Heart Inside Out
Struggling to hearken to my heart
it’s been sent but never spent
listen to the far off glisten
wish to feel the swish
alas, I can’t locate my heart
it has parted, parted, parted
swirling mind is most unkind
I beg and beg and beg
to find the golden egg
bleed to rewind once more
to follow crimson trail
let lost love prevail
but I’ve lost it, lost it, lost it
tossed it, tossed it, tossed it
what has it cost, cost, cost?
can’t find my mind
my heart departs
missing, missing, missing
reminiscing about
my absent link
don’t know what to think
blink and tell me
where you hide
want to put
my heart inside.
The Connecting Link
As writers, we always look for new ways to use words when describing a poem, a scene, a dialouge; even our own thoughts. I am a firm believer that words have brought us over the centuries to where we are today. Quite honestly, without them, we would all be stumbling, blithering idiots.
In Webster's Dictionary, there are 49 words that begin with the word "link". I give you 21 of them and have added a few others using the word, link.
Perhaps one day, these words may come in handy for the Book of Prose or Poetry, or that grand novel shuffling about in your brain that may well one day win a Pulitzer Prize.
Linkslands: A seaside terrain that is characterized by rolling hills of sand and is often used as the site of golf courses. First Known Use: 1926.
Linkworks: A fabric made from linked pieces of metal. A mechanism of linked components.
Linkable: Being capable of being linked with or to something. Or, capable or worthy of being linked to.
Linkages: It is the action of linking or the state of being linked; a complex linkage of nerves, or the linking of different issues in political negotiations.
Linkboys: This was a boy who carried a flaming torch to light the way for pedestrians at night. Linkboys were common in London in the days before street lighting. The linkboy's fee was commonly one farthing, and the torch was often made from burning pitch and tow.
Linksman: One who plays golf. First Known Use: 1937.
Linksmen: A derivitive of Linksman ... a person who plays golf; golfer.
Linkwork: A kind of gearing that transmits motion by a series of links rather than by wheels or bands.
Linkage: See Linkages.
Linkboy: See Linkboys.
Linkers: A thing that links other things, in particular. Computing a program used with a compiler or assembler to provide links to the libraries needed for an executable program. An attachment on a knitting machine for linking two pieces of knitting.
Linking: Connecting or joining something to something else. Also, phonetics denoting a consonant that is sounded at a boundary between two words or morphemes where two vowels would otherwise be adjacent, as in law(r) and order.
Linkman: A presenter of a television or radio programme, esp a sports transmission, consisting of a number of outside broadcasts from different locations. Also, another word for linkboy.
Linkmen: Linkman (plural linkmen) adult linkboy; one bearing a torch or light. (rugby) Player who uses speed and dexterity to keep an attacking team's downfield progress fluid. Also, man who acts as a link or connection.
Linkups: An instance of two or more people or things connecting or joining. A connection enabling two or more people or machines to communicate with each other. Sometimes commonly referred to as a "hook up".
Linked: Make, form, or suggest a connection with or between. Also to connect, relate, join. Connect or join physically, such as a network of routes linking towns and villages, or join, connect, fasten, attach, bind, unite, combine, amalgamate. In computing, create a hyperlink between (web pages or hypertext documents).
Linker: See Linkers
Linkup: See Linkups
Links: Commonly referred to as a golf course.
Linky: Scottish, of land or country. : resembling or made up of links.
Link: A relationship between two things or situations, especially where one thing affects the other. Also a ring or loop in a chain. And, to make, form, or suggest a connection with or between.
Link Sausages: A highly seasoned minced meat (such as pork) usually stuffed in casings of prepared animal intestine
Chain-link fence: Referred to as wire netting, wire-mesh fence, chain-wire fence, cyclone fence, hurricane fence, or diamond-mesh fence) is a type of woven fence usually made from galvanized coated steel wire. ... This forms the characteristic diamond pattern.
Cuff links: A device consisting of two parts joined by a shank, chain, or bar for passing through buttonholes to fasten shirt cuffs
The Missing Link: A thing that is needed in order to complete a series, to provide continuity, or gain complete knowledge. It can also lean toward a hypothetical fossil form intermediate between two living forms, especially between humans and apes, so as to determine species.
A link for every mood,
a link for every need.
Pick one or all.
Once you do,
you will be linked.
"I often equate the Big-Bang with the human mind. Explosions of various magnitudes go off inside creating new stories, new journeys to entertain. It's as if I am living in a brand new world everytime I create."
The missing link between intellect and spirit
The connection that links us all as one; from one beginning, one origonal source. The connection that ties us to everything and everyone in the multiverse; the ability to perceive and more importantly, embrace the concept we are all but pieces of one whole and no one piece is more or less important than another. For me, the inability to satisfactorily comprehend our true nature is my "missing link." The catch that keeps me from getting past the "intellectual" knowledge of our true selves and the internal, spiritual understanding and living of the knowledge of what we are.
Because if I could truly understand the magnitude of that concept, I would live without fear and without hesitation. Without jealousy or petty grudges and rivalries. I would know that my contribution is enhanced if not enabled by the contribution of the rest and vice a versa and would never need to question my actions because I would know that they are in harmony with what is. But I can't and so I fret at the chains that weigh me down. The chain that has become unlinked with my relation to the multiverse and all it is.
