It’s funny when your a dreamer? It’s peculiar when you are an artist perhaps? It’s mysterious when you are a writer, you spend so many seasons within your own mind, excavating your own heart for fruits of lifes labor, sometimes simply to run away from life and invent a new invention. Dreamer, artist, writer? I just want to be special. I want to find something deeply. Sometimes too often to be the first to fly into unknown hitherto worlds and bring back golden fruits, shiny pearls and seeds from new plants which will blossom.
Yet truth be told I am not unlike anyone else at all, in fact my puppy to me is the most original of all. He and I used to go on the subway together and what a crowd he could assemble with his smooth prestiditation. Sometimes biting me just to make sure everyone knew I am simply putty in his furry paws. He later learn how to work the crowds on a leash and especially Japanese young girls. If he was wearing a jacket he would rip it off as if to say you cannot own me, I’m not like any other girl, shaking, knawing, chewing and strutting with such swagger as he held up his leash and jacket to me his tormentor. As if to proclaim he was the champion of the world like a prize fighter. I must say that when Cascius Clay was in the ring there truly was nobody like him and being a sort of surrogate mother? I must admit that I encourage this silly show and swagger as it gives me so much joy. He has a much greater bandwidth for being creative and original because whom does he have to please? He will not get a ticket nor a bad review from the X factor crowds.
That means I am really am not terribly special but I know that matters less than having something to believe. I believe too much and am far too gullible. I’d rather be this way than a cunning winner. Now, if I can somehow veil the pain that I am in and put it under some sort of strobe lights pink and lilac. If I could hide my tears and rage that feels like the storm about to hit this rock of Manhattan. Hurricane Sandy. I can’t help but feel that evil had clothed me like the emperors new clothes. I may appear naked but this is actually in reverse. I am wearing bloody clothes that no one can percieve. I am wearing heartbreak which claws at my eyes and my throat. I am wearing tears that stain my eyes with purple acid. Yet, I keep my mouth sewn up and buttoned up tight. I fear most of all that no one will listen anyway and no one will care and this hurts more than the emperors new clothes made of sins.
I cannot say what has happened to us but it has broken my heart and yet insidious as it is and how it has broken my trust in my fellow man. It has made me not want to trust another smile nor open my door to strangers anymore. We trusted purely on the basis of simple rules. Someone says it’s mandatory and you listen. Then you find you have been violated so intrinsically deeply. Someone has used to for pure senseless fodder for their debased entertainment. Profits will be made while you innocently allowed strangers into your home. We cooked for them, we got the greatest pizza we could find. We embarked on hospitality in the Napoli and Sicily style. We offered sodas, homemade teas, meatballs and raviolis, pirogies, fresh fruits, candy bars galore. One by one we let strangers in as we opened our doors. My beloved had just survived two near death experiences with horrific ICU traumatic medical alerts. We were so lonely in seeing only hospital workers that we were so glad to have people over to fix things. Yet it was still touch and go everyday for his health. He could not yet barely walk. I was nursing him back to health sleeping only 2 hours at time in between treatments. I used to pray that he would survive. I used to pray that he would not die like my invisible friend Giorgio suddenly. After such a horrific ordeal of trying to help Jorg survive his cancer and he died to come home to this? How fast your life can change.
We have been violated in a way that is so unimaginably senseless and cruel. No I can not say what or how only that we were told when our doors were darkened that it was mandatory or else. Would we lose our home? Now we have lost our privacy and our dignity before whom what and where we do not ever know to very wealthy people who just laugh in your face and even plot and scheme further. I wish it were merely paranoia or simple fear. Yet, how am I not any different than anyone riding the bus or the subway? Hoping life will be good. Hoping that we will be loved and that our dreams will all one day come true. No one is really invulnerable to hope, to hoping for a miracle. If it is not our dream? We cry when we watch the X factor and see the beautiful children audition, with their whole future in front of them. We cry for them to win even if we are not sure we can succeed. I watch their families praying for the singers to win and it so touches my heart. Why because I want to dare to dream too that this night of bloody glass will pass and we can have our dignity back. That there is a bird that will take my prayers before the throne of God and he will move his velvet glove and iron fist and mountains will restore us back to golden rays of love and joy.
Sometimes everyman is more special than the most exotic. Sometimes out of the clear blue a powerful seeming angel sings and all the sadness falls away and you can say, I know that this too shall pass and no one will be hurt further. That someone will step up and do the right things and protect innocent people always from harms way. In order to survive so many medical traumas I turn to God and it’s a type of military life. Yes, it is like a warrior for miracles. The ammunition is prayer and transcending consciousness of doom into bloom. Raising the frequency of our lives back up to love. Just like the love that puppies exude. How pathetic I must sound. If there is love, I never thought to ask where does it come from? Yes there is a place where love was invented and I have no desire to be original anymore but to have love and so much love that I can survive the indignities of shrewish business men and women presume to usurp your privacy. Use your vital life force to survive and live against you. I pray and I do believe there is a better world which we are welcome to and this too shall pass. So, I heard this every-woman simple seeming child sing and it reminds me that I am not special at all, I simply want to dream big enough to forget and have all our sorrows turn to hope and joy again. That this shall pass and we can have our health and our talents put to the tasks of serving mankind with creative pursuits. I heart the joy in this young womans song and how we cherish her.