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I am allergic to cats. My eyes swell, my nose drips, I itch dreadfully for an endless three to four days whenever I meet a new one, and still I have been owned by a wide selection of them most of my life. Even here, in a complex where pets are not allowed, there are five who have designated me their person. They sleep on the chaise on the back patio or the chairs in the front patio. Of course the white one has chosen the black chairs for his hang out.

I had a great cat carrier once, a bag with a transparent panel on one end so the occupant could see out, and despite the airholes, it could double as a weekend holdall if needed.

Malkin was another cat who lived with me in NY. Grey and lean and very bright he hated the carrier and would howl in sweeping crescendos, sounding like a tortured child, whenever I had to take him to the vet. So much so that I would spring for a cab rather than struggle on the subway subjecting the world to his annoyance.

One day my usual car company had no one available so I walked up to the avenue to hail a yellow cab. After some minutes I rested the bag with Malkin down - amazing how weighty a fifteen pound cat can be! I spotted a cab in the distance - light on, so available. Up shot my hailing arm while the other hand shot down to grasp the bag...that wasn't there!

I looked around for someone running off with my cat only to see the bag itself, soft sided, rolling off along the sidewalk at top speed as Malkin found hamster in his family tree and played treadmill. Chasing a howling, animated, bag at rush hour in Brooklyn makes people look for candid camera and makes the chaser - me - pray for superb bladder control because trying to run while doubled up with laughter is a challenge in itself.

I'm not sure why all these memories of Malkin,Pye, Little Beep, Zeus, Chevar, Ming, Tiko,Tant Pis, Whiskey, Dusty and Mouse are popping up.Whiskey lived with me when I was a teenager and she had kittens, Eeny Meeny Miny Moe Ugly and Ginger. I found homes for all but Moe who stayed with me, a boneless drape of fur around my neck. He used to DEMAND food at dinner time and one day I was late home and my mother snapped at him "Get lost". He walked out of the house and never came back.

Cats! Gotta love 'em.

We were having a deep discussion, this evening, about some of Hamilton's less desirable neighbourhoods. One driver decided it was a good time to complain about an establishment in Hamilton's "core" where men go to watch dirty movies and pleasure themselves.

Another driver, upon hearing this coomplaint, replied to the first, "Didn't I drive you there once?"

i was just thinking about this as I sit here on my computer.....We go through many heart aches and heart breaks in our lifetime, just to finally meet someone whom you are not even sure is there.Is there someone out there for all of us? Do we actually have a soul mate? Im not trying to bring people down or anything it's just I've never been one for Love at first sight, Marriage is bliss stuff. Sometimes I wish I was, because those people have so much faith in love and finding that special person, it's like they have never had their heart broken. Im only 21 and yet I feel as if this is it. Maybe it's just not worth the heartbreak . Or maybe it is. We all decide sooner or later....

So the birds began their song and woke up the day. Who woke up the birds? It was very cold, and I thought for a second about the hot sunshine in the south of Spain...... but only for a second or so. The cold weather is so nice, but in July? It gives people an excuse to smile at you and nod their heads in your direction. Even if it is only to say "This cold will be the death of me "???
Why do people say that?

Are they wishing death upon themselves?
Do they really believe their statement?
Will they be surprised when they keel over with Bird Flu or hypothermia or some disease related to "The Cold" and more to the point their mindset.
Will they be surprised when they actually die?
cAn TheY fEel SurpRisE iF tHey DiE??

I wonder if on their deathbeds they will say

" Do you know I was only saying the other day, this cold will be the death of me..... and look ....it came true .....it is .....zonk."

I love people because they come in all different sizes and shapes and colours. It doesn’t surprise me that whatever you can imagine in people then there is sure to be a person like that in the world.

I used to imagine people being nasty and taking advantage of me or the situation they were in and lo and behold I was never let down. I could always find someone or something to say
" There I told you so. I just KNEW IT!"
I could always find someone to moan about or moan at.
My life seemed to consist of a succession of "events" which were meant to test me.
Now I look at life in a different way.
When I see someone who is angry at me I try to imagine what is hurting inside that person. What is the thorn in their side? I know that anything I do is NOT designed to make people hurt and therefore I know that it can only be the hurt in them which makes them angry ...or sad...or emotional...or whatever.

