Mrs Metaphor

My daughter was telling me one day about this story she is writing.  In the story she describes several fantasy level animals and how they interact with one another.  The Phoenix Tree is the place where all the Phoenix gather to live and breed.  The phrase stuck with me for several weeks.  I wrote it down knowing that it was going to become something else to me.  The visual in my head was this actual tree which contained traits belonging to the Phoenix….the living, the healing, the burning and the rising again.  I like the imagery in that.  I like the metaphor for how we live.  I asked Riley if she minded my using her term in another way and she was alright with it.  So, here are the lyrics to the song.  One day when it’s recorded I’ll post that as well. 

The Phoenix Tree                            

every breath greeted clean

pure and new

as close as we get to divinity

when the branches close in

and wrap around

til it all comes down

in flames

The wounds are old

Like the ancient sea

but the roots are deep

on The Phoenix Tree

rising up

keep rising up

so we can see

every breath labored long

strong and steady

as close as we brush in the heavenly

when the leaves press in

whisper in our ears

til it all comes down

in flames

the wounds are real

like the raging sea

but the roots are deep

on this Phoenix tree

building up

keep building up

so we can see

breathing fast and greeted clean

it’s all new and ready

for whatever life brings

The wounds are old

Like the ancient sea

but the roots are deep

on The Phoenix Tree 

every breath greeted clean

pure and new

as close as we get to divinity

Bear in mind that I basically avoided entering the conflict on this one because it was too good an exchange to not transcribe.  

I’m feeling the fog again…bear with me on this.  I was thinking today about my recent infatuation with Ron Paul.  My blog friend Fighting Windmills has asked me about my brush with hope in the form of Mr Paul and that got me to thinking finally about the election.  Funny thing about apathy…no matter how it feels as though the fog is lifting for me, in times of stress I begin to realize that the fog isn’t moving.  It hangs there like a weighted veil in front of my face.

I begin to wonder about the recurring butterflies I get in my stomach when I see or hear Ron Paul speak.  I want so much to trust him, to think that he is “different.”  I think that things will be better with him in charge.  It is like an unattainable love.  I am committed still to the party with which I have registered even though that can be changed and even if I choose not to leave that relationship, there are rules in place that would allow me to be unfaithful to that party without consequence.   I can vote in the Republican Primary as a registered Democrat here in Tennessee because of Open Polling.

I hear the old voices in my head as I consider it…”you’re throwing away your vote” quickly countered by another voice, “your vote doesn’t matter anyway.”How can two such ugly voices be the ones which will inform me in this?  I cannot help but wonder if those two voices are the ones that many of us hear these days.  Am I wasting my vote by voting my conscience? Does my vote even matter, really?

I’ll tell you first why I like Ron Paul.  I like his stand on the issues.  I like his track record.  I like his family history.  I like his approach.  I like the way he speaks, the way he (or his speech writers) form his sentences. I like that he wants to end the war…that he seems to not be afraid in saying what he thinks. He seems confident even though his chances of getting the nomination are slim…very slim indeed.  The sad part about this statement is that it is just this kind of thinking that keeps his chances so slim…or maybe his chances are slim because the system is funky.

I would love to have the brainpower to explain just why Ugly Voice 1 has such sway with me.  It’s so easy for me to criticize the underlying system in place here when it comes to getting someone elected.  It is harder to really explain it in real, actual facts.  I’m not hard-wired for that.  I’m more an intuitive, I’m like Counselor Troy from Star Trek.  I know it because I feeeeeeeeel it.  Or maybe that’s just an excuse to not do the research or make an effort to understand on a more factual basis.  I just know that whenever I think upon it in those terms it makes me tired and I’m tired enough already.So I choose to circumvent that by indulging my infatuation with the backdoor Open Polling option.   I remain married to my party of choice while I have a fling with the other side.  Nobody gets hurt, everybody wins…except maybe my candidate.

In walks Ugly Voice 2.  Because of the way the electoral college system is set up in this country it is not uncommon for the feeling to arise that since I live in Tennessee it’s pretty much “all over” by the time the smoke has cleared.  Now, strictly speaking, this is not really true.  I’m certain that voice of the masses does matter but in the fog of my apathy it doesn’t feeeeeeeeel that way.  At this point, again I could try to school myself enough to convey just what the electoral college does and why it’s such a freakily complicated and weird way to do things in this day and age but again, I’m tired.  Apathy will do that.

What is most helpful in this whole thing, I think, is being in the conversation. Listening to the ugly voices in my head will eventually get me nowhere fast, paralyzed by the fog.  It does help to listen to the struggle in the voices of the people around me, whether I agree with their politics or not.  It helps to hear voices of reason and affirmation and they do exist.  After visiting Fighting Windmills’ blog and seeing all the information she has up there it did feel as though there may be some hope yet that while I may not feel the fog is moving I can at very least feel as though I am moving, guided by some good, strong and beautiful voices.  

I love the Flight of the Conchords and looking back on previous posts and comments made me itchin’ to see “Business Time” once again.  I thought I’d share that with you all today.  Don’t worry, I’ll get into posting about my continued apathy concerning our political system again soon.  It’s my very own election promise… but for now….it’s business time, yeah baby… 

I can’t help it…I’m waxing poetic (most literally) as I get ready to attend the Festival of Faith and Writing this year and see my favorite, favorite poet, Scott Cairns.  So, in light of this I’m going to keep posting my poetry.  You have an assignment,dear reader, ESPECIALLY if you are one who would normally eschew the poetic arts.  Your assignment is to tell me if one line or one word, one feeling, one visual jumped out at you.  That is for you.  Roll it around on your tongue this week and make it your own.  You do not HAVE to participate…you may keep this to yourself if you would like.  You will not be graded on this. : )  

I am trying to be sensitive to the amount of “you-tubing” I do these days but I really felt compelled to post this video.  I have long held a love of Rufus Wainwright but today I saw his video for “Across the Universe” for the first time (I’m also a somewhat rabid Beatles fan now and again.)    For whatever reason, this song always reminds me to exhale…and I like that. 

