Letters, Therapy and Music to Heal the Soul

Sometimes its just like that… you start out writing a letter to a friends kid and it ends up being to you.. and your friend and her kid… and maybe a few other people you know. Hell maybe a lot of people need it. But mostly it was about my struggle with resentment toward my dad, my inability to get past some shit I fully blame on him.

My missive started as a note about how we, as children, like many of the most amazing things in science, are not only what we appear to be. We are an amalgamation of intricate detail. We are made up of so many things. Some good, some beautiful, some complex, some completely incomprehensible, some ugly, some insincere, some repulsive and some that want to admit is part of us. But all those tids and bits are what makes us who we are. And we as a whole are greater than than the individual bits that make us. What does this have to do with anything and why am I writing this to someone elses child? She doesn’t like her dad. (I don’t blame her, he is a piece of shit and I know a bit about dads that are pieces of shit). He isn’t a good person. She and her siblings struggle with the same self loathing I and my siblings struggle with because our whole is made up of some bad parts.

Fortunately we are not our parts. Without an arm, we are still human. But we are not the same human we were with that arm.  That specific arm, no matter its state, formed part of who we are. So I wouldn’t be who I am without the contribution of my dad, however bad I may think it, and my friends daughter wouldn’t be the amazing person she is without all her components either.

My last therapy session started with a song… My therapist was rather speachless for a bit then reminded me I dedn’t really need to see him. I have a penchant for self analysis. I know this, yet I can’t fix the resentment and anger. So we talked about the words and the song and the singer. I’ve written about Austin Lucas before and how his songs have helped me through other things in my life. At the time I played this and talked about it with the shrikydink I hadn’t come to the realization I did when writing this. Nothing he did, said, or didn’t do or say can make me who I am… but it contributes to my whole. I like the whole. It is rough and needs constant work to keep from becoming a bag of shitty parts.

Somebody Loves You

Easy there, old man
I’ll drop you where you stand
You wear wings of white but I smell your hellfire
Cause I know who you are, a racist and a coward
And all you’ve got to show for life is dust

Cause you lay roses on the ground
And turn lies to common wisdom
You’re a good man when it suits you
Yes I know

But whatever good you’ve done
Is dwarfed by mountains made of wrong
And your savior may forgive you but I won’t

Oh but somebody loves you
I guess they don’t know better
There’s a fool for every fool
And somebody loves you
Oh yeah somebody loves you
And how can it be true
There’s a fool for every fool
And somebody loves you

It was from you I learned some men cannot be trusted
And from you I learned some friends do not inspire
Cause you were like my brother
But you filled my heart with anger
And I’ll thank you when those lessons have helped at all

Oh your stories gave me life and they flowed through me like wine
But they were darkest pitch-black arrows to my soul
Yes I was your true believer now my bones do shake and shiver
With a poison that does rot me to the core

Oh but I did once love you
I guess I knew no better
Yes I was once that fool
And I did love you
Oh yes I did once love you
And how can it be true
That I was once that fool
And I did love you

And like some ghastly phantom voice, lifelong companion
Or a devil on left shoulder, lashing tongue
I spit crescents, spite filled language like some drunkard
To the heavens, when to hell he knows his spirit’s surely bound

Yes I lay roses on the ground and deceive you beyond wisdom
There’s a good man in the shadows, so I’m told
But whatever good I’ve done
Is dwarfed by mountains made of wrong
And that truth comes cold to blacken out the sun

Oh but somebody loves me
I guess they don’t know better
There’s a fool for every fool
And somebody loves me
Oh yeah somebody loves me
And how can it be true
That somebody loves me
Somebody loves you

 

Maybe I’m still resentful. Not as much as yesterday. And not nearly as much as when I last met with the shrinky dink. I still think this song speaks more about my relationship with my dad than I could ever write on my own, At least for now. But I’m working on that. 

And sometimes it’s just like that… you walk through a shadow and notice your own, and it isn’t as bad as you once thought it was. 

 

All Aboard!

dear 2015I started writing a re-cap of 2014. Then I started writing a letter to 2014. Then I decided that all the self censoring is making it difficult to know where to start. So…. fuck it. I have closed the lid on 2014. I have given myself permission to let last year go. I have decided that I will not look back and rehash all the mistakes I made, even though some of them are super funny and blog worthy. I will not give in to the temptation to dwell in the negativity pool, even though its water is just the right temperature and they let you have tasty-fruity-boozy drinks, with little umbrellas, on your raft.

