Frightfullly Delightful

Hallowe'en, the season of Fear, is just around the corner .  

Fear has always been something that I don't like to think about often but when I do it makes me think of possibilities that spawn worries that create panic that cause turmoil which results in Drama!

Fear is a bit different from Fright in that Fright is to me sort of something quick and intense.  Fear is something that lives in our mind whereas Fright is something that sort of sideswipes our consciousness leaving us gasping for breath.  Fright is not unlike the seemingly instantaneous explosion of foam that occurs when one opens a bottle of Coke or Pepsi (no favoritism will be detected on this blog).

 Fright is probably what my  nine year old sister felt when she returned to her bed in her darkened room and discovered someone lying in the bed next to her --a result of a misplaced idea  of fun on the part of our little brother.  The piercing scream that echoed throughout the household some 45 years ago is a shared memory of everyone who was at home that night.

The night that I was alone, on the farm, watching the late, late, late show...Psycho.. and heard someone knock on the door caused me what I believe to be my greatest and most memorable Fright.  I could feel the colour drain from my face and would have probably fainted if I had been standing instead of lying on  the sofa.

If Fright is quick and piercing , then I see  Fear as been something constant and aching.    We Fear  not only the darkness  (as my sister did for years and years to come)  but we also Fear the unknown and the painfully imagined. If we use our Fear based imagination to rule our lives we allow ourselves to become attuned to Fear filled  self-talk that  is coloured with dark negativity accompanied by unfounded certainty and conjured disasters resulting in  the aforesaid panic, turmoil and the  ultimate common sense destroying entity called Drama. 

People live their whole lives with Fear and its consequences. The Fears of being alone,  being worthless, being wrong, being poor, being sick, being abandoned rule the world. Tears are shed, letters  written, phone calls  made, texts and twitters sent,  bargains put forth, begging  done, and prayers  offered all to assuage the ache and torment encapsulated in form of Drama that these Fear demons invoke.

Fears are bigger than the Frights of Hallowe'en.  If only we could just dump them in some witch's cauldron or shoot them to the moon on a black cat's tail  on that one  Frightful night of the year.  The howling, screeching, and strange things going bump in the night would be deafening and maybe the world would really look a whole lot different the next morning.

Fear Itself Is Undefined

© Bianca Flores

I lay on my bed soaking my pillow with my tears,
I try to remember exactly what it is that I fear.
Is it the passing of time or the love that I lack?
Is it the mistakes that I've made or the fact that I can't bring the past back?
What is it that I'm afraid of?
Why am I so scared?
Is it the people I've hurt or the people that have hurt me?
Am I afraid of everything that I cant seem to see?
Is it the love of a friend, or the loss of my family?
Is it the possibility that my life can end in a tragedy?
What is it that I fear most?
What do my eyes say I'm scared of?
Is it the sun that sets but won't seem to rise?
Is it the hope that I have that always seems to die?
Is it the trust of a person that I cannot begin to grasp?
Is it all the memories of my horrid past?
Is it me?
Can it possibly be that the thing I fear most is the thing I can't be?
The things that I try to understand?
The me that I try to be with when I'm feeling sad?
The person I'm expected to be? Is that what I fear? . . .
I think the thing I fear most . . .is me

Source: Fear Itself Is Undefined, Fear Poem http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/fear-itself-is-undefined#ixzz29yQY1Aev
www.FamilyFriendPoems.com

Hush Little Baby

Sometimes when I am at my emotional lowest I hear the echo of someone in my past saying to me, "Oh GROW up already!". 

  What does this phrase "Grow Up" mean? 

 Does it mean grow physically?  Lord knows  I've done that. 

Does it mean Grow in Accepting responsibility? I've done that. (at least I like to think I have). 

Does it mean Grow in being able to drive, vote, own land?
Again, been there, done that.

 Yes, I have pretty much done it all when it comes to Growing Up but no matter how hard I try ,  it never seems that Growing Up  can  erase the feeling part of life  which  waits in the  lowest corners of my bag of emotional needs and wants.

I am beginning to suspect in spite of Growing Up it's more than  a choice we make to put ourselves into  seemingly bottomless wells of despair, angst, hurt, and hardship.  There is something in the wallowing and the woeing  that we seem to be destined  to do.

  Maybe it's natural for us humans of 'little brain' and 'great emotional need' to continually and without remorse, place our mental health on the edge of  the deepest  blackest void we can imagine, absent of love , hope, or understanding.

