For The Record, My Heart Is Sore

All I want to say is that my heart is sore.

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The Struggle Is Where We Find The Beauty

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“If there was a place to get to where everyone was happy and whole, we’d stop making art.

There would be no music.

There would be nothing left to write about.

It would be a flat, expressionless existence instead of the one precious life we have.

The struggle is where we find the beauty.”

~Kate Bartolotta

God Of Wonders

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The first time I heard this song was on a warm summer’s evening here in our little cowboy town in BC, in a huge tent, played on acoustic guitar by a guy named Cam who was visiting from another city.  Others too, cracked out their guitars and jammed.  Anyone who knew the words sang along beautifully and with heart.

That was the church fellowship that I used to feel was like family.

Most of those people eventually turned their backs on me when I left the abusive ex, because of their misconceptions and misguided ideas, but God never will.  He knows the whole story.

Mummer’s Dance – by Loreena McKennitt

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(This post was originally written in my secret blog on January 1, 2013, but I wasn’t ready to share it at the time).

I heard this for the first time just now, in the background of a video called “The Wounded Healer”, about which I read in this thread on a fb group called Highly Sensitive Souls:

http://www.facebook.com/groups/highlysensitives/permalink/10151224146327153/?comment_id=10151224151837153&notif_t=like

It is the first song to which I have been able to listen without feeling agony, in the past week or two… I don’t know how long. I’ve lost track of days. I am enveloped in darkness.

I do not feel happy. The whole tone of this song somehow fits as background music for the way I feel inside. Not the lyrics – just the sound.

I assume the lyrics to be something pagan, but I am putting my own meaning to them as MY Lord is THE Lord, and HE is the creator of all the things about which the song sings. I do not partake of pagan things, but rather I appreciate that which God has created.

Music and Lyrics by Loreena McKennitt

When in the Springtime of the year
When the trees are crowned with leaves
When the ash and oak, and the birch and yew
Are dressed in ribbons fair

When owls call the breathless moon
In the blue veil of the night
The shadows of the trees appear
Amidst the lantern light

Chorus:
We’ve been rambling all the night
And some time of this day
Now returning back again
We bring a garland gay

Who will go down to those shady groves
And summon the shadows there
And tie a ribbon on those sheltering arms
In the springtime of the year

The songs of birds seem to fill the wood
That when the fiddler plays
All their voices can be heard
Long past their woodland days

Chorus:
We’ve been rambling all the night
And some time of this day
Now returning back again
We bring a garland gay

And so they linked their hands and danced
Round in circles and in rows
And so the journey of the night descends
When all the shades are gone

“A garland gay we bring you here
And at your door we stand
It is a sprout well budded out
The work of Our Lord’s hand”

Chorus:
We’ve been rambling all the night
And some time of this day
Now returning back again
We bring a garland gay

Chorus:
We’ve been rambling all the night
And some time of this day
Now returning back again

Today’s Twisted Gratitudes

Today I am grateful for:

1.  The dryer in my laundry room, which not only dries our laundry, but today it performed the job of masking the sobs that wrenched from my beaten down heart so the rest of my family didn’t have to hear me cry.
2.  Long sleeves on my shirts to wipe my tears.
3.  Supportive friends in the groups for highly sensitive people where I find a bit of solace.
4.  This blog, where I can let a little bit of my pain bleed out.
5.  My faith that heaven is my final destination.

Come, Lord Jesus.  Quickly.  Please.

Platitutdes don’t help much, if at all

I read Addie Zierman’s blog entry Spiritual Journey: The Mad Season.

Under her blog entry, I read a comment by a reader named Eric, which basically described how he hand-held a friend when that friend needed hand-holding.

To that, I said this:

“This gives another dimension to “taking the Lord’s name in vain”.

My goodness, “let go and let God” just doesn’t help when I’m in the depths of despair.

From my experience, love in action with elbow grease, driven by God’s love, gets better mileage than the best of intentions in even the most carefully worded platitudes.”

Unspoken Words of Passive Aggression

Because you loved me so much that you gladly did everything for me, I took full advantage of that.

Yes, I realize it became burdensome after awhile, when you carried more children in your womb and still had to work full time, but my expectations were set in place, and  woe unto you if you don’t continue at that impossible pace, because I am the king of your life, now that I own you as your husband.

Yes, I do believe that.

I believe you are trapped and won’t even try to leave me.

You’ve been through divorce before and you don’t want to go through starting over again on your own.

What do you mean you don’t feel it is fair for me to lie around all day while you work?

Hey, I work too, and my job is more important than yours.  I work manual labor, and if I don’t get enough rest, I could have an accident on the job.

Come on, don’t be silly – YOU don’t need sleep as much as I do.  Your job is right here at home.

So you’re stressed to the max.

So you’ve ended up with adrenal burnout and further stress could easily push you into more life-threatening illness.

So you make mistakes in the medical reports you type.

So they will terminate your contract if you have too many errors.

So we won’t be able to pay our bills.

All that matters is that I get to spend 10+ hours in bed, and that any hours I’m not at work I am to be on the couch with my mistress — the TV — flicking the remote at her when she doesn’t do what I want.

If you can’t survive on six to seven hours in bed, that’s not my problem.

It’s not my responsibility to help with the household chores when you are working on your paying job.  You can stay up a few more hours to complete them.  It’s not killed you yet.

I help once in awhile.  So what if it’s not consistent?  I expect you to do everything, remember?

Oh, I’ll never speak of this to you.  I know you are sensitive enough and smart enough to interpret it without me having to say a word.

And if you even try to “work things out”, I will pull a pout, make immature and unreasonable comments, and storm off, leaving you feeling worse than you felt before you dared to upset my perfect world.

What?  Someone else might win your affection?  As long as you stay here and take care of me, that doesn’t bother me.

What?  You might not always stay here?

Well, when that happens, I will believe it, my heart will be broken, I will mourn the loss of the most excellent woman to have ever entered my life, and I will feel that life is as futile as you must feel it is right now.