My absolute favorite Monty Python sketch. I voted to name my dog, “Eric” but I was outvoted. 

This is probably not going to come out right at all but it’s been on my brain lately and since I’m deep in my mid-life crisis it bears mentioning.  Hang on tight, it’s another stream of consciousness rafting adventure.

I’ve been thinking lately about the Man from Atlantis.  I always liked that show even though it was really pretty goofy and weird.  Then again, I consider myself to be most goofy and weird so that explains a lot.  In the famous words of Inigo from the Princess Bride, “Let me explain…no, no…there is too much. Let me sum up.”

The Man from Atlantis was a television show on here in the States from 1977-1978 and starred Patrick Duffy (before he was Bobby on “Dallas.”) He played a man found floating in the ocean who had remarkable swimming skills, could breathe underwater and had webbed hands and feet.  He claimed to be from Atlantis and the whole premise of the show was “is he really from Atlantis?” and “where the hell is Atlantis now?”  ”is there anyone else around from Atlantis?” and “Who can fight these mysterious sea creatures for us underwater?”   They were able to address these weighty issues for only one season before the plug was pulled.

Ok, now that you have the background I was thinking today about the Man from Atlantis.  I was thinking about the episodes where he really puzzled about where he came from and if there was anyone else out there like him.  Most days, I feel a little like the Man from Atlantis.   I mean, (in following the metaphor here) I’m delighted that I can breathe underwater and all but it’s a little lonely being the only Atlantean around and people do tend to stare at my webbed hands (figuratively, not literally…they are not webbed in real life…oh, man…what kind of hits am I going to get from Google for THAT one?)I suppose most of us have these days, yes?  Days when we feel as if there is no one in the world like us.  For me, most days like this I feel really OK about it.  I kind of relish being different from the crowd truth be told. I’ve even developed a remarkable ability to blend in with normal humans (as long as I keep my hands in my pockets and my feet in my shoes.)  Then there are days when  I really wonder who is like me and I wonder where they live and what life is like there.  Is it like Atlantis?  Should I be trying to GET to Atlantis?  Is Atlantis more like Chicago or Helsinki or Des Moines or someplace in New Zealand, only drier?

I’ve added a Facebook application that promises to see who is like me.  It compares me to my Facebook friends to see how similar we are but it’s faulty.  On the list of “fun things to do” I couldn’t really put them in order of preference because half the things on the list were unappealing.  They had no listing for “talk deep with friends” or “read” or “watch falling stars” and that is kind of sad, really.  Either that or there just aren’t that many people who think those things are fun…or those Atlanteans don’t frequent Facebook, that could be it…

Alas, I digress…. and I’ve lost my paddle and my lifejacket is ill-fitting so I’ll end here.

By now you already know that I love the whole online personality test thing.  While this DOES count as an online personality test, truth be told, I’ve actually had the full-on Enneagram test done and find that I am a flaming 4 without a doubt.  I like that about me…(spoken like a  4.) 

Here’s a glimpse into my life today…I spent the better part of an hour fighting with my three year old about his pee. He took a bath after playing in the mud outside this morning and while bathing decided to let loose the waterworks.  He was thrilled.  He told me in no uncertain terms how excited he was to have peed in the tub.  ”Look, it’s my pee!”  He was very proud.  I felt it best to drain it away, wash the tub and child and begin afresh.  He begged to differ.  I won because I’m bigger and stronger.

To say the least, he took this badly and yelled at the top of his lungs for quite a length of time thing like, “It’s MY pee! Give it back!”  and “I want my pee back!”  and “It’s not FAIR!  You took my pee!”Seems he was quite attached to his pee.  I tried a few tactics beginning with, “Yeah, you know…it’s just gross to bathe in your own urine….seriously” and moved onto “No, I’m not going to bring it back.  It’s not going to happen” and descended finally into rinsing him off and then leaving the room.  He continued to yell and scream and cry.  I came back in a few minutes later and sat next to him.  ”What do you need, Miles?”  His teary response was anticipated, “I want my pee back.”

This is a moment to chuckle…because it IS kind of funny, yet, I was not in any mood to chuckle.  I was already pissed that I spent even that amount of time 1)arguing with a three year old and 2)arguing with a three year old about his pee.  I wish I had been in a mood to find the humor and move out of that but extenuating circumstances being what they are I’m just having trouble getting a grip most days on the tangibles…this felt like an intangible and for that I had no time, which is kind of sad, really.

The last thing we talked about it in this intangible discussion was interesting in hindsight.  I said, “Miles, drink some stinkin’ water, man..you can make MORE pee” to which he replied, “I can’t, I don’t have any tools.”  I tried to explain that the tools he needed were already in his body and that he just needed to trust me that he’s got it all covered but he just wasn’t having it.  He wanted things the way he envisioned them and there was NO other solution. He finally settled on the couch because I commenced to vacuuming.

In the quiet aftermath of his tantrum though I’m able to take something away from it all I guess.  It feels prophetic, a word of wisdom, a moment of enlightenment from the mouth of a three year old, an attitude of a three year old.  I want things the way I want them. There is NO other solution except the one I have in my head.  It’s hard for me to hear that there is another way, that what I want is perhaps not such a good thing in the grand scheme of  my metaphorical hygiene habits.  It’s hard to grasp this kind of thing in the middle of it all.  I just hope I  can rebound from my tight fisted  tirades as quickly as my three year old.