collapsing boundaries

i can see for miles and miles and miles and miles

seems as though i find myself tripping 

searching

not done yet with this young adult battle

struggle through your 20s

find who you are!

learn what you want!

get bruised and bumped along the way

coming up empty

after attempting to hold all the other hearts in the room

coming up empty

after attempting to close all the doors that open to pain

coming up empty

after attempting to sing it forth into the clear blue

the steady rise and fall of another day plods on

my bed remains at its faithful post

reminding me of my current duty

dress, eat, sleep, work, exist, grieve

what luscious tears i cry!

what dramatic typical beauty!

stopped by the night, by a thought, by nothing at all...

...i remember i like being untethered

i remember i like following my whimsy

taking the long way home

staying up late without someone pulling me in

i remember my other duty:

give, serve, help, forgive, surrender, submit

there's so much work to do. SO MUCH WORK. focus can shift, in moments of breaking bread with the street scavengers. focus shifts when i drop the mirror, pick up the plow...

where is the garden? time to go back.

and then i found something like contentment

seeing myself grasp for more more more
doing the desperation dance
the awkward thing where i pull you close
push you away
get in over my head with about 13 different oceans
all over the place
and loving it

i sit back, watching myself
chuckling at the lessons i seek to learn
the hard way
finding my way and losing it again
but surfacing with myself along the lost
roads i travel

my sister is here too
we don't travel alone
we both hit similar road blocks
make things harder for ourselves
it's the kline girl way
but we move forward
time marches on
and with each other, with our G-d
somehow there is a road of love
ever unwinding under our feet

small moments, here and there
coming to me out of evenings alone
laundry ignored
paintbrush brandished
a bright red flash across the canvas
a spray painted prayer
this is my temple
this is my contentment
this is my solstice

my evening

step 1 - bike home
step 2 - crumble with unexpected grief in the shower
step 3 - commence to indulge in an all-out ugly, desperate, cry session
step 4 - somehow get yourself warm and make dinner while listening to "everything's not lost" by coldplay
step 5 - clean up from dinner
step 6 - light all the candles in the house and turn out the lights
step 7 - write a song
step 8 - continue on...

recovery

letting it happen slowly. though wishing it'd speed. up.
i wish i was the first thing you thought of when you woke up.
or someone's muse, perhaps?
been dealt a big blow.
shows me how much i can count on others.
to fail me.
yet i just keep coming back for more.
now is my chance to *do* this thing
this okay on my own thing
this self-care thing
this self-soothing thing
quiet the desperation and take care of
body
heart
soul
sleep.
i keep looking to others/society for tips on how to do that...
how to be okay alone.
as an adult.
secure in myself.
they offer horrible suggestions like a one night stand
random dates
flirty friends
and beer
when i know what i need is to face the void
the big void left in my life, in my heart, in my space
face it. cry into it, lean into it.
and someday, find that the sun beckons me out.

sigh. for now, i will lay my weary body to rest and sleep deep, waiting for the next day to take control.

soul night

dancing at lo fi. girls and boys and men and women and drinks and baby powder dusting the soles of our shoes. slick ground, sweat dripping between bodies. outside the smoke's breaking. inside, people are losing their phones, finding their friends, dancing and grooving and moving and jiving it's on and on and on the DJ spins the rare and old ol' LP's. 48s? What are they called? I go looking for comfort, for human connection. With a hole in my chest, I can't deny the pull of contact. The allure of dancing close to other bodies. It hasn't been long at all but I don't do well with this type of thing. Desperation gives my breath it's quicker pace, shallow. And I sigh. I sigh to myself. With nobody around I remember to take it easy. I forget how.

She used to ask me "What's wrong?" every single time I ever let out even the tiniest of sighs. It's funny how the things that aggravated the heck out of me at the time now feel nostalgic...

anger

it takes a lot to make me angry. i'm like a big golden retriever that is just not interested in conflict; i want to be everyone's new best friend. i have an amazing capacity to let things go; i tend to be laid back and take hurtful moments with a grain of salt, guessing and hoping that they weren't meant to be hurtful. i move through disagreements with grace and ease, apologizing, forgiving, moving forward.

so when i can't sleep because i'm so angry, i know something is wrong.

when i have to get up and scribble something down in my notebook so that i remember what happened, i know something is wrong.

when my throat is tight and won't loosen, when i toss and turn through the night, when i can't focus on work, i know something is wrong.

when the memory of how bad it felt isn't just a one-time occurrence but gets mixed in my mind across months and months of late night teary eyed times, i know something is wrong. and something needs to change.

September my Nemesis

Every year you bring an unwanted shift. Can I weather your drama? The 20s are over rated. I dream of 50, slow, settled. Hiding is futile. Distraction fails. Clock out clock in repeat. Alone and yet inextricably connected to it all, every heart, every beat, every day. Winding through the hours, performing, mediocre show of it. Perhaps the wind will pick up. Corduroys and plaid = Autumn freshness. Come to me now, you dead-leaf fire crackle. Change, will you finish with me soon? False dichotomies can't rule me no more. Get up.

