THE DELICATE KIND (with option to listen to recitation)

What is real and what is imagined? Nightmares that will not end when we open our eyes, the sounds growing louder - mother comes to comfort you and tries to convince you, it is all in your mind.

Then you hear it, the sirens! What could they mean? - she comes in again to reassure you that it just means it's all clear, but take precautions if you decide to go out there...

A child is being born and the pain is real - but "they" are telling you it will be okay, just breathe, relax - A new baby is here! healthy and pink and no comprehension of the dimensions of death...

Was it ever real? or just stories we keep telling ourselves? - (thank you L. O'Donnell - Piratas De Dios)

A creepy little poem - what is real? am I awake? why do they keep telling me it's okay? ignore the pain? the pain is real, isn't it? what are the stories I tell myself?

THE DELICATE KIND

It’s okay - you’re fine - every thing is alright

Just a bad dream in the middle of the night

Turn on the light,

(turn on the light)

Your dream gave you a terrible fright

Rub your eyes and regain your sight

There are no monsters behind the door

There’s nothing slithering across the floor

Try to ignore,

(try to ignore)

No reason to get up and explore

Your nightmares can’t hurt you no more

Put reality back in the drawer

Place the truth back on the shelf

Turn the sound down a little lower

Listen to the stories you tell yourself

It’s all in your imagination dear

You know nothing bad ever happens in here

What did you hear?

(what did you hear?)

The sirens sounding out the ‘all clear’

Now let those visions disappear

I’m sure it’s just something in the air

Cover your mouth if you’re going out there

Only if you dare,

(only if you dare)

At your own risk; buyer beware

Side-effects are extremely rare

Put reality back in the drawer

Place the truth back on the shelf

Turn the sound down a little lower

Listen to the stories you tell yourself

Relax; now take a deep cleansing breath

One hard push and a wide open breadth

Out of the depth,

(out of the depth)

Newborn takes her first mortal breath

Healthy and pink, no illusions of death

It’s alright; you’re just losing your mind

Yours was always the ‘delicate’ kind

Push the rewind,

(push the rewind)

Looking for answers you won’t ever find

A case of the blind - leading the blind

Put reality back in the drawer

Place the truth back on the shelf

Turn the sound down a little lower

Listen to the stories you tell yourself

M TERESA CLAYTON

THE TRUTH ABOUT TIME - HOW MUCH DO YOU HAVE?

According to this census, the average male born in 1970 will live to be 70 years old; the average female – 75.

1950? M = 66 F – 72  1960? M = 67 F = 74  1980? M = 70 F = 78

What does this mean for you?

From the age 0 – 18 you are still learning life, going to school and answering to mom and dad. 

From the age of 18 – 25 you are most likely extending your education, meeting your future spouse and possibly preparing to enter the job market.

From the age of 25 – 35 the average couple has married and are preparing for a family of their own, making major purchases, establishing their careers and learning to balance work with play.

According to the census above – if you were born in 1970 you are now at the half-way point in your life. So far you have lived independently, making your own choices, and exploring all aspects of life for approximately 15 years. How is it working for you thus far?

From 35 – 45 you will fall into the “inventory” years, you will decide if your choices are working for you, making you happy, bringing you success. This will be the time when changes are usually made – life changing choices – divorce, job changes, moves… and this will be the time in your life when you will either realize your dreams or find yourself struggling to stay above water.

Now for the bad news. If 70 is your expected life span in years, you will most likely begin experiencing life changing health issues (which will impact your finances as well as your ability to physically partake in those dreams you once dreamt) at the age of 65 on average. You can now remove those last five years from your plans to realize those trips abroad, partaking in activities that require physical activity and strength like snow skiing, boating, hiking, swimming, flying, etc.

Now, if you have children, you will be expected to donate to their education and/or help them out when they hit rough times. There goes the $$ security you thought you had.

Doing the math, you now have approximately 20 years to make the best of your life while you can. Assuming you have the finances to make those trips and do those exciting things you dreamt about, let’s ask this question – are you still in your first marriage? Do you have a partner to share your last 20 year of bliss with? 