Instead I will welcome 2015. I will ride the express along it’s unknown path, but I will probably fasten my seatbelt for safety.  I will not be making any silly resolutions. (my fear of failure will only allow those I can keep with certainty anyway.) But I will make some plans. I will have some goals. And they will result in prizes that make achieving them a worth while endeavor. (I have not yet chosen the prizes but they will be awesome.) I will ride my bipolar express right in to 40’s inner circle and I will make it my bitch. (Why doesn’t 40 have a catchy rhyme, like dirty-thirty? Sporty-Forty doesn’t sound as fun to me… it sounds like work, and sweating and a spicegirl in business) I will embrace the gray hair and the wrinkles. I will embrace my inner cougar and the animal print accessories she forces upon me. Okay, to be honest, I probably won’t “embrace” the gray hair, I will continue to color it… But, not because I have gray hair. I will color it because I like my hair red, or plumb or stripey. But… I will not be upset when I see a new gray hair because frankly, I earned that shit.

This year, I will grow as a person. I will recognize that I have no control over the express train’s path, but I do have control over my reactions to the ride. I cannot control what other people think of me. But I can control how I treat other people. I cannot make my family understand me or my choices. I can’t make everyone happy. The only thing I can control is myself. If I want to be better in any way, I have to make it happen. And I will make things happen.

The bi-polar express is ready to roll. Please keep your hands and feet inside the car at all times for your own safety. Clothing is optional, however shoes are not.

follow the link to buy Erin Smith’s art… do it!

 

more badass than Jules

I  have the most random song in my head… I guess it’s my theme today.

“sometimes…. sometimes, bad is bad.
I stay cool as a rule, but sometimes bad is bad.”

Why fucking Huey Lewis???

I have this friend, I usually refer to her as half my OREO because standing next to her I glow in the dark. Add our MP friend and I become the center in the OREO. I’m the ass white bitch between two women who have no idea what SPF means and are determined to blend if they accidentally wake up in the congo.

oreo

see… I am ass white!

My friend sin is a total badass. She is that chick you want on your team when the zombie apocalypse comes. She will be all Tallahassee and shit and you will be standing behind her like the little bitch you are. She is a 46 year old gilf with the body of a 35 year old. Her work out regimen makes douchecanoe-frat boys bow and worship at her feet… and not just to get a better look at her DD’s, they want her secret. They want to know how she does it. Ya know what little man, it’s attitude. She just loves life. She has been dealt the worst possible hand so many times but she ended up with chips left on the the table because she is a badass. Sin works everyday with the worst humanity has to offer yet she reflects the best humanity can give.

well….. she did. Friday was her last day here. She didn’t know it and I think she’d have wanted it that way. She wouldn’t have wanted to sit around wasting time waiting for that stupid bitch to bring her a door…. She’d have hopped on her Harley and gone balls out until the sunset.

Sin had a philosiphy:

” Fear less, hope more; Whine less, breathe more; Talk less, say more; Hate less, love more; And all good things are yours.

…I’m a mother, a daughter, a sister, a grandmother, a girlfriend, a friend, a mentor a leader a local and someone everyone I know can look up too. I am proud, I am strong, I love hard and loose with dignity. I am a challenger and a supporter. I do what I believe in and I do it better than anyone else. I am here for anyone and everyone. I help those that can’t help themselves and I do it cause I can.”

This song just makes me think of her.. She loved country and dancing and country. And I can fully see her doing this.

[youtube]http://youtu.be/Gw7gNf_9njs[/youtube]

 

Sin was a badass and she rocked my world. Sometimes it’s just like that, you stay cool as a rule, but when your girl is a badass, well…

posted from my tablet thingy

not quite a .38 special

I know, I know… before you launch into a tirade about how I should be writing more, and it’s cathartic, and will cure whatever ails me.. piss off.

