Tags:coffee, drama, Halloween, kids, school.
It was a morning like many before it and as many would be in the future.
Two children awoke to the urging of their mother; bleary eyes and messy heads slowly rose from their pillows.
“But I’m still tired,” one whined. “I refuse to believe it’s morning,” the other complained.
The mother insisted that, though the children were tired, morning it was and school would not be denied.
Dressing and the preparation and consumption of breakfast were uneventful. Lunches were made with some creativity born of desperate lack of funds and sheer boredom.
Teeth and hair were brushed, homework was checked, and then a dramatic discovery was made!
One item of homework was yet undone!
Hurriedly the older child ran to the mother’s computer to find a biography of Edgar Allen Poe and a copy of his poem “The Raven”. Once found, they were rapidly printed, and disaster was averted. (The mother had had experience with this sort of mishap before and now was used to allowing time for last-minute homework finishing activities.)
As time was nearing All Hallow’s Eve, a pumpkin was placed lovingly in a tote bag for the older child to take to school. (The younger child would be having an in-class party today, which this family’s funds did not help pay for since the funds were simply not there.)
Another last-minute bit of drama! Utensils were required for the older child to carve her pumpkin at school and none had been readied! A great rushing and rummaging commenced and, the specified items having been cobbled together, disaster was once again averted.
The children and the mother stumbled down the stairs, trying not to trip over kittens. They managed to exit the apartment while preventing the curious kittens from doing likewise. The matriarch of the cat family looked on disdainfully from the sofa.
Children and mother were ensconced in their conveyance, seatbelts were fastened, and driving began, with all necessary items being accounted for.
Casually, the mother inquired as to whether the older child had remembered her keys since the mother would be at school until evening. The older child’s face betrayed a feeling of dread and she angrily admitted she had forgotten them. A great gnashing of teeth (the mother’s) and spewing of venimous rage (the older child’s) filled the vehicle. (The younger child wisely remained quiet and waited for the storm to abate).
The mother remarked that she couldn’t give the older child her own keys, lest she, too, be unable to enter the family domicile. The older child was greatly agrieved. The mother racked her brain for a solution since time would not permit the retrieval of said child’s keys before the school bell should ring.
The mother had an epiphany as a solution was revealed to her: the older child would be dropped off at school (in a decidedly foul mood) and the mother and younger child would rush home. Once there, the mother would quickly fetch the forgotten keys and charge the younger child with their safe-keeping. He would then have them at the ready when the older child picked him up from school and this final disaster of the morning would be circumvented.
The mother, having completed the aforementioned crisis-management, then drove the younger child to school, depositing him at his classroom a mere three or four minutes late.
The mother returned to the car and drove home in an unhurried manner. Once parked under the carport of the apartment building in which she and her family dwelt, she sat for a moment in the car. She took a deep breath and mentally prepared herself for the chores and responsibilities yet to come during the day and nostalgically recalled peaceful summer mornings when alarm clocks and school lunches were unknown to the family.
She reflected that she was grateful the husband and father of the brood used his credit card to restock the household stores of coffee and half & half.
All would be well and life would continue, dramatically and peacefully, lovingly and angrily, dully and creatively, for those were the threads of the tapestry of her life.
Tags:funky, goddess, prayer, pronoia, rob brezsny.
and I don’t mean in the cool, musical way.
I was going to write something about that and my terrible recent case of foot in mouth disease (a problem when you’ve got such a big mouth, like I do),
BUT I changed my mind.
Instead I’ve decided to quit my pity party and put some beauty out there for y’all.
Positive ripples, and all that.
Courtesy of Rob Brezsny:
Prayer for You
I’m happy to announce that this is a perfect moment. It’s a perfect moment for many reasons, but especially because I have been inspired to say a gigantic prayer for all of you. I’ve been roused to unleash a divinely greedy, apocalyptically healing prayer for each and every one of you — even those of you who don’t believe in the power of prayer.
And so I am starting to pray right now to the God of Gods … the God beyond all Gods … the Girlfriend of God … the Teacher of God … the Goddess who invented God.