I have often thought that if we as adults cried as long and as loudly with as much frustrated effort in order to achieve whatever goal is required to satisfy an infant's needs such as nourishment, comfort, and love, then we adults would be doomed to neurosis, dysfunction, and depression.

Maybe this state of darkness exists because we really don't travel far from being that helpless, needy, and fragile little life form that emerges from our mother's womb.

Think about it. 

If what I have written is true, then few of us, if any, have truly left the cradle.

 

 

I Know You Want To...

Thanks be to God that tears are silent and that they make no noise, no crashing or squishing as they roll out and down.  They aren't even coloured.  They give off no odor nor do they leave a mark after they dry.

It would be a strange world to be able to see their traces on people's faces as they walked down the street, or into work or school with tear stained cheeks full of colours perhaps like purple or even brown, or some other  combination of that would have to wear off instead of being washed off.  It would even be more interesting if they fell in patterns that revealed the emotion that triggered their being generated such as circles for regret, squares for love lost, spirals for a mournful and painful episode, and trapazoids perhaps for a combination of gratitude and happiness.

I wonder if tears did make a noise as they welled up and spilled over, would they make a  crunching sound like a snow ball being rolled on a crisp winter's day or more like the incessant urgency of a pot of boiling liquid?

If they smelled, I bet they would smell like the hot tar on a parking lot at a beach in July.  What if they were as sticky on the cheeks as that tar is on the toes?

The absence of colour, sound, and smell of those liquid drops of human emotion only assures me that we all have had them and will have them again.

It must also mean that it is really  okay to shed some tears--privately or not--without having to explain or be ashamed. 

So..go ahead..do it.

I know you want to. 

I know I do.

 

 

I cried and cried and cried when I watched this movie.  :( :(:(

 

Thankful

The  weekend of Canadian  Thanksgiving has just ended.

 As I look at that sentence I realize just how true it is for most people  (myself included). I am referring to the fact that although most Canadians do give Thanks for our many Blessings that have been showered upon our citizens and country in what seems to be in a disproportional quantity compared to so many in the rest of the world; it is also true, that this feeling and outpouring of Thanksgiving does appear to end, sometimes abruptly , sometimes gradually as soon as the last of the turkey is carefully casseroled and the pumpkin pie crust has been quietly dumped into the the cat dish.   This occurs inspite of the  public displays of gratitude through feasting, card giving, family visits and all the  activities as those occasions  enfold with a degree of  sincerity of  the moment as is  the utterance of Love Poems on Valentine's Day, Christmas Cheer in the Season, and solemn Remembrances on November 11.

I believe that this feeling of unbridled and humbling appreciation directed to One's idea of a Supreme Being , even if this Supreme Being  is, as it is for some, One's Ownself, is in actuality very short lived.


I wonder what would happen to our attitude if we had determined that we observe not  a weekend of Thanksgiving but, instead,  a holiday that noted all the things we were Un-Thankful for.

 Would we limit the Un-Thankfulness to only one weekend as we do  now with the thankfulness following a  Thankful weekend? 

Instead of turkey and stuffing, we could serve Spam and Cabbage! Everyone would stay home, far from family and friends all the while listing all the displeasing habits and life choices they and others have made.  We could rant about our governments,  jobs, bosses, co-workers, and spouses. Pumpkin Pie would be traded for porridge without the sugar and the Horn of Plenty would be turned into a box of KD and wieners.

Would THAT be the solution ?  Would we then be Thankful the rest of the year? 

I bet this guy would be quite Thankful--quite Thankful indeed!

Country Living

Not too long ago someone spoke to me about the lifestyle of those who live in rural Canada.

Their breathy awe filled voice spoke with phrases sprinkled with pastoral metaphors, odes, and similes  when they described the abundance of Nature's Beauty,  the Simplicity and Quietness of Daily Living, the Purity of Air and Water, the Relaxation,  Freedom from Schedules and Traffic found in the Crime Free Rural Lifestyle, as well as the total Economic Freedom  from Financial Burdens as a result of the  Ability to Live Off The Land.

I let them speak.  I let them fantasize. I let them think that the  Nirvana type lifestyle in their mind's eye of country living was every bit as good as they dreamed.  I did not contradict or explain, or 'point out', or correct. 

I let them ignore the presence of 150 pound  security dog in the yard , the building full of  tools such as: chains,  hammers from claw to sledge, generators, gas tanks, saws, wagons,  ATV,  snowmobile, axe and .22 rifle. The majority of these items my city friend would have  had a hard time even naming let alone using with efficiency or safety. 

 I avoided discussion of sewer pumps, sump pumps, water heaters, and cut off valves.  I did not point out the  shed filled with cut and cured wood for winter burning.