Okay, okay, I didn’t mean it. I want you here, but (and it’s a Star Jones pre-surgery sized butt) only if you are prepared for the older, not necessarily wiser, unfiltered, unadulterated, unashamed madness that is sars at 37. Because suddenly I found myself staring down the barrel of .38 trying to figure out where 37 years, a bunch of dreams and half my mind had gone. Shit (y’all). shit… Where the fuck did 37 years go? Why do I have all this shit to say causing me ocular leakage, filling my sinus’ and giving me a goddamned headache? Why indeed! I created my own fucking happy place and I intend to use this shit as I see fit. So the warning sign that some fucking hipster kicked over has been reinstalled in a concrete post hole and The Social Assassin has it in his sites (don’t fuck with him, he pulls no punches and will make you cry for years to come.). That being said, well… I don’t know, I make this shit up as I go. Long before the advent of pinterest or someecards or any of those places, I would quietly collect and share little quotes, words of wisdom with people through writing and correspondence. (and maybe the occasional framed card or something) You remember writing on paper don’t you? I am a walking pinterest board with all the quotes I have collected over the years. So as I stare at 38 I decided to share some shit, not necessarily just quotes, or some gold or some golden shit… whichever it may be. So without further adieu…

Buddha said “All life is suffering.” Y’all know I love me some Buddha. If I were Buddhist I may sit here and tell you how we should forgive all, trust everyone and allow ourselves to be in the moment and be one with our suffering because it is the way to achieve enlightenment. Horse. Shit. I do believe we should forgive, we should let go of the past – but (there is that but again) we have to learn whatever lesson we were supposed to from whatever shit hit our fan. Otherwise we suffered for no fucking reason. Because that Buddha, was right (again) when he said “Holding on to anger (or insert resentment – I do) is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at the one who wronged you. You are the one who gets burned.” I’m not saying forget everything… just move forward. It is important to remember… remember what we learned from the hurts we feel, remember the times we fall on our ass, remember the people we lost because we fucked up royally… equally as important is to remember the people who fucked up and hurt us, so we don’t fall for the same trick again. We should learn from our suffering because Buddha may have said that all life is suffering, but ya know… he never said you have to suffer to live. I think every time we move forward and learn from the mistakes of the past, maybe, we can prevent a little suffering in our future.

Facebook is not a substitute for life. If you are reading this you probably know that I hate Facebook. The only reason I am on there is guilt. I probably need to work on that to prevent some suffering. Anyhow… we are the age of technology rapidly becoming the age of completely connected. This sounds good on paper.. er.. screen, but we are losing touch with each other as human beings. We are becoming isolated, lonely, and forgetting that we need each other. Put the cellphones, iPads, tablets of another variety, laptops and netbooks away for a bit and have dinner with your spouse, significant other, kids and friends. Remind yourself and them, that reality is where you look at each other, touch, hold hands, hug, laugh, cry, scream, find out that things are happening because someone’s mouth spoke the words, not because someone random posted something they heard from the neighbor on facebook. Take an entire day without tech. Can you do it? Send a birthday card without posting a witty abbreviated message on their wall. I read a cover story for The Atlantic recently that dug in to the meat of this very topic. (there have been several articles disputing The Atlantic’s story, my opinion on these articles is they are written by people that do nothing but play on facebook, they don’t understand reality and personal contact.) It took deleting my facebook completely to realize who my real friends actually are, and it isn’t the people who tell my boyfriend how great I am but never bother to tell me to my face. I am more than the number of “likes” or +1’s that my post has. I am more than the number of views on my blog. I am less than the number of friends I have on Facebook, and that suits me just fine. Because at the end of the day ~when I find myself fading I close my eyes and realize, my friends are my energy.~ I said friends, not facebook… that would just sound dumb.

I had a more amazing nuggets of wisdom to impart, but I decided that it has taken me a month to post this so I may want to speed this along. Plus it gives me some shit to post over the next few days. I feel some blog vomit about to happen and it will not be for your children. Because sometimes it’s just like that, you look in the mirror and you aren’t 21 anymore. And it’s a good thing, at 21 you are afraid to say the word cunt.

tanks mang

Who took the elephant?
You know the elephant, that was here.
It was right here!
It’s been sitting on my chest for months and even though there is still a Mastiff there now, I can tell it’s gone. The anxiety and stress and fear, well they aren’t all gone but they are in reprieve.

I have been patient, waiting, looking for something so I would be responsible. I didn’t want to pile on another bad decision. I didn’t want to disappoint everyone so I waited. And I shrunk. And the elephant got bigger and heavier and it was harder to breathe.

