to float alone with friends nearby. This is why you'll find me off to the side with my headphones in, but I'm still at the party, aren't it? 

My mother was silenced, excluded, abused, ignored, and mocked because she displayed joy, imagination, romanticism and flaws. This treatment was dolled out by her own family, those closest to her, those who were intended to encourage and protect her. Her great ability to love made her strong enough to endure this treatment. Her daughter, witnessed this treatment her entire life, naturally adopting a worldview that this family dynamic and treatment of a mother, a woman, a daughter, and a wife, a human was standard, a universal norm. How surprised, confused, bitter and sad she was growing up and witnessing that this was not so in other households and friend groups. Threw other people she saw glimpses of a beautiful alternative. Envying it, despising it, and eventually embracing her own desire to have to have it, she set off, though almost unknowingly, on a bold adventure to find it. She crossed the globe to ancient countries to brush her fingers across history, found herself in sticky situations on tropical islands, and ripped off her own skin to became a savage and earned her place in a crew of pirates simply by saying yes. Then she has no idea what happens but she's out on the bow with her arms outstretched and her headphones in. 

My mother was never the problem. My judgements of her were formed in synchrony with those around me, my father & brother and extended family stuck labels all over her. Labels  I grew to fear ever come near me. I squirm away and ache inside. I realize with mild panic that I am more like her than I ever imaged and fear for my life. But then I remember she was never the problem, it was the people she surrounded herself with. She lived with haters. Her life would be very different were she surrounded by different people. I cut myself out of that community and transplanted myself in a rich soil where I could heal and grow bigger than my wildest imagination.

Cha WildeComment