Of course there are people who appear to be "evil" or just out and out awkward but if one were to search into their lives one would find a thorn.
A good thing is to believe that everyone really will be good to you and so treat them in the way you want to be treated. An even better thing is to understand that good is not a term which can be defined by anyone. How can we know what is good? One man’s meat is another man’s poison. Good like bad is an illusion conjured up for this body.
It is said that if one sincerely believes I mean BELIEVE IT NOW then whatever you desire can be yours. Why should one desire? Are we just a complex set of equations who can be satisfied with a tweak here and a tweak there? Life certainly presents us with problems and aches and pains but does any harm actually befall you. There may be some "apparent harm" on the road to the end but it is of no significance compared to the riches and joy that are to be had, not NOW in this life, but in the real life, the immortal life of spirit of soul

Holding back has become one of the great gods in today’s world.
People hold back all kinds of things.
They hold back their trust...just in case
They hold back their money ...just in case
They hold back their love ... just in case
They hold back their smiles ...just in case

Well there really is no just in case!
Holding back simply puts off the day.
Let your heart shine through
Smile at the world
Try not to make the usual excuses that others make

"People will think I am mad.
What if they do this or that?
I am not going to let people walk over me like a door mat.
etc etc

Do not struggle against anything but let it all flow towards you.
Accept what is yours gracefully.
People can only give you what you allow them to give you.
Walk away with a smile if they want to give you a hiding or a bad time
If you cant walk away then allow it to happen with a smile on your face ,secure in the knowledge that what they take from you will come back to you a hundred fold.

I see a nice granary loaf and a mature cheddar waiting to be eaten so au revoir,

This morning I slept late. Usually the creep of pink across the wall as dawn unfurls her banners will rouse me. Not today. The clouds hang low and sullen, gunmetal shutters closed across the bowl of sky. Space is only about 12 miles above us, straight up. No weather, no air just a deep cold dark studded with the fires, the signposts of the Universe. How do the fires of the sun burn without air? If someone really big put a saucepan lid over it, would it go out? No global warming then, nor yet nuclear winter just an icy blanket of black velvet dark encrusted with distant suns too far to light our brief candles.

There was a science fiction tale I never understood. Heinlein I think, although the years have carved lacunae in my memory leaving brain lint where knowledge once nestled, his people were preparing for the coming of the stars, a sunset that led them to destroy their civilisation whenever it came. They were crushed, driven mad by the sight of the stars. Was it the awful splendour that defeated them or were they just scared of the dark? I have felt awe. Been speechless in the presence of some beauty inaccessible to Man's creative talents. Something that just exists and is so near perfection that my eyes burn with tears to gaze upon it...but it has never diminished me because a grain of sand, a pearl, a Universe can sit side by side with one cell discarded from my skin and claim kinship with its heart rending beauty.

I recently saw photographs of waterdrops on line, the strange crystalline shapes it took responding to sound, the spoken words of love, of hate, of prayer, of anger. Before and after prayer the lineaments changed from disjoint into harmony. I know my liquid spirit shifts and shapes when I take it into company. It moves and dances to the pulls of joy and jabs of anger I encounter, opening like a flower to the gentle touch of love. What is love? For me it is the care I take not to cut myself even with the painless slice of a very sharp knife or to avoid the blundering crushing pain of a thumb beneath a hammer and applyiing that same care to others.

Love thy neighbour as thyself. I embrace the spirit, not religion, but these words ring true. The same survival instinct that pulls me back from touching heat, from poison, needs to be applied like a poultice to the world of people I encounter. Side by side we share the beauty of the stars, the flowers that never worry if their petals are too gaudy, sexy enough, expensive enough. The trees that never fret if they have not as many leaves as their neighbour in the forest. The soil that feeds all equally without question, yielding more to those who give back and nurture it.