Sorry… I know this is a bullshit “rich first world issue”, but growing up where you have a car for every house (because lets face it, our public transit in most places is fucked) you learn the freedom that brings. I do realize how fortunate I am in every way. This is not about being thankful for that just now. That is a different grattitude for a different day. Today I am realizing just how oppressed I felt not having the ability to come and go as I please. I have great friends that would cart my ass and the most patient man ever who gave me cart blanche (for the most part) with his vehicle… but it wasn’t mine. I never felt okay, just going without asking. It wasn’t mine.

So the bullet was bitten and the purchase made. It was not the originally intended purchase, in fact far from. It will mean being a grown up and saying no sometimes. But everytime I have to say no to the movies this time, I’ll remember the elephant and how it felt to be released from it’s weight. I’ll do something else. I’ll remember the tears shed in lonliness and sadness and I will smile. It is okay. I am mine, I can go. I am free to choose where and when. It was a good decision. It was a smart decision.

Sometimes it takes removing one weight to notice there are more, but I can get to those. I can make my way to each, on my own, without asking anyone’s permission. I can give each one its turn and look… wouldn’t you know, that bastard was sitting on my confidenece. I knew it was here somewhere.

Lets dust it off, shall we?

breathe, echoing the sound

I just want for you to be here to sit beside me.

I wish for the anxiety to be gone so my chest to relax and the shaking to stop.

I want to be held so the tears will stop and I’ll know its okay. I want the shaking to stop and I want to know its okay.

Today is a blue day.

The lenses in my glasses are blue. Not a dark kind of midnight blue but kind of a prussian blue. Seeing the world this way is very frustrating because I don’t like these glasses. They feel like I can’t take them off and change them out for my pretty pink ones. They feel like I can’t breathe. They make the little things look big and the easy things look hard and they make everything feel personal. The blue glasses put me on the roller coaster that takes me on the vortex ride and I fucking hate the vortex ride. I don’t know who designed that shit but they didn’t know what they were doing.

I try to be quiet and wait for the calm to come.

I try not to think about what I’m not doing and the mess piling up and the arguments I’m picking for no reason and the tears that I can’t stop. I can’t.

What’s to say, what’s to ask, I’ve no answer to give and even I probably don’t even want to hear the reality. So I sit and sniffle and wipe dry my tears and think about all the reasons that brought me here to this blue day. The reasons that matter and the ones that don’t.

Today is a blue day.

I just want for you to be here to sit beside me.

I wish for the anxiety to be gone so my chest to relax and the shaking to stop.

I want to be held so the tears will stop and I’ll know its okay. I want the shaking to stop and I want to know its okay.

 

[youtube]http://youtu.be/KAUF7e1GVrc[/youtube]

this is not about you

If you build it, they will come….
If you sit and stare at it, words will appear…

That should work right? Okay lack of words is not the problem, it’s too many swirling in my head and not really knowing how to string them together in some coherent way that someone other than myself may want to read. Then again, is that the point? Well, it seems it’s become the point and that may be my issue. I seem to have lost that abandon with which I used to approach my writing. Back then I would sit at some random place with some random beer and write (yes with a pen) the skeleton of what would become my next blog. I continued writing merrily when the pen gave way to the portability of a 15# brick of a laptop. During the brick era is when I found I had readers. I panicked a little (someone reads my shit???) but trudged on affording protection to the guilty, only because I myself wished to remain anonymous. And then all shit hit the fan. I found out family read my shit. Maybe not regularly, maybe not even often, but they did.

well fuck.
The words in my head ceased to allow themselves out through my fingers. And before you say at least had a journal… uh no, the words weren’t hap-nin there either.

well fuck.
Periodically I’d be inspired by something and sorta safe writing would happen. I’d even had a brief reprieve from the verbal constipation while I changed up all my psych meds and had no filter (not a chance bitches, don’t even think it… you shut your pie hole or I will cut you). And on occasion I can still tap into that filter-less freedom. But not often.