Dear Goddess, You who never kill but only change:
I pray that my exuberant, suave and accidental words will move you to shower ferocious blessings down on everyone who reads this benediction.
I pray that you will give them what they don’t even know they want — not just the boons they think they need but everything they’ve always been afraid to even imagine or ask for.
Dear Goddess, You wealthy anarchist burning heaven to the ground:
Many of the divine chameleons out there don’t even know that their souls will live forever. So please use your blinding magic to help them see that they are all wildly creative geniuses too big for their own personalities.
Guide them to realize that they are all completely different from what they think they are and more exciting than they can possibly imagine.
Make it illegal, immoral, irrelevant, unpatriotic and totally tasteless for them to be in love with anyone or anything that’s no good for them.
O Goddess, You who give us so much love and pain mixed together that our morality is always on the verge of collapsing:
I beg you to cast a boisterous love spell that will nullify all the dumb ideas, bad decisions and nasty conditioning that have ever cursed the wise and sexy virtuosos out there.
Remove, banish, annihilate and laugh into oblivion any jinx that has clung to them, no matter how long they’ve suffered from it, and even if they’ve become accustomed or addicted to its ugly companionship.
And please conjure an aura of protection around them so that they will receive an early warning if they are ever about to act in such a way as to bring another hex or plague or voodoo into their lives in the future.
Dear Goddess, sweet Goddess, You sly universal virus with no fucking opinion:
I pray that you will help all the personal growth addicts out there become disciplined enough to go crazy in the name of creation, not destruction.
I pray that you will teach them the difference between oppressive self-control and liberating self-control, awaken in them the power to do the half-right thing when it is impossible to do the totally right thing.
Arouse the Wild Woman within them — even if they’re men.
And please give them bigger, better, more original sins and wilder, wetter, more interesting problems.
Dear Goddess, You pregnant slut who scorns all mediocre longing:
I pray that you will inspire all the compassionate rascals communing with this prayer to love their enemies just in case their friends turn out to be jerks.
Provoke them to throw away or give away all the things they own that encourage them to believe that they are better than anyone else.
Show them how much fun it is to brag about what they cannot do and do not have.
Most of all, Goddess, brainwash them with your freedom so that they never love their own pain more than anyone else’s pain.
Dear Goddess, You psychedelic mushroom cloud at the center of all our brains:
The curiously divine human beings reading this prayer deserve everything they are yearning for and much, much more.
So please bless them with lucid dreams while they are wide awake and solar-energy-operated sex toys that work even in the dark and vacuum cleaners for their magic carpets and a knack for avoiding other people’s hells and their very own 900 number so that everyone has to pay to talk to them and a secret admirer who is not a psychotic stalker.
Dear Goddess, You fiercely tender, hauntingly reassuring, orgiastically sacred feeling that is even now running through all of our soft, warm animal bodies:
I pray that you provide everyone out there with a license to bend and even break all rules, laws and traditions that keep them apart from the things they love.
Show them how to purge the wishy-washy wishes that distract them from their daring, dramatic, divine desires.
And teach them that they can have anything they want if they’ll only ask for it in an unselfish way.
And now dear God of Gods, God beyond all Gods, Girlfriend of God, Teacher of God, Goddess who invented God, I bring this prayer to a close, trusting that in these mysterious moments you have begun to change everyone out there in the exact way they’ve needed to change in order to express their soul’s code.
Amen. Awomen. And glory halle-fucking-lujah.
Tags:"reality", beginning, blogging.
Or, jumping on the blog bandwagon (I’m so unoriginal).
I mean, I’ve been blogging intermittently on mySpace for some time, but I never really counted it. I recently, timidly, mentioned it to the fearless Molly Blue Dawn and she included it in her blog round-up. (Scary!) Then I realized that no one outside of mySpace could comment and stuff.
Big decision, now I’m making it “for real.”
Not that anyone really reads it anyway…
On the other hand, if you are reading this and you want to see my earlier posts on mySpace, you can find them here: mySpace blog