Alien Corpse Found in Home Installation

It was the abused children and Anne Frank during my elementary years. High school was for racism and undergrad was for classism.

Grad school was for the impoverished.

Late twenties was for death and mother earth.

Early thirties was for animal suffering.

This a timeline of my sorrows: The source of deep sunken tears when my thoughts turn dark and lonesome. Image

I have this place where my sorrows stir. Where if I wallow too long, I get stuck in the muck.

The only way out is…

SEA

…a moment in the presence of the amazing

Image

…laughter at the absurd

 

…a dream reawakened by the hope that someday…one day…

…forgiveness in the arms of the Most Patient Above.

…the tiny spark of love

anxious to ignite

a simple glance to the light

to scatter my fright.

 

(Post written in 2014-February)

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Oh Well, It Was Swell While It Lasted

Is it me or what?  Exactly one year after this post: I engaged in my first mercy kill.

blue bellied lizardThe cat dragged him into the back yard. He stuck his claws into the lizard’s head and batted him around the patio. My warm fuzzy feelings for the cat vanished in an instant as I threw him inside and returned to the lizard.

He was upside down until I turned him over and saw that he was breathing…and bleeding. I went back inside to try and forget about him. I told myself he would live, he would go find a nice place to rest and heal.

His belly was the most beautiful blue…

An hour or so i reluctantly returned and to my dismay he hadn’t moved a centimeter and his breathing was labored. If he were human he would be engaging in what is known as the death rattle. (Oh the death rattle…why do you haunt me so?)

My sister thousands of miles away confirmed it, I had to put him out of his misery. (Despite my protests, who am I to decide? What if he is enjoying his final moments?)

But the blood was plentiful and my heart was exploding. The time had come and I went for the machete. If I could just chop his head off with a quick one-two…

But it took four. Four chops to sever the head. And believe me it wasn’t pretty. His head and body twitched violently long after the deed was done.

I yelled noooooooo and tears sprang to my eyes as I delivered each blow. When it finished I looked up to the sky and wailed. (An actress at heart truly, but one cannot help the level of dramatics we are born with.)

And so it was. So it is. So it will be.

And Then The Rain Came

This thing they call happiness, it suits me just fine…Volcano?

Lately, I find myself singing. Making up verse as I putter through the day. A song may start something like this:

(To the Tune of On Top of Old Smokey)

Oh beautiful oven mitt, all scorched and holey. 

Full of old red sauce and ravi-o-l-i.

(After lost in the trance of the task at hand, I then transition into something like the following:)

(To the tune of Everybody Dance Now)

Everybody groove now, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh…C’mon let’s move, let’s da-a-ance! Move...(Immediate transition to the tune of Respect by Aretha Franklin):What you are! Baby I got it. What you need, you know I want it! All I’m asking is for a little Respect when you come home! Just a little bit…Respect. just a little bit wheeohwheeohwheeeeee…

Here I will quit boring with you the gritty details. There’s a message in this madness, allow me to dig it up…It’s here somewhere…Ah yes, here we are:wheel of fortune

Well, Dear Readers of Miss Corrigan,

A warm breeze by the name of happiness has invited himself over and seems to be making himself comfortable indeed.  How can I explain this? This, feeling of joy at the sound of the constant rain pouring into the scorched earth. At the sight of the neon green sprouts and electric orange buds sprouting from the Aloe Vera drinking the rain with all of it’s might.

It is not a smile that this joy brings, albeit its presence is prevalent to say the least,  no this joy, for lack of a better word, is something that covers one like the most wonderful blanket in the world. It is waterproof, but not rain proof, it allows one to feel the soft breeze and inhale the fresh sky filled with fresh life.

As the wheel of fortune turns, we experience life at times without the blanket. Sometimes without a roof, a bed, or our favorite toy. We experience life’s events hungry, cold, and lonely. Sometimes we lose everything.

But the wheel spins, folks. The wheel spins.

Yours truly,

Miss Corrigan

For a look at how the wheel spins, read an article written almost exactly a year earlier

Life flies

Life flies. No I mean it. It is as fleeting as a the hummingbird. Whenever there is something I am looking forward to-say a birth, it is here before I know it. When the moment comes, it is as if it has always been there.

Our backyard is brimming with life, spring is here. The apple tree is blossoming after so many days being dormant, it bloomed with a flourish, as if to say I have always been here.  If there is anything I will regret it is the moments I spent caught up in the daily bustle. I will mourn the moments that I lost because I was too busy getting ready for the next thing.

