I am determined that this year will be different. Just as winter hides the countrysides of New England, and New England once hid me, while we were being made from I, I too will melt and be uncovered as we. Then I as we will see what grows. Perhaps. Maybe it's OK to dream. Yes?

The cranberry bogs have turned their maroon, and the beach grass has turned into spun gold, glittering in the winter sun. Even beauty, haunting beauty.

The wind blows frigid cold, down from the north reaches. The silver green leafless bushes wave, powerless to stand against that relentless driving northern force. Beyond it's control.

It all mirrors my/our life. Right now. There is the unearthly, the questions of is this really all possible. Am "I" really "we"? Really? Unearthly.

And yet I marvel, again and again, at my ability to adapt to situations, to pick up the ball and run with it... Minor successes that lend life, my life, a haunting beauty. Perhaps life, all life, really is poetry. In motion.

The cold, though. Now there's the bottom of it. The ruthless cold. Buffeted by life, pushed mercilessly around, only to freeze in the cold.

Survival has two edges it seems. One merely existence, the other warm completion.

Can I chose? This time? Is it really up to me? No one will overrule me? No one will step in and turn it all inside out?

I can choose for me, for warm completion, for true beauty? What could be more beautiful than a new thing sprung from the ashes of
the old?

Then I choose. We choose. All of us. We, me, Jon, The Twins, Toddler, and yes, even Infant, safe in our protective arms, we'll turn and face that wind. Dare it to blow it all away, but we now know one thing.

We will not be moved. Changed, gladly. But never moved. We stand. Together, always together.

Did you ever go running on the railroad tracks? We did when we were a teen. sometimes we would run on the boards between the tracks, and sometimes we would run the rails. With enough practice we could run the rail without falling for a long distance.

Funny thing was that once you learned to run the rails it was difficult to walk them. It was like once you got so used to balancing yourself running, you could no longer balance yourself walking.

Guess I have been learning alot about balancing in life lately. I've spent 40 plus years running the rails of life. It felt great every day I got to the end of the rails without once falling off. If I did fall off, I'd just get backup and try again the next day.

About a year ago, a train hit me in life. I had to stop running the rails for a long time. At first it was hard to sit still, and learn to just watch and listen. Finally I began to see the beautifull view around me. Began to see a lot of wonderful things I did not see before, cause when you are running, you don't have time to look and see. I began to see a lot of wonderfull things inside of me too.

Now I am learning to walk again. Yup, you guessed it. There are some in here bound and determined to try to run the rails again. Now there are others in here saying no, stop, smell the flowers, pick up the little pieces of metal and turn them into whistles, like your grandfather taught you to.

Before it was just me, running full steam ahead. Now I know there are many in here who need to learn to walk, to smell the flowers, and to go slow enough to know the joy of finding a small piece of metal and turning it into a special whistle.

Not sure what the balance will finally be. Somehow I know I will never run the rails every day again. That is ok. I dont want to miss the little whistles anymore, or the great views. I want to find a balance that all within can live with.

Funny how learning to walk and sit can be so hard. We'd much rather be running the rails like days past. But to do that we have to deny that we are all here again. Ignore the pain, the memories, the hurt, the fear, even the existance of those who held so much for so long so we could run the rails. For once I feel like taking time to enjoy the day, not just getting to the end.

sometimes I want to get up and run and run and run. I know that running will never erase what happened, nor will it allow us to heal. I have to go slow, embrace the past along with today, and slowly begin to look at tomorrow. Some days it is too hard to balance, and I am learning it is ok to sit by the rails and find the little secret mysteries of life. Other days I am ready to walk a short or long way.

Someday i will have the desire to run again. Only it will not be running away from us, it will be all of us running, walking, sitting, standing, whatever it takes to just be me.

            Steven, who has had to learn some things this week.

Possibly triggering content!

Mother

Mother always feared her religion. There, I've said it. She feared her religion. Once she converted to and joined in her religion, she feared everything about it. There were things about her life she had to change to fit within the confines of the sacred teachings, and things that could go on as usual, all regulated by that fear. One of her greatest fears was that those little dark secrets that her religion allowed would not stay within the confines of the rules, and grow and change and turn into something that would crawl into your bed at night and rape you. She feared that if she regressed into her pre-religious ways that all the cloud covering that it provided would dissipate and she would be left standing naked on the front lawn while the workers of the day drove slowly down the road on their way back to their own cloud-covered religious homes. She feared that her religion would find the one unmentioned and unforgivable sin and cause it to grow into a thing that would destroy her. Climbing over her in the night bringing deseases that could not be cured and causing her womb to be full of things to be hated and feared. My mother hated her religion, and therefore never stood before it and claimed her responsibility. She instead cowered behind it, hiding in the cloud-covering and tried her best to deal with the dark secrets within the confines of its laws, never giving them up, only changing their names. Mother always feared her religion.

            anon

Possibly triggering content!

THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT IT

There's something about it,
A small hand reaches up to be held...
Only to be hit.
There's something about it,
The silent screams that never seem to end...
And then she's hit again.
There's something about it,
He surely can't hear me, my screams go only inside...
He must know...so he hits again.
There's something about it,
It's too quiet now...
He's probably getting ready to hit again.
There's something about it,
He didn't hit me again, but I wish he would...
Only this could be worse.
He reaches down to undo my shirt...
He reaches down to undo my pants...
Oh please don't do it again,
daddy please don't do it again.
So, there I lay on a bed of dead leaves
deep in the forest,
No one would find us and no one would hear us,
What would I do?
I'm naked now and he takes off his shirt,
Then his hand moves down to unbutton his pants.
I'm only 12 years old, but it's not the first time...
A tear escapes out the corner of my eye.
He lay's down beside me at first to stroke my breast,
Which were developing well by now.
With one leg on top of mine he held me down;
His penis rest against my side
And I could feel his pulse racing faster than mine...
Then it was time.
He rolled over on top of me and I couldn't breath,
Then the pain came as he inserted his penis inside me
And I forgot that I couldn't breath
because it hurt so bad...
In and out...in and out...
The pain only got worse...
In and out...in and out...
It seemed to go on for hours and hours.
The pain was so bad I thought I would die,
Then he stopped, rolled over on the ground next to me
And I lay crying, uncovered and cold;
As I lay there in shame, it began to softly rain.
I tried to rise to my feet to re-dress
but I couldn't move,
My whole body was numb,
But deep inside I could feel the pain
that would never end.
He stood and re-dressed himself
and then he dressed me.
To sore to walk, he carried me
and set me upon my horse,
I only screamed and moved so I was laying across it
But still being able to hold on.
He must have enjoyed seeing me in so much pain,
Maybe that's why we rode bare-back that day.
As we rode nearer the house I sat up,
Clinched my teeth and prayed we could get off soon...
But instead he made me ride to the barn
to help put the horses away.
The pain was so bad that when I came down on my feet,
I fell to the ground.
He yelled for me to get up or he'd hit me again...
I was no fool, so I rose to my feet and turned to walk away;
Once in a day was enough for me,
But then I felt the horses rein fly across my back
and it all started again.
He told me that if I ever told anyone,
Especially my mother,
I would die.
So I lied, and lied and just kept lying.
The only way I wanted to die was by my own hand;
Not his.
Soon, real soon I would find a way to kill myself
And only he would know why.
There's something about it,
My dad's gentle hand
I never knew.
There's something about it,
My mother's love
I never found.
There's something about it,
INCEST...It can make you feel alone.
But you are not alone,
There are many others in the going through it too...

Tina

All Writings are copyrighted by the authors and are used with permission