Lacking, but maybe grieving, too, the truth.
I do not speak to my dad.
For all the internal conversation about it, the trying to be fair to a person I thought I knew, the "why" is not special. It's the same story you've heard a billion times, but now you'll want to know it because I've said too much. My dad is an alcoholic, and probably has been for one whole and one-half of a lifetime. And three little lifetimes. But this story is not about why I do not speak to my dad, but how I speak to my own children about how I feel about that.
"Do you have a Dad?" My eight-year-old asks over the dinner table. Her older brother and sister are quiet, and self-consciously grinning, as if waiting for me to deliver a punch line that involves them. They all look at me. My husband looks hard at his dinner.
"Yes."
"Well, do you know him?" She's trying to figure this out.
"Of course, I know him." The last time I saw him, you were hours old. He came to our hospital room unannounced and took you out of the bassinet to hold you. Like it was his right. He was drunk, and what I learned later was that he had been fired for punching his boss in the face.
"Did he die?"
"No, honey." Well, sort of. I used to pick up my phone to call him and tell him some mundane thing. And then I would remember we don't speak, and why we don't speak, and put the phone down. I don't do that anymore, but you do that with dead people, too, right? Most of the time, I am just relieved that the suffering is over and we've all moved on. This "missing" is like waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like cancer or something.
"Well, I don't remember him." Yes. It's all about you, dear.
That was unfair.
"Honey, what you need to know is that he is alive and loves you very much, even though he doesn't live with Gamma anymore.”
The truth is that I remember him. Or some version of him that he wanted me to know. It is not all about me, but I feel duped, embarrassed, shown up. All in the verb sense, as if these are things he did to me. I carried water for this actor, for this story, for this legend, and all along, he knew the play. He let me defend it. I wonder if being this person he wasn’t, for so long, was the reason; like he was faking it for so long, hoping to make it, but he missed. He lost it.
Scintillating inner conversation. So original.
But the missing is original. To me. I miss having a parent, someone in charge. Now I understand that someone is me, which of course is part of growing up.
She eats some broccoli; considers things. Normally, her brother and sister cannot abide her uttering complete sentences without interrupting her to the point of driving her to, well . . . But, they are quiet. They are thirsty to know more about this negative space. They all prepare, making room for the answer to the next question.
I await the logical, and obvious: “Why, Mom?”
But it never comes. She goes back to eating, having tested this limit. She is satisfied for now.
I know that I will not be so lucky soon. Nature, families; we abhor a vacuum. They will want to know. And I will have to figure out what to tell them. A few thoughts:
“Adults sometimes have disagreements.” Lame. They’re too smart for this.
“Sometimes people say things they don’t mean. Sometimes they say exactly what they mean.” Vague. Like, what?
“I don’t speak to my dad because we had a fight so terrible that, even though we both are painfully sorry, there were words said that can never, ever be taken back.” Scary. Like, if I misstep, will Mom do that to me?
I foresee a conversation with our middle child, my son, in the mid-range future, when he is a teenager, driving a car. It will involve a cautionary tale of alcohol use and its myriad destructive ways. To drive home the point, I will personalize the story graphically and intentionally, in a way that I hope is dramatic enough for him to understand that we do not get behind the wheel after drinking. Ever.
I will lay it on thick.
But, then the legend grows and mutates. And I exploit the story so that his side is missing. I will justify this play. I will tell myself that I will use him and what he took to keep my children safe from all this nonsense. I will do whatever I have to do to ensure they do not know this lack. Childish, yes.
But, I am no longer a child. I have quit looking around for someone to be in charge. It’s me; it’s my responsibility. But, I was a child once, and I do not want to forget all of that. I was someone’s child once. Children will fill a void with the thing they know best: themselves. Even when a thing does not begin with them, children think that they can end it, or fix it, or repair it. They think they can fit that missing piece. I do not want my children looking to complete me.
Failing the fix, I’ll just close the door on that thing and never deal with it again. Or, until the next dinner time. In the meanwhile, my prayer is that my children will not judge so harshly as their mother judged her father.
The Missing Link Within:
Lets imagine we are surrounded by a large crowd but still there's a feeling as if we are all alone in the room. We shake our heads and mumble the necessary polite talks while in the back of our minds we are observing everything as if from the sidelines. There's something missing, be it a link or connection, that prevents us from diving right into everything. We are talking to the person infront of us but already in our mind, we are thinking of all the other important things we need to do. In today's world of gadgets and social media all our sense of focus has become muddled. Basic human relation ships are easily tossed aside and very few feel the need to preserve them at all. Our solitude has become more important than forming long relationships. We have isolated ourselves in our rooms with social media and binging on the net because it makes us feel safer. Its much harder to expose yourself to the world. Revealing our insecurities is a risk we are not ready to take until we truly trust somone. Its that missing link within us that keeps us from truly living fulfilled and happy lives. Unless we get rid of our fears and become self-confident only then can we discover new aspects to our lives. Thus enabling us to form trustworthy relations and lead the life we want.