Twenty years. Still have to plug away at that job and find time for living your dreams during those vacation periods! Will your children be coming with you? 

Twenty years. Are your bills paid up? Your credit in good standing? How much free time do you really have? Are your living arrangements stable? Do you have a plan if you become ill before the predicted age of 65?

NOW I ASK YOU – Have you found someone to share these last twenty years with? If not, you will probably never take those trips abroad, take those vacations to exciting and new places, you will probably not have the opportunity and/or the motivation to realize those dreams you once had.

At 50 you will begin to acknowledge your own mortality. You will begin the long descent into regret. If you have children, they will be giving you grandchildren and maybe that will be enough to carry you through… but you still have dreams.

At 55 the life you are living is the life that will sustain you.

At 60 the life you are living is the life in which you are dying.

Every day is a gift.

Every opportunity is a gift.

Every choice is a gift.

Find that special someone who loves you as much as you love them.

Learn to live with enough. Take risks. Spend your money and take those trips and see those places you always wanted to see. Do all the things you wanted to do. Experience as much happiness as you can in these years.

If you have found your soul-mate, you are blessed beyond words – you will never be alone, you will always have someone by your side to weather the good times and the bad. When you can no longer physically live your dream your soul-mate will still share your dreams in remembering, imagining and by holding your hand and giving you the gift of love.

You think you have all the time in the world – you don’t. 65 is the average life span of a man born in 1970 – not a guarantee. The quality of your life is not assured either. If you have the chance to love – then love. 

Do not let anything keep you from what matters most – because without someone to love and love you in return… dreams rarely come true.

M TERESA CLAYTON

all citations are with the original post in AEA Magazine.

A LESSON IN FORGIVENESS

A LESSON IN APOLOGIES

“I’m sorry, please forgive me.”

“NO!  I will not forgive you and I don’t accept your apology!”

“Then forget it, I’m not sorry! I take back my apology!”

How often do we hear these words exchanged between two people?  How many times in our own lives has this been our own words?

For this lesson we are focusing on the dynamics between two individuals where one has offended the other - the words “I am sorry” convey a genuine remorse or sorrow for something that is done or said to another person which caused pain (emotional and/or physical.

Genuine, real, true, heartfelt - these are all words that describe the intention behind an apology.  Empathy, remorse, personal accountability, acknowledgment of the consequences of our actions or words; this is what informs us of our errors and leads us to seek resolution between ourselves and whomever we have personally offended.

To offer an apology is to offer yourself up to the injured one(s) and lay open your own vulnerabilities in order to right the wrong. It is humbling, no doubt. However, the reward is in acknowledging your own faults to yourself and to others, and healing your own wounds as well as possibly healing the one you have injured.

Here’s where we get lost – we expect that once we have swallowed our pride and offered an apology for our actions/words, the injured party will immediately accept this and everyone is happy to move on.

NOT SO FAST!

YOUR APOLOGY IS INDEPENDENT OF OUTCOME

That’s right!

If the injured party does not accept your apology, it does not negate the apology (assuming it was genuine, real, true and heartfelt).

You see, making an apology is your choice. There are many who feel badly for things they have said and done but never make it to the actual “offering” of an apology to the injured. Taking that extra step requires a level of conscience, of personal dignity, of honorability and selflessness. Good for you if you can reach the point of offering an apology and take responsibility for your actions if they have hurt someone.

But, when the injured party says they aren’t interested in accepting the apology or are not forgiving of your actions or words – this becomes their choice, independent of your choice to offer reconciliation. The act of forgiveness is independent of the act of contrition.

If your apology hinges on receiving forgiveness then your apology is coming from a selfish place, not a selfless one!

Assuming you did something or said something that hurt someone if you come to understand this transgression and are willing to atone for it, then it does not require acceptance and/or forgiveness to be validated. This is your moment of clarity.  This is your moment of correction. This is your moment of balance. You do this alone.