Do you realize that when you write a blog it is basically a journal to which you’ve given the world a key. Like it or not anyone… that’s EH-KNEE-ONE can stumble upon your shit or troll for your shit if they really want. Even the most careful person leaves behind crumbs that someone could follow (note you’ve never seen my face and I’ve never said anyone’s name. And no, my parents were not angry activists or suffering from a trauma leaving their tongues partially paralyzed causing them to think hey… sars is a good name for a girl.). So when you start venting about your sister-cousin and her giant goiter… if she can operate her nubbin, she can read your shit. And when you got pissed because you had to lance mama’s boil for the sixth time because she didn’t want the hawt young Dr. Thibodaux to see she’d put on “some weight”… If she can get uncle LeRoy to show her how to find “Dr. Oz on the computer thang”, she can read your shit. Thus I filter. Though I have no sister-cousin or Uncle LeRoy, I do have this ‘I’m not catholic’ “Catholic Guilt” that plagues me. It tells me if I write about my mom or sister or a friend in a not so glowing light, they will read it and be offended. (They probably just felt me type that and will know they have to check my blog) I could just be good ‘ol fashioned venting, but they’ll never know and think it’s something different. And since my anonymity is shot there – my family and friends know who I am… ugh.

So I filter.
well fuck.
At this moment I have a head full of things ready to tumble out but I filter. BUTT… (that was a big butt for those still playing) I have things to say. Things I want, need to say.

I have touched on having a behavioral health disorder (the preferred term around here – I honestly don’t give a fuck what you call it, as long as after you find out you still call me friend) that has been “classified” Bipolar II (and even then, that is a label more for insurance than me). Basically (the super dumb version) is depression with periods of “hypomania” or not quite mania. For me this is linked to anxiety. (yay!) This is a tough topic to broach sometimes as there are those that don’t understand because its all “psycho-babble mumbo jumbo”. And when writing, I don’t preface with: ‘Warning this blog contains bipolar content or mom look away, I’m talkin’ about being fucking nutter right now!’ However, it gets across in a roundabout way sorta. Because I filter the fuck out of things when I am cycling instead of embracing the moment and letting my filter go. According to my besties, I am my funniest, do my best writing when I am anxious. Lots of jokes get made about being bipolar – I make jokes about being a Gemini and bipolar, but the reality is I got off easy because mania is a bitch. I will cut my tangent short here and save it for a depressed day.

Basically what I’m saying is my filter is clogged and I don’t want to pressure wash it. As Zimm said, I’d have to wring it out because you can’t stick that shit in the dryer it won’t fit anymore! So, I’m just gonna leave it at the curb. Let the er Engineers take it with them along with all the other waste. Filter-less writing is better writing.

Sometimes it’s just like that… you have to apologize in advance to the people you love because your intent is not to hurt their feelings. But you just need to say what you need to say, even though you have made clear before “if you don’t like it, don’t read my shit”. This time – it’s a pointed warning. So here it is, and you may never see it again:

 

~posted from my tablet thingy~

[youtube]http://youtu.be/TLjrD-oXkhA[/youtube]

 

the doodle effect

So my first post of 2012 isn’t your typical first, but then again none of my firsts ever really have been. This isn’t a post full of resolutions, probably because I don’t make those. Really… who wants to spend a month trying to convince yourself to do shit, nine months in forgetful bliss (save the occasional asshat that reminds you of those extra 15 whatever’s), a month justifying to yourself and the world why you didn’t quite see your plans to fruition, and another month deciding how to tweak that shit so its easier to do next year. All in hopes of avoiding the inevitable failure hangover that happens just before new year. You know, that moment when you wake in a drunken haze resolving never to do that shit again… after you read all your sent texts and piece together what it is you are resolving not to do. Why put myself through all that shit? I decided years ago… ‘not gun doo-it’ (says with pursed lipped smile). Instead I opt for the ‘rules to live by’ approach. And… I keep it simple, I only have two rules. Now, there are many things that I have learned over the years that I try to remember when shit hits the fan, but really there are only two rules and no resolutions necessary.

1. Have respect for yourself.

Makes sense to me. Its a building block to becoming a good person and everyone I associate myself with wants that. I am consistently shocked by the number of people who don’t have any concept of self-respect. And please, don’t confuse self-respect with self-esteem. I know people who treat their bodies and minds with the utmost respect but lack the self-esteem to to open a jar for fear they’ll offend it. Self-respect is treating yourself correctly, like the amazing human being you are. We all fuck up. But when we do, having respect for ones self means knowing that it was a mistake, it is ultimately fixable. Even if its really bad, and I’ve done really bad. Respecting yourself doesn’t guarantee you get the outcome you thought you wanted, but it does mean you understand you are human and you fucking rule. You will continue moving forward, owning your shit… smellin like roses or not.