When did we learn to believe in poverty when abundance is the rule? Perhaps it is when we came to think that the toys that decorate the trash heaps of the world and travel back and forth unwanted on stinking barges without a port equal riches. A smile, the hand of friendship, the kindness done unnoticed, unremarked, the care we give ourselves and others, this is wealth beyond the dreams of avarice. And here you can find love.

If it isn't already known, I am a waitress. I serve pancakes and sausage to the hungry and satisfy the coffee addicts with our fresh black brew of burning death. I have to smile while morbidly obese people order two meals and then the largest dessert on the menu to calm their insatiable hunger. I am a liar, because with my transparent plastic smile I imply that I am happy to serve you, to be your slave, to deliver you mass amounts of butter so in the future you can die of what I like to call "lard heart."

Just recently I crashed my car into a sign. It was a "slow down, you're turning" sign. Obviously I had a problem with both recommendations. (On a side note, in my frustration, I thought the only fair compensation for my poor vehicle's suffering was to jam the broken sign into my trunk.)

Then a week later (to make a long story short) my car and the mailbox got into a terrible brawl. My car won, and the mailbox was skewn in pieces (along with the mail) all over the lawn. However, the mailbox (and devil sign) managed to do a total of $4,500 worth of damage.

I decided not to fix it, but there was some damage that was required to be fixed, including a smashed tail light. So I picked up several extra shifts at the diner. I was desperate for money, so I resorted to something I thought I'd never do.

Bus tables.

My fellow busser was named Pablo. He was from Guatamala. Through conversations I had realized he knew maybe five words of English. That was popular in the diner. If you were going to work in the kitchen, you were not allowed to speak fluent English. It's a fetish my manager has. The only people who think that he's funny can't speak English.

Let's take a moment to pity the man.

I was sitting down, sulking in my corner, when Pablo came up next to me. I have taken four years of Spanish (throughout my years of high school, mostly forgotten) so I struggled through a basic first grade conversation. He was strange. He was a rather young man but he looked middle aged. He had piercing eyes, in the "I'm imagining you without your clothes on" kind of way.

He pointed at me and said "One baby."

I thought he meant I was pregnant.

"No," I answered firmly.

"Porque?!" he asked.

"Tengo diecisiete anos!" (I'm 17 years old!)

He continued to stress that I was pregnant, so I tried running away from him. It didn't work. Our conversations led into a discussion about my love life. He asked me if I was dating anyone, and I told him no. He asked why, I told him I didn't have time, that i was always at work or with my family and friends.

Then, he got this creepy look in his beady eyes. He kept saying something about a boyfriend. "Lo siento, no comprendo." (I'm sorry, I don't understand.)

"Tu novio!" (Your boyfriend!) he shouted.

"Que?" (What?)

"Yo!" (Me!) he exclaimed, pointing at himself dramatically. I stared at him in shock and horror, intimidated by his persistence and unibrow.

"No."

"Porque?!" he stressed, eyes bulging out of his head with the smile of a rapist stretched across his dark face.

"NO!" I answered more firmly.

"Porque?" his voice rasped as he smiled at me, dirty thoughts evident, as he pushed the bus cart through the swinging door, eyes still watching me through the glass as he disappeared to the other side.

I have never been more frightened in my life.

No tail light is worth THAT.

People seek this type of love all of their lifes.

I remember one that was called puppy love. That one broke my heart into many little pieces. I was young, age 12 , was very shy. Never kissed a boy before. Ahhh what memories.

Then I met my x, I saw him from afar and fell madly in love with him, knew I would marry him, and two years later I was his wife. I loved him with everything I had. He loved me, as I loved him. A soulmate from the heart.
That was a 31 year marriage, not all of that marriage was happy. I took abuse, for most of it. I guess we fell out of love, I won't say to much more then that.

Now I am looking for a man who has loved and knows love. One that doesn't look at the outside but what is in the inside. The heart , the soul of a person. I am to old to be playing games with men. I don't want someone to show me how much money he has, or how many brains he has. I want him to be who he is inside, on the outside.

Alot of people talk about finding true love, but I am a thinking they don't know how to see it when it comes their way. Is that cause of the money, the games, everything that is now. The internet, which we didn't have when I was growing up. Everything is given easy to these people , but yet they are still blind.