A LESSON IN FORGIVENESS

Just as the one who asks for forgiveness stands alone in his/her moment of atonement – you too, stand alone in your extension of forgiveness.

Forgiveness does not require an apology.

An apology does not require forgiveness.

Each stands on its own merit.

Each draws from a separate source.

Each provides a different type of peace.

Each is whole unto itself – not a part of the other to be complete.

Here is how that opening dialogue should have gone:

“I am sorry, please forgive me.”

“NO!  I will not forgive you and I don’t accept your apology!”

“I am sorry for what I have done or said that hurt you. I can accept that you refuse to forgive. I am still very sorry for hurting you.”

And just as the above is perfect in its intention, so is the following:

“Though I have never gotten an apology, I forgive him/her.”

“Why would you forgive someone who can’t say they are sorry?”

“…Because forgiveness is my choice. It has nothing to do with the apology – that would be their choice; their journey.”

WHILE OTHERS CAN SUPPORT YOU THROUGH HARD TIMES –

EMOTIONAL HEALING IS PERSONAL – IT REQUIRES NOTHING

FROM WITHOUT AND EVERYTHING FROM WITHIN.

M Teresa Clayton

SUICIDE

When Life Becomes To Heavy -

And, Lord Knows I Have Tried

To Carry This Burden With Me,

I Can't Run and I Can't Hide - So The Only Answer...

Swallow Your Pride - This Day Has Died.

SUICIDE

There was death hanging in the air today

Not just any death, not just any man, takes a bit of breadth to really understand

The brevity of the situation here; the gravity of the speculation clearer

There are no words to say, just pray.

He left us when the sun went down last night

He was in his prime, the panic clings, knowing not the time or by what means,

Full throttle down that slippery slope, pills and a bottle; periphery hope

Not enough to make it right, he couldn’t fight

Found him lying in the hall by the bedroom door

This man who out lived his youth simply could not forgive the truth

When spoken by those ghosts; those broken souls he needed most

Needs for so much more, pleads the touch they all ignored

Death waits until we call for it to come -   come stay

Now he sleeps free of pain, she weeps for the man insane

Seconds become suspended here, inside this distended sphere

The room turns a muted gray; the gloom churns out a crude display

He chose to take his own life; he took the poison and died

Depression begs the question why, repression wins but the best will try

To find those feeling senses as all the mind reeling commences

Was this all just selfish pride? Gone are the answers with his suicide.

Notice how it never ends? Death is always standing right there beyond the door, waiting. 

Suicide is like that, it seems to catch, like fire, among the tender wood that some become. 

Tender hearted, tender minded - these are the ones who bear the weight of our problems without ever sharing their own. 

Nothing can cure the sickness, or repair the damage done, just be gentle with those you meet along your way - something you say or fail to say could make this their suicide day. 

It isn't that another person's choices are your fault, but you can be aware, you can show that you care by simply treating each person you meet with a kind word, a smile and perhaps offer to share a moment, ask if everything is okay... or if by chance you can help them repair what hurts them - in there.

LET ME PRETEND

Let Me Pretend

Dear Fans, Friends, Family and Followers,

We lose those we love, over and over again. Every time we think of them, are reminded by a fragrance, a sound, a song, a touch - we experience them all over again.

Many of you have lost loved ones. So many have lost your life partners, just as I have. I understand. I also understand the plea we make in the dark - I know it is just pretend, but please, let me pretend...

This rhyming story is written for you, inspired by you, and I hope gives you an idea of how many of us exist right along side of you - just wanting to keep on pretending.

There's a silence, a hush, a whisper, then it's gone. Thought I heard you crying, you must know that I'm dying inside of this emptiness. Something is wrong...

Something is wrong.

The air carries a memory; I can smell your fragrance. Reminds me of subtleties, those little cruelties. Out here I am nothing. Invisible vagrants...

                        Invisible vagrants.

I see you standing near the door, I’m crawling 'cross the floor, what am I reaching for? I've been looking everywhere... I can't see you anymore...

You're not there.

