The Way That I Remember It

Life is colored with experiences-like a kaleidoscope with brilliant shades of stained glass in varying hues of violet, jade, emerald, azure, amber, crimson, sienna, and marigold. A myriad of shapes that form a fresh and unique design when shifted and turned by the slightest twist of fate. Shapes formed by the experiences that we race to the edge and dive into their icy cool surface shattering with it all of our inhibitions- and the ones we hide away from under the warm, lavendar fluffy blanket of familiarity and security. Those that I have shied from or the choices I made in the name of comfort- I have lived to regret. I view them as unsightly scars of weakness and fear forever marring my life's masterpiece...curses though, still researching the subject...

Our lives are shaded by individuals who have left their mark on us. Those we remember with tangible tenderness and those whose recollection causes the air to escape our lungs and brings to our cheeks the pallor of a corpse. Triangle shaped memories of the places we can't help but envision when we close our eyes' curtains on the troubled day and lie in bed waiting for the illusive Slumber Angel to whisper the peace thick secrets that lull and numb our heavy minds and caress our restless hearts leaving them still.

Words leave their vibrant hues on our life's canvas as well. Recorded by our memory-often without our permission .For posterity. Words that I forgot to remember. Those that I felt certain I had adequately buried or forgotten come flooding down on me at the first sign of frailty-like the scene in Magnolia when frogs rain down from the heavens-because how do you prepare yourself for something like that? Weighing down your existence with all the vengeance of an Egyptian plague.

Hahaha...that was a lot of set up for what I have to share. Playing with my words today. Like play dough in my fingers-rolling, tearing, smoothing, folding rubbing, twisting...seeing what I can form with them. Also like the play dough, I may place the tiniest bit of my words on my tongue to make sure they taste as good as they smell.Metaphor gone awry. TMPI...heehee....

So my life has taken this unplanned detour... Not that I was ever on my best day, a planner. I let things happen to me- much more than I should. I just get taken in by the visual and soulful spectacle of it all and sometimes I forget to take the stage in full command of my character, deliver my lines with conviction and take a well deserved bow. Partially this is due to the reliance on my belief that it is only fifty percent up to me anyway. I will let that one hang in the clouds of pondering for another day's musings.

Anyway- this detour...this rest stop...is referred to by Theodore Geisel (aka Doctor Seuss) as the Waiting Place in the book we all got as a high school graduation gift-The Places You Will Go. In the waiting place, my being...and all it's complicated, damaged, dangerous, turbulent,raw, tortured, naive,inquisitive, hungry, insatiable, soul searching and glorious pieces...those- and the ones I don't have names for yet...multiple personality disorder is a full time position. Hahaha .

Each of these over crowded conflicted internal siblings- they keep stacking on top of each other and tearing themselves down and rebuilding-taking on a new form. Making curious concoctions ranging from despondence and apathy to unguarded vulnerability and unabashed glee. When the doubtful brother takes over as chemist...and the memorex of my mind feels generous...she starts to play back words that soothe me- defending me against him. Stroking my uncertainty. So-when I was hovering in doubt and utterly undefined yesterday-She played back this memory to me in an effort to drown out Doubt.

When I was about fourteen or so, phasing out of the gawky all limbs caterpillar phase and coming out more wavy than straight. I felt a bit like I do now. Waffling between fascination and reluctance...and so naturally, I started to behave differently. I have never been scholastically brilliant, but have always had a gentle grasp on most things educational. Anyway this particular memory is set at church. I arrived with my new butterfly wings...but had not yet learned how to spread them and fly-the result- was general confusion and moodiness. Details here are sketchy. Basically our teacher who was a college student asked me a few questions that I evaded or laughed off-or something like that...and I was apparently behaving in a flighty manner-because he asked me to see him outside of the classroom. Again- not too clear here, but knowing myself at that age, I probably rolled my eyes and said "Sure, Whatever..." Once in the hall...His end of the conversation went something like this:

"I am not sure what you are doing in there or why, but I want to make something clear to you. You are not a dumb girl and you shouldn't pretend to be.Not ever. I don't know if this is about boys- or what, but you don't need to act that way to get attention. Don't compromise who you are for anyone. If someone doesn't appreciate you for what you have to offer, then you don't need them. Now I expect you to go back in there and be the bright girl I have come to expect you to be. Are we clear?"

I think I was flabbergasted. Shocked that he had so accurately identified something that I wasn't conscious that I was doing...for reasons that were being shaken up with my insane hormones like a soda bottle on a hot summer day. I am still oblivious to my entire self-often-if not always. My ever changing view of myself leaves me utterly blind to what others see in me. I may be physically blind one day and if I am-I hope to posses an iota of the inner beauty that Andrea Bocelli has that he so generously bestows on the rest of us...won't be singing.;0)

He probably wouldn't remember this and honestly-I didn't know that I had retained it until recently. I think my memory played this back to me now-not because I am playing dumb for anyone-but because I am feeling insecure and conflicted, much like then. Funny how having somebody care about you enough to just take the time and tell the truth can stay with you.

So for today, this memory of a teacher who cared enough about me to take my hand and lead me toward the exit of the Waiting Place is pacifying me until I get up the strength to lick my wounds, shake off doubt and injury, head for the fire exit and take another turn on the kaleidoscope in hopes of a more idyllic shape the next time fate takes a turn at my wheel.