The newest edition to the family!
My mind is a war zone
Thoughts walk around in a grenade blast daze
There are land mine potholes everywhere I turn
The clip of my machine gun retorts is empty
I hear nothing but my own breath in my bleeding ears
But I’m back from moving my stuff
I got a chance to see friends
He and I talked and cried and talked and cried
But I still feel the ravages of this war
The open sores still seep
The blood still boils and pulsates out of the wounds
There is still no peace
It's been about two and a half months since my beliefs about my world were shattered.
I thought we had made all our decisions jointly. I thought I was out in Hawaii working towards a goal that would allow us to be together all the time. That this time apart was an investment towards a better future. I had faith.
Granted, it took longer than both of us had imagined but he didn't wait. In fact, he waited only a year before seeing someone else behind my back. For the following TWO YEARS he came to visit me in Hawaii and I went to the mainland to visit him as though everything was normal. It wasn't.
I was absolutely shattered when I found out. This vulture woman that I didn't trust to begin with had succeeded. I am amazed that anyone could be okay knowing that for those two years he was coming to see me and that he was in a committed relationship (or so I thought). How do you justify that? How do you sleep at night?
At first I was devastated. I felt broken. I painted "Betrayal" because there were no words for me. I couldn't breath without the edges of the pain cutting deeper.
Then it was a viscous ball of anger, depression and sorrow. I believed in him. I believed in us. How ridiculous I must have seemed to his family and friends that knew all along. I felt betrayed by them as well. Where was that person who would point out that you should handle our situation before starting another? It makes everything feel dirty and shameful.
"Torment" is about all the old voices pecking at me. I wasn't good enough to warrant honesty? I wasn't worthy of the commitment that we made to each other? I supported him unfailingly when he needed it. I wasn't worth that in return? Why?
All along his only remorse was that he was found out. Not the two years of lying? Not the disrespect of taking her to his family's house for parties and get togethers? How about the risk to my health by sleeping with an alcoholic bar fly?
Then "21 Dozen". Really? There aren't enough roses to heal a broken promise. A broken heart. Our broken trust. Even now he doesn't want her to know about them because "that's just hurtful". Again . . . REALLY? He keeps saying that he doesn't care about her. Well, he cared enough to ruin our relationship over her.
At two months the ghost of my amputated relationship still throbbed. "Seething" speaks for itself. He told me that "some people" might look at my paintings as simply a way to lash out and hurt her. I thought about that for a while and came to the realization that even if that were true . . . after sleeping with him for two years, she deserved it!
The truth is closer to my heart. He doesn't see it. He can't see it. Like in the paintings, his eyes are open but he's blind. I know there are people everywhere that go through this pain and that it's not gender specific. There will always be men that can't think past their anatomy. Just like there will always be women that have no scruples.
Like I said, it's been two and a half months since I found out. I had loved him with all my heart for fifteen years. He lied to me for the last two.
I feel like an "Iceburg:" most of the time now although I still jump around between "Seething" and "Torment" . . . . maybe sorrow is the next one.
Walking down Front Street in the Keiki Parade for the first time, baby Lilu was a hit!
It’s raining this morning while the household sleeps. It’s a wonderfully tropical rain that echoes with solace. I’ve been sitting in my sky chair, reading and feeling content.
It’s a rare day off and I intend squeeze every last drop of enjoyment out of it. I don’t usually indulge myself this way but why not? What reason would the clamor and rigor of daily life have other than to afford moments like this? Moments made even sweeter by their rarity. Times when I can clear my head and think clearly about where I am, what I’m doing . . etc, etc.
I can’t help but feeling grateful. Grateful for all the love have in my life. Even grateful for the love I miss. I am lucky to have found it at all. I know that all things pass so while I’m here in now I appreciate the wonderful things around me.
Enough musings, I am back to my book.
Recently I was asked to share my thoughts about art in general. This opened a flood gate of emotions, antidotes and witticisms. This is, as a matter of fact, been the focus of most of my life. I’ve been in and around the business of art for almost 30 years now. I’ve been on the gallery side of things and I’ve been on the artist side of things.
It seems that any artist is trying to express themselves on some level. Hopefully that expression rings true for others. If it does; that results in a communication of sorts. It’s that communication that connects us to our core. We can feel less alone through it. We can feel a reverence through it.
This connection is not bound by time; we can feel it across hundreds of years. It is not bound by geography nor gender nor any other limit we might try to impose.
I heard somewhere that every civilization was judged by the art it produced. At the leading edge of all societies were artists and poets.
I believe this.
Whether you produce art or appreciate it makes little difference. Having it in your life is what feeds the soul. At least it feeds mine.