I'll understand, I won't ask you where you've been. Come lay close to me, I'll touch you tenderly. Yes, I know this is to pretend...

Please let me pretend.

Just let me close my eyes and feel you here, play with the curls in your hair, touch you everywhere... before you disappear.

I watched you disappear.

M TERESA CLAYTON

COMPLAINT - COMPLIANT: TOGETHER - Forever

COMPLAINT - COMPLIANT: TOGETHER - Forever: The following is a compilation of true 

stories 

Here is a story that we call FAN FICTION. It is YOUR story. Those of you who read this and see yourself within the syllables and between the lines, I thank you for your inspiration and the difficult battles fought for your freedom.

All photographs belong to MALU GOMIDE and are her property. She is allowing me to use them. I am forever grateful for this, since these photos were the push I needed to tell this story.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO MALU GOMIDE ON PHOTOGRAPHY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO M TERESA CLAYTON FOR STORY.

I can hear the laughter as if the memories were fresh, as if it were yesterday, as if you were still here with me laughing over something silly we did or something that was said that was misspoken or was a thought that became a sentence that never should have left the recesses of the mind.


O, how silly we could be together. Me, without a filter and you always translating what “I really meant to say”. Truth is, I meant to say it. Most thoughts aren’t meant to remain thoughts. Say it!


I could hear you shushing me, as you always did. I relied on you to undo any damage my words would cause. You were so dear to me, love. I saw your death before me as if it were taking place all over again. Visions of you waking in the fright, screaming names, screaming my name, as I would try to pull you back to me and hold you until the terror had passed.

You, shaking in my arms that held you so tight… me whispering to you that all would be okay. But, it wouldn’t be okay, would it? You knew. I didn’t want to know.


In the minds of many, we were anarchists, members of the devil’s oligarchy, most importantly, we were sinners by choice. People feared us and our disease. O, yes, we had a disease and it could be “caught” by youngsters and turn them into sinners as well. We lived inside of a self-made prison to keep the haters out and stay whole and healthy. Most importantly, alive.


If we went out, it had to be in groups so that we might be safer amongst the community of religious overlords who felt we needed to die if we would not allow them to beat it out of us. I had even been taken against my will, from my parent’s home and into the street by our Parish Priest. There, I was met with “hand’s-on healings” and an actual exorcism to rid me of my demons and return me to God.


This is nothing compared to the gun shots that grazed by my head from some hidden area along the road I walked each day, to and from our local outdoor market.


Funny, if I touched an apple, no one else would. Once, in a fit of rage, I stood there and touched every piece of fruit and most of the vegetables until the mob chased me away with threats of skinning me and hanging me from a tree to warn others like me what could happen to them if they did not repent and embrace God’s will.



I met you at a remote camping site for our kind. We were camping near a cool running tributary that was no deeper than our shoulders. The water was soothing on a hot summer’s day and we would frolic with the others there, as if we were little children. We were free to be who and what we were.


At night, with no one to see, we would strip from our clothing and skinny-dip, feeling the freedom of being human – just human. I fell in love with you at first glance and you later told me, you took one look at me and knew that we would be together forever.


We moved to another town, where no one knew us, and rented a two- bedroom apartment pretending to be sisters. We were always careful in public not to do anything that might be interpreted as flirtatious and bring suspicion or questions.


Ah, but in the privacy of our apartment, we were free to love, be loved, and make love. All was well with the world until that night when one of us left the shade up enough that a neighbor saw what monsters we were. It only took one night for that news to make it to every ear of every God-fearing resident. We were immediately put out of our apartment, our things put in a pile and burned, which felt like a threat. We feared if we stayed any longer, we’d be put to the stake like the demon worshipping sinners they judged us to be.


It was only a kiss. I kissed you. A kiss I would remember when I closed my eyes and saw that faded photograph in my mind’s eye. I touch my lips each time to feel something more than a memory. I wanted you. I’ve always wanted you; needed you. It was just a fucking kiss! What is wrong with people? A kiss! I would hear my mind scream out, followed by a surrendered reality, a loss, a sadness so deep… a kiss.