It is only natural for us to be caught up, that we must tend to our spirituality in a conscious manner. It is because we must tend to it, do we reap the special rewards from doing so. Prayer, reflection, and patience in life’s most mundane moments are where I can find the spiritual energy that is bursting everywhere on earth.  There are times when I want to say forget all this mumbo jumbo. Life is short and then we die. (A saying I found to be most prevalent in the dinosaur exhibit at the natural history museum.) However, when I quiet the mental chatter, and the beauty flows into my being, even if it is for a moment, I am capsized by the audacity of life’s offerings.

An example:

Once while I was downstairs cleaning the dishes, the light streamed into the windows just so that I lay pause to my work. I stopped and was suddenly overcome with this warm immense joy. This joy was so intense it brought me to tears and nearly to my knees. After a moment I gathered myself together, and as it happens when I feel such emotion I seek out the ones I love to tell them how much I appreciate them. But as I went searching for my husband, I found that he was directly above me. And he was praying…

Even prayer can seem mundane, and maybe even crazy. I must wrestle with this feeling of maybe not really meaning it, going through the motions so to say. But it is practice that makes anything else better, why would prayer be any different? Every so often, prayer is not mundane, it is essential and stirring.  When it is, it is as if God has always been there, and that knowledge can give a girl new life once again.

 

A Short from on Set

FILM SYNOPSIS:

They couldn’t have known that in the wilderness of Alaska, the son of Sylvia Plath would hang himself. They only went there to grieve their own private sorrows.

SCENE:

A recently married couple are driving home from a long day of work and other related endeavors. It’s mid-evening:

“So a lot of corruption goes on, but only the failed attempts are illustrated. Just how much corruption goes on to succeed is unknown, and we have to guess that only a few are caught. Yeah, so the widespread corruption that goes on unaccounted for is rampant and frighteningly commonplace.”

“And that’s your point?”

“Why must you demean me?”

“You use these words like demean and nobody understands you.”

“I’m simply talking about the nature of life.”

“So dramatic.”

“Yeah, just like the ‘so’ in your retort.”

“I’m hungry.”

CUT CUT CUT! The director pops up from his chair to guide the young actors.

Listen he says addressing the couple, I need you to understand what these characters are facing. What we have here is another missed opportunity for a moment of clarity, to indulge in the dramatic!

But! You know at the same time that it doesn’t make a difference anyway. Anything profound born in a moment is part of the past just as quick. All in all its just moments, one after another. One brings a cry so ferocious that laughter is enlivened alongside the pulsating heart…And then! And then we live with these moments while new moments are cascading around us. We are a living history, some with moments that have broken us, and others with those that have risen us from the ashes. Most with a little of each incessantly until our life is over.

The director, turns and faces the camera or the cameraman and slowly says the following:

I am homeless, like you are. I am only too aware of the fragility of that home we make and call our own. There are those who save us, and to those same, we turn our rage. Though in the afternoon light, when everyone has gone to contend with the masses, and all is still in the empty home, the simple truth streams in through the blinds. The contempt and the anger, the stress and the defenses, the blame and the misgivings, are no longer. Not by anything concrete or definable have they gone. But by the breakdown of the complex to the basic.

The director turns again to the actors.

 It is going from the dread of dragging your bones through another day to a wide-eyed fascination for one’s external stimuli. And ha! The difference is only a moment. So much of the control involved in a moment is beyond humanly initiated, but that doesn’t stop us from putting all our energy into that perceived control. And when it all crashes down us, and we are left with NOTHING, the whole world is new again. We must redefine ourselves, accept who we are, and live honestly-accepting of our new role. No, I do not drive the bus, you must say to yourself, as you squeeze your beloved a moment longer. Now, let’s continue with the scene, as if I hadn’t stopped you. But this time, keep in mind what I have told you. And, ACTION!

“You’re always hungry,what are we going to fix anyway, there’s nothing at home,” meanwhile secretly remembering the eggs and corned beef in a tin at the back of the cabinet.

“Yes, I’m hungry and tired, I still gotta take a shower, take out the trash, brush my teeth, eat something-how about I fix us up some corned beef and eggs?

…(beat)

Aren’t you glad I thought of that?”

“Yes, my sweet apple pie.”

(And they drove the rest of the way home in their whiny Toyota, each experiencing their own moments that proceeded to fade into the blurring landscape.)

 

CUT. SCENE, THAT’S A WRAP PEOPLE.