Hello, 26. Sad to meet you.

Again, with the angst.
The melodrama, bane of my existence, seems to sabotage
Otherwise simple and good things like birthdays.

Unable to help myself, I need.
In a straight jacket of self-focused emotion,
I struggle.
Willing myself to feel less.
Calm down.
Don't move a muscle.
Just breath even, now, child.
Go to sleep, little baby.

You little baby. 26 years ago yesterday.
Nestled between the loving gaze of grandparents
and parents,
Through the hospital window, being bathed,
you were about 5 minutes old and already mad about it.
Fragile life, black shock of hair.
9 lbs, 2 oz.
A bit large, a bit clumsy.
Wiggly and happy, born.

Now seeking to fit myself into packages that are easy for the world to take,
Segments that fit between the Important Things,
I know it's best to take me in small doses.
I remember with a saddened familiarity
that I am too much. Too intense. Too serious.
Too emotional.

The heart can only take so much prodding.
Poking. Packing.
Eventually it swells. Breaks. Floods.
I've learned (surprise) that attempting to quell the storm
Only increases disaster.
So this tied up knots of a beating soul will be loosed.

While I know no one other soul should have to bear it,
I hope a bit of my weight will sometimes be welcomed into the
open field of a fellow traveler.

While I know I get extra sad at bedtime (and always have),
I hope a portion of my tears will sometimes be welcomed into the
warm embrace of another adventurer.

Age 8, at bedtime, I'd put my forehead to the floor.
Commence to whine and groan.
Crawl on my hands and knees.
Carpet soft but firm on the top edge of my face,
I'd circle the coffee table.
Eventually the whole family urged me with chuckles,
"Kerri! Just GO TO BED!"
I'd collapse, cry, confused.

Eventually I plan to cease translating
that message into rejection
And find my cool soft pillow, and my God,
first.

Holding my head up...

I got stuck tonight. Lost track of what's important.

I don't know where I stand; in relationships, with my job, with my life. My footing is loose, the sands are shifting beneath my feet. And I keep looking somewhere outside of myself to try to find an anchor. This has left me floating, wandering, tossed by the waves. I keep looking outside of myself for an answer, something to hold onto. But I come up empty handed every time.

The wind has been relentless today. It's picking up strength even now. When I walk around my neighborhood tomorrow leaves and branches will be strewn across the ground, much like the pieces of my life that I have been trying to fit together.

One strong gust of wind. One difficult weird day. And it all crashes to the ground.

It's better this way. More true to reality. So scatter me with the detritus of the outside world. Leave me there on the street. Don't sweep me aside and throw me away. Leave me here. Don't gather me up in your arms. Leave me here. I'll stretch out. Find my footing eventually. Until then, the moon will feed me her shine.

Traveling in the Dark

For some reason, when the day passes into night, I feel utterly helpless and alone. When I pay attention to it, when the day does its changing of the guard and turns into night it can knock the strength out of me. Most of the time, though, I don’t pay attention to it. I let it pass by without a word. When I’m outside, or somewhere with big windows, the sight of this change leaves me feeling vulnerable and out of control. The night, the darkness, has an ever-steady advance, the pace of which we can’t control, yet remains constant each day of our lives. When I find myself across the table from someone who knows me, who sees me, who is listening to me, particularly at this time of day, rather than feeling scared, I feel somehow at one with the world and it’s changing sky. I feel a part of the family of the universe, rather than fearful of it. For some reason, being with other people is such a necessary part of survival. It drives out the fear, gives me a sense of courage.

In church yesterday, we told the story of travelers who were looking into the darkest of nights, fixing their gazes on a point of light, and picking up their feet over and over again to follow after that little yet powerful brightness. Without a job, without an income, without any sense of material security in life right now, my stance in life feels dark and cold and lost. There’s nothing to orient my life towards. Yet I do keep looking up at the sky. Literally. I can’t keep my eyes off of it. I keep taking really poor quality photos of the sunset with my iPod. As I watch the night, perhaps at some point, a light will break through the darkness and I’ll end up kneeling next to the lunchbox of some dirty animal. And inside that place of common meal, in the mud and muck and earth and fertile ground, I’ll perhaps find the face of the Divine. And let’s be honest, it probably won’t come in the form of material security or a job. No, the face of the Divine ends up being something I see in the face of my friends who get a glimmer of hope from having me around. It ends up being somehow found in the cold handshake of a homeless person who tells me their name, looks me in the eye. The face of the Divine is magical, beautiful, spiritual, sparkling light that is everywhere all at once and chooses to show up for me in the mundane routines of parking my car, putting on my shoes. With the darkness descending even now on this coffee shop, on these lost and wandering shoulders, I’ll remember to listen to my dreams as those travelers did and take a different way home.