We traveled as far as our car would carry us and ended up renting a farm far from the eyes of neighbors. Our agreement included putting the seeds in the ground and the upkeep until it was time to sow. With no experience, we managed to stay healthy and alive, despite the dangerous combinations of fuels we had no understanding about and no experience with. We learned quickly and became bonafide farm women.


It was getting close to the anniversary of our meeting and you had managed to sneak away from our secluded little farm to go into town and pick up flowers for me. I had no idea you were gone until I came into the house and found it hauntingly empty. I felt something shift in time, a terrible sense of doom, a knowing that something was very wrong.


I ran from room to room, first calling your name, then screaming your name. I stood outside knowing I could not call attention to our sanctuary by acting too concerned or fearful. Fear. That was what I felt pulsing through me.


I began to walk down the long gravel road that once gave us a feeling of safety by hearing approaching cars, then we’d hide between the walls in a small space we created for our safety, from outsiders. We only used it once. The intruder never attempted to open the door and enter. He left after knocking a few times and seeing there was no one home. We never knew what he wanted and we didn’t want to know. It took us weeks to sleep through the night without those horrible nightmares of what could have been.


I walked and walked, kicking the gravel to give you a hint of my whereabouts in case you were hidden in the brush next to the road. With each step, the fear grew stronger.


I finally made it to the main road and decided to walk toward town. I could not imagine why you would walk further into oblivion going the other direction.


I had walked approximately a mile when I saw a stemmed daisy and carnation lying at the side of the road. As I knelt to pick them up, I saw a card caught on the barbed wire fence. My hands were shaking as I gently lifted it off one of the barbs.


“For you, my love and my life. I love you more today and with each new day, even more. I fear someday, the love will overflow and drown us both. To die in this way would be fine with me. To die from love overflowing… Happy Anniversary. Love, me.” (You always signed your notes and cards as “me” because there simply was no one else… for me. I would always sign my cards and notes with “yours”. It made for the tiniest yet sweetest testament to our love.)


Up the road I saw another flower and then further, another flower. You were leaving me bread-crumbs of flowers to find you, and the note was your last attempt to get me attention. I knew I was walking the wrong way and turned, picking up each flower as I ran by it and adding it to my limp bouquet.


I was crying now. I knew something bad had happened and only prayed that I’d find you alive. The road, leading in this direction, would take you directly to the creek and the land-mines of marshes and bogs along the way. I did not want to yell out to you in case you were still being held against your will. I did not want to put you in more danger and it was my plan to sneak in and take out each usurper one by one until we were safe to get home, pack up and go on the run again. This had become our normal, so packing up was quick and we carried our things on our backs.


It was about this time that I saw something strange near the tree line where an abandoned lake shore lie on its other side. The shoreline was nothing but mud and loam. I stopped and looked again. My eyes were telling me what my mind simply could not believe. There was a freshly dug out area with something in it that looked like… I couldn’t allow myself to think it, but my legs pushed off and I was at a fierce run to what I knew would be you.


I stopped with such a force that it sent me reeling. It was you. You were partially buried, as if someone had done this in a rush and had to get the deed done and leave before someone saw them.


I crawled toward you, your hand was visible and part of your face. The rest of your beauty was buried beneath the silt, the sand, the dirt and loam and something else. What was this?

I unburied you hoping I could bring you back to me. The tears were blinding me and with every other handful I would try to wipe them away. I had uncovered your face, dirt filled your mouth and nostrils, I knew you were gone. Someone had taken you away from me.


The tears were now covering my face and mixing with the combination of soil and loam, and… salt. I tasted the white substance that surrounded you and covered you along with the dirt and it was salt. Table salt?


Someone had gone to quite a lot of trouble and planning to do this horrible thing. There you lay before me beneath the ground, beneath the salted ground, as if you were evil, a witch, not human.


