Journey to Your Deepest Self
Currently Browsing: Kathleen MacGregor

Dream of Beauty

“There aren’t very many things better than playing drums with your friends while watching beautiful women dance,” he said. If I had come to the dance, would I have been counted among the beauties? What if I was clumsy, out of step? What if I was the only one who didn’t know the dance? What if everyone could see I was the blemish Upon their collective face? “You’re pretty. You can stay. But your friend, she’s gonna have to go,” he said. What if I didn’t mind that I didn’t know? And what if I was able to laugh and smile and love myself anyway? Would all of the dancers and all of the drummers and all of the others wish I hadn’t come? Would they push me out, lock me out, hate me together? “So what if you ain’t good looking. At least you’re faithful,” he said. It’s happened before, you see- many times. To me and to others. Right in the middle of un- self consciously enjoying my self- being singled out as the bad one, the wrong one, the one who shouldn’t be here. The mistake. “Wipe that smile of your face! You look like a fruit fly on a banana,” he said. Most of me is so very afraid of it happening again. And the rest of me has been protecting. But in order for it not to happen I have to believe in myself- however I am- clumsy or graceful, ugly or beautiful. Somehow, I am supposed to know that I am beautiful. Know. It. “You’re not graceful enough to be a dancer”, she said “You’re too ugly to be here”, he said “You’re too big,” he said “Everyone, except her,” he said How can I find this knowing? I’ve lived my whole life pretending I didn’t need that knowing. That beauty was something too far out of reach to even want. It’s like the sun. Like believing you can reach out and touch the sun. Be on the sun. Be the sun. Shining. Warming. Inspiring. Coaxing growth. Being adored and welcomed. Everyday. This is my challenge, my mission. And it’s do or die. I won’t I can’t go on living as the ghost of what might have been. And I have no sense of a path. And all the kind words of others that float to me now on a breeze or flutter down to me from a high cliff, echoing, I have cast away as waste- can’t be trusted can’t be believed...

Monday, Noon

  It’s Monday, noon. Her oiled hands sandwich his right foot and she feels them conform to his shape, pressing into the curve of his arch and stroking the sloping top of his foot. She is seated at the end of the bed on a low stool and in order to reach him, her legs are spread wide, like a cellist, flattening herself against the edge of the bed. Falling into the cadence of his breath and his presence, her body begins to slowly rock with the rhythm. Leaning in and pulling away to the music of the moment. From time to time her eyes drift closed and her head tilts to the side as if listening deeply. She glances out the window for a moment and remembers another dying man whose feet she held. Her mind wanders and she feels her heart crack open, melting with the realization of the innocence of the old men’s feet. After a lifetime of striding through the world, these feet are so tender and sensitive and receptive. So like a child’s. Since becoming the mother to a son 16 years earlier, she can see the boy in every man. She wonders if he thinks he’s died already or if he wishes for death. Or does he long to get out of bed and join his wife in the garden? He’s just so tired now. His big, old dog lumbers into the room and flops heavily to the floor at her feet with a woody groan. She smiles at him. Once, she found a mouse wounded and dying on her doorstep. Probably left there by her cat who  was patiently trying to teach her how to hunt. How to want to hunt. She’d gently wrapped the tiny mouse in a soft rag and held it late into the night, until it had died and stiffened. During it’s passing she’d struggled with whether put it out of it’s misery or let it go in it’s own time. In the end, she’d decided it wasn’t for her to judge it’s experience as miserable or graceful. It hadn’t occurred to her yet that it could be both. Her hands are on his shoulder now. He doesn’t speak anymore but sometimes he looks at her with so much intention, she can almost hear his voice. Their eyes meet and she wonders if she should look away but it’s something important and she doesn’t want to interrupt. Voices dance to their ears from the kitchen. Like children or...

Francesca

  Her wild, velvet need is  a smile, like a naked question Her deep, feline dance makes his fever flower open; wakes the secret prisoner celebrating the delicious lie of cool, liquid why on why. Shake off the question or surround vast eternity like a woman pulling and sucking. Give God some of your lip. Laugh icily, growl, crap, kiss, bleed. The yesterday-you is over Eat cake and pie then listen: Warm, caramel trust can squirm in here. Embrace this blind child Say yes to her desire, perfuming the morning with your ocean voice and...

On the Side of the Road

She’s no one I’ve been In this lifetime. Standing in a burnt, barren landscape The wind ceaselessly blowing The sky ceaselessly grey, She is a little child Left for being a burden. And I don’t know Who I’ll be When I walk in the door. I can’t see a path to you- To us. So I’m feeling my way Backwards Through the darkened rooms Of our house; A house haunted By the echoes Of expectation, desire and Something Else- And the fading after-image Of our children’s belief in Us. How their hearts break open Like eggs So fragile, so defenseless When we separate. I hold her hand In mine now And together we make a place Where something green Can grow. And it’s terribly, terribly Far from...

Ochre

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Animal Safari

What is it about me That you avoid Can’t look in my eyes Look into the void It’s inside of you Inside of me It’s everywhere It’s like the sea And when I say hi And you turn away It hurts me And I don’t know why The last time I saw you Animals on safari You made it plain I’d nothing to gain I said I’m sorry Do I look like A girl who hurt you Well that’s not me Do I look like I’m bad news Well, not to me And I’m not your mother You don’t know me But I have something for you It’s gonna be a surprise Cuz when you’re hating me You’re hating you And the hate’s a pack of lies Turn and face What you don’t know Come to a place As black as snow We’ll find out together What’s been hiding between us We’ll discover the weather On this all-new Venus I’m not out to get you I’m out to learn the mysteries of life And to fold back the cover Of the book That I wrote In the life between lives And the truth between lies Please come with me And let us recognize Each’s other In the other’s...
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