Finding true love isn't about money, its about who soul touches yours, and melts into you.


Mary

Tonight I am a little one.
I have cried tears
right from my broken heart,
they scald and scar my face with red,
with swollen eyes,
snail tracks of salt
across my cheeks.
Not the gentle tears of feeling
these rise from some
deep shuttered well
to carry off
my poisoned dreams
my shattered hope
my unrequited love.
Their passage mars me
so I can see the ugly
stored inside me
leaving.
Something I can wash away,
can say goodbye to.
I wonder if the well
is very deep...


Just goes to show that if you wait around everything passes. He got old and shrunken and lost all his teeth. I'm so glad he left me!

When I was about nine years old I loved to go to church. I went to school at St. Gabriel's, staffed by Anglican nuns in full habit, mostly black with white like magpies chasing our shiny childish souls; although there was Sister Christine who rapped knuckles with a ruler and had perpetual hiccoughs who wore brown. I didn't like her much. I loved to pray. The words would pour from my throat in sweet measured cadences and sometimes I'd see the nuns whispering and nodding towards me, I think they suspected vocation in me and they may have been right because once I prayed and saw an angel who came to answer my prayer; but my path from the Church was brutally and abruptly sundered one Sunday afternoon.

I went to church as usual,Sunday School, we sang the hymns and then it was time to pray. The stained glass windows were right above me and a shaft of sunlight trickled down and wrapped around me, bathing me in colour and in warmth. I was exalted, taken by the Rapture. I could feel the power reaching out to me and calling me up the ladder of light barred with rungs of sapphire, ruby and gold. I prayed. The words an anthem of my spirit. My soul pushing up from my diaphragm, through my throat and climbing up the light with passion and commitment. I saw and was Seen, a deep connection made to somewhere, something, and the current ran from me to all the others, I felt the meld take hold and stretched my arms above my head, reaching up the light.

A crash on the lectern stopped me, stopped us all, The priest came over, grabbed my arm and threw me literally out of "his" church and told me never to come back. I stood in tears, wringing nine year old hands, asking why? What did I do? He said "You prayed too loud." and whirled his fusty robes back inside. I trembled as I waited for my mother because I had transgressed. I had been expelled from Church. And she would not be pleased. Strangely there was no punishment forthcoming, and when all the grown ups came and others told the tale there was a hue and cry...against the priest who then proceeded to expel everyone from the Church. He shouted and pushed the grown ups too. They pushed him back. I remember my eyes stretched in my face, unblinking till they felt dry. The world was unfamiliar and unsafe.

I never went back to church with any earnestness. I went to many churches, seeking what I had felt and lost. Once, at fourteen, sitting on a hill with a stone pressing painfully into my behind I knew with utter certainty that the world and I and you and all that was around us, this was immortal. This was spirit forever.

I have followed many paths; opened my heart and mind so often that I broke the doors. Now tears stream down my cheeks uninvited, without a sob when I am engaged. I have no shields against the Rapture and I pour my soul into my words, onto paper on the net and let it wander where it will. What of the priest? The man who disposed of a young girl's burgeoning vocation? He drank, and on that day, demon alcohol was the spirit that moved him. No doubt my nine year old voice, suffused with Rapture was shrill and hurt his head...although I felt it echo in my chest. Today I thank him, because the cold of stone beneath my knees, the shock of flagellation is a poor way to celebrate the flesh. I might have made an admirable nun but I am one hell of a woman.

Wandering around, I feel empty and lost, with this urning to be found. I want to be understood. Appreciated, urned for. But I am not, so I lay here in this box called the world. The world of the lost. Wondering if someone out there will find me worthy to be found. Am I that important enough that someone will come searching through this box to claim me? Do I stand out enough that they will reconigze me and know they can not live without me.
How many more things will be piled ontop of me until I am so at the bottom that I will never be found. Do I struggle to get out of the box and find that person on my own? What if they are in the box too? How can two lost people find each other?
Until these are answered, I will contintue to lay in this box of lost and found, hoping one day to belong to someone, to be that special person that someone has been searching for. I hope to never be lost once I am found.
Do you ever feel lost?