I remembered your note and your reference to our love drowning us and how blissful this would be to end a life this way, beneath the deluge of love. I knew what I had to do. It was the only thing I could do. I was not going to leave you and I certainly did not want to go on in this hateful world without you by my side.


I struggled to lift you out of this shallow hell of a grave. I held you and rocked you to and fro, weeping uncontrollably. I brushed the dirt away from your beautiful skin that was once pink and warm with life and now held no color, grey – a deathly grey, and no warmth. I checked to see if there was a hint as to how you may have died. No bruises or evidence of brutality, I knew then that you were alive when you were buried, suffocating beneath the weight of the ground that covered you and filled your mouth and nostrils. The final insult – the salt. You. The most loving soul I had ever known treated with such insult. But, who did this?


I knew what I had to do. I placed you back into that shallow grave and covered you hoping it looked as if no one had found you.


I walked along the road, amidst the bramble and brush that pulled and bit at my legs. I made it home and went directly to the barn. There, I made several attempts to start the old car we bought years ago. Any other time, it would not have submitted to my supplications, but this day was different. On this day, her motor turned over and continued to run. No one would expect to see me in a car.


I filled the back seat, and the seat next to me, with as many bags filled with ammonium nitrate that I could fit. I then loaded the trunk of the car with containers of diesel. I only prayed that I had enough to do the job and that I would survive the drive to town.


I turned onto the outermost street that would make a nice square to release my revenge. I stopped the car in a hidden area and cut long gashes in the bags beside me first. I opened the side door, kicked out the interior light, and began to leave a heavy-laden path of the powder through the outer streets. Right turn and another right turn, stopping long enough to reload the front seat with more of the bags and then continue, another right turn and another and I was back where I began. I had two more bags. I carried them to the church door a block away and left them there unopened.


Returning to the car, I grabbed the liquid that would set it all off. I placed them from the church door to the outer part of the road where my car was barely choking with life. I decided to see if I could still hotwire a car and, to my delight and relief, I could. I high-jacked a car parked facing out of town and back toward home. However, I pushed the old car full of liquid toward the church and ran to the safety of my borrowed chariot.


The explosion was deafening and I could see the fire chasing the car I was in as I drove up the road. I floored the pedal and sped off safely from the Armageddon behind me. There would be no survivors.


I slept in the car that night, pulled off the road and hidden well within the wooded area between our home and the lake.


After checking to see if there were any signs of life from last night’s attack and hearing nothing – a deathly silence - I was sure I had completed the job with great precision.


Now, I needed to return on foot to my beloved. Again, I unburied her and carried her to the water’s edge. I walked out into the water keeping her afloat for as long as I could. Then I kissed her one last time and pushed her under. I held her there until I was sure she would remain beneath the waves that gently lapped at the shore with the gentlest of breezes.






I stood for a moment looking out onto the surface of the lake for any signs she would resurface. I collapsed onto the ground littered with filth and debris from those who used this area for a place to party, or for a rape, or a murder… I could barely breathe. Each sob seemed to steel a breath and another and another, until I was sure I would suffocate before joining her beneath the swill.

Lying on the ground, I managed to strip out of my dress and lay there with my eyes closed, praying I could do this. I had to do this. I wanted to do this.



What little breath left in me was released in an eerie mist and as I stood up and turned towards the water’s break, I suddenly felt her hands stroking my face and my pushing my hair out of my eyes. It felt so real that I had to stop and get my bearings before continuing. I knew she waited for me out there.

I stepped into the water, then took another step, each taking me deeper and further from the shore. I finally found the place where she now lay sleeping. I said to her, “I’m coming with you, my love and my life. Our ‘someday’ has arrived. Our love now overflows and to die in this way is fine with me. I will be with you soon.


I dropped beneath the water and inhaled once. I choked and fought the feeling that I needed to get back to the surface and the air. I tried to exhale and inhaled once more. That was enough. That was all it took. It was quicker and so much easier than I could have ever imagines. But, I didn’t have to imagine. We were together again. We were together forever.


Happy anniversary my love and my life…

M Teresa Clayton