 I did not comment on the need for two well maintained  , gas filled vehicles needing to be plugged in for at least 4 months of the year 24/7...one to drive..the other to pull.

The existence and frequency of the siting of skunks, snakes, raccoons, squirrels porcupines, coyotes, deer, moose and occasional bear along with lynx and cougar were not discussed.

The absence of mosquito control, pest   inspectors, law enforcement officers, fire departments, water inspectors, plumbers, and electricians was not even touched upon.


Further to the conversations that did not take place, the incident of the neighbour walking 3 miles for help after his arm was caught in the baler, and his choosing to walk another mile even further as there were children playing in the first yard and he didn't want to upset them. 

This non conversation also did not cover the subject of blocked roads in winter and wet and washed out roads in summer. Nor was the possibility that the hour long trip to the nearest ER ward over icy roads during a snow storm that looms in the back of every rural resident's mind from October to March, ever mentioned or hinted at.

I am not quite certain why so many subjects were not touched upon with my Fantasizing Urban Innocent. Perhaps it was because I liked the idea of someone from the City being a little envious of my Country Bumpkin ways. But more likely the cause was because, deep down,  I was hoping against hope they would offer in some monetary way to trade living arrangements.

Alas, the offer didn't happen.

I am still enjoying my Pastoral Life free from Pollution, Crime, Social Pressures, and  am able to partake of  Nature's Seasonal Offerings that build Strength of  Character and  Instill Values that are  so often the result of there being 'No Where Else to Go'.




I suppose the pleasure of country life lies really in the eternally renewed evidences of the determination to live”--unknown

“The country life is to be preferred, for there we see the works of God; but in cities little else but the works of men. And the one makes a better subject for contemplation than the other.”

William Penn

Travels

It was a lovely trip.  Blue skies. The gold of harvested fields.  Balmy breeze.  Pleasant company.  Lots of interesting sites to visit and learn about.

My  fall 'holiday' included many observations about life and lifestyle choices giving one pause to wonder  just 'What is with that?' on more than one occasion.

For instance , the presence of a television  at the side of a rural highway.  It was difficult to determine if it was flat screened or not  due to the speed of our passing, but it did have an intact chassis and the rabbit ears were not evident.

After a day of perusing art galleries, tourist attractions, and guided tours of museums and cathedrals,  the most unusual item seen on that sunny cloudless day was an upright  14 ' aluminum boat situated in a grassy ditch, minus both trailer or owner; not to mention the total absence of water or fish. 

The following day while continuing on our travels we were treated to another 'what is with that?' type moment as we noticed the frame of a gas  Bar B Q on a roadside approach, fifteen or so miles from the nearest farm/ranch or town. 

The who? what? why? of these objects will never be known; but if one was to dwell in the metaphysical meaning of such a sightings, perhaps one would note that the television was perhaps doing the watching of the public instead of the other way around. Hopefully it might have found the continuous , monotonous and relentless repetition of the 'reality' programming it would have been exposed to as vehicles passed, and passed, and continued to pass in a boring, repetitious, unchanging litany of sameness  not unlike that which  the drivers of those same vehicles have to endure as they sit and watch what passes as action and intelligence on televisions around the world.

I could guess that the boat in the dry ditch might be a symbol of the hopelessness of weather variances on the prairies or simply a sign of a fisherman's frustration after a particularly disappointing foray into a freakishly frustrating fishing fiasco.

For sure the presence of a Bar B Q on the open  rural and treeless approach could be a sign of society's comment on omnivores and their eating habits. But I doubt it.  It probably was more a sign of a broken tail gate after a Rider's Game--win or lose.

Yes,  the sighting of all of the above can be stretched to fit some sort of weak metaphysical metaphor to describe the state of the world, but my last encounter with the culture that our society encircles is much more easier to understand.

It happened while waiting to transfer my baggage from one bus to anther on the last leg of my journey home.  A woman came up to me and asked if I smoked.  I replied in the negative.  She then handed me her Bic lighter and asked if I could light her cigarette for her.  I looked at the cigarette she held to her mouth and said, " It is already lit."   She repeated again , " Light my cigarette, please."  I repeated, "It is already lit."  She looked down at the glowing cigarette and simply said, "Oh". She took her lighter from my hand and wandered away.

Nope, there is not a metaphysical meaning behind this strange encounter.  There  is, to my mind at least, an interesting 'Sheldon like'  physical law behind it in  the fact  that there were two things  already 'lit'--- even if only one was actually smoking. 


                                     ---Bazinga!