2. Have respect for others.

Once again, makes sense to me! I grew up with respect your elders rule in place and there was no questioning that rule. Now as an adult I’ve learned to recognize for myself whether or not an elder keeps my respect, or anyone for that matter, but everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt until you find out otherwise. The woman living in subsidized housing that has a nice car, while you drive a pile o’ shite, may not be milking the system like you think. She could be a single mother who is raising a son with a very rare disease. So that nice car was her whole family’s way of saying ‘we want to make sure you have a reliable way to get you kid where he needs to go’. The opposite is true as well, to be sure, but who are we to judge? Who are we to treat someone with disrespect when we know nothing of them? This seems like a pretty simple concept, respect others, but there are so many that have no clue. Respecting others is part of being a grown up and something to teach those whose small minds we have been charged with shaping.

As luck would have it, respect for others goes hand-in-hand with respect for yourself. In learning to treat yourself with respect, you will be more apt to treat others in kind. (funny -slaps forehead- makes perfect fucking sense to me) Sadly these are learned by observation then practice. You can’t find them in a book and you can’t purchase them with any amount of money and you can’t give them or have them given to you as a gift. So rather than resolving to spend my 2012 on a quest to better my body, or drink more water, or be a better friend, or say something nice every day, or write more, or whatever… I will continue moving forward learning each day to treat myself with respect and have respect for others. In reality don’t all the things we resolve fall into one of those categories anyway?

On a side note, if you asked my nephew what my rules are, he would tell you with out hesitation: respect myself and respect others. (he would probably roll his eyes) But he would also say “and don’t bleed on her watch, she’ll have a bad day”. I have no bloody watches.

bluffing…

You are overwhelmed, tired, feeling like the walls are closing in and all you want to do is go… go for a drive and have time to think… Listen to music, angry, soft, loud, emotive, piercing, any music to calm the mindPod… but no. Your keys are in your hand. Your tank is full (well, sorta, you never can tell since you tend to run out when the gauge reads in the neighborhood of half tank), you have a little cash for snacks and a plan, or rather non-plan, but that is the plan, but no. None of it matters, you are fucking stuck. You can’t just go. Can’t go to your favorite breakfast place to read a book and people watch. Can’t just drive and sing loudly to the same song over and over because it is what you feel right that moment. Can’t spend the day hiking along the bluffs or go kidnap your best friend to get lunch somewhere he’s never been.You no longer have that option.

Sometimes its just like that…. you sit. With your head in your hands. You sit with your head in your hands because no matter how many reasons you can find to blame someone else, the choice that brought you to this place was yours. You put yourself on this stoop with your keys in your hand next to a vehicle that is completely unsafe to take more than 15 miles without AAA and telling everyone you care for where you’re going and which route you’re taking. You made a poor choice and it was not the first time, its just visible to more people than the rest have been.

Sometimes its just like that… the ripples in your pond- the decisions you’ve made, those choices you have found ways to put band-aids on and share blame with others; or pawn off on them completely, or better yet, decisions you’ve chosen to ignore all together…. those are making the ripples in your pond. They have started to clash into each other and make bigger ripples and even waves at this point. So much so that you can’t ignore the ripples and you can see those fucking waves from your stoop. The truth is reflecting back in a way that is certainly not as pretty as it was from the glassy pond…. but reality, you threw those fucking rocks, help or no, they left your hands before hitting the water. River rocks, giant stones, small pebbles, chunks of concrete, tar from the road… they all came from you and you have to feel the effect. You are responsible for the fact that all water sports have been suspended until further notice.

It’s time to to calm the water and bring it back to a glassy pond. Time to find the bluff that lets you look down at your reflection and forgive yourself because try as hard as you like… you can’t jump in and pull out what you threw in. You can’t undo the past. You can only forgive yourself and realize it will take work to calm the waters, to trust yourself to hold a skipping stone. It will take time to find the calm and face your reflection once more.

Sometimes… its like that… you must climb to the top of the bluff to find forgiveness. It is difficult and steep.  It’s taken a long time to even get here… you’ve stopped a few times (even threw another pebble or two). But you are here now. The top of the bluff is within your reach. When you get there and see your reflection clear from the peace forgiveness brings, bring back the water sports… jump off the bluff on a sunny day, into the glassy water and make a new kind of ripple.