The Unknowns

Sat, Nov. 12th, 2016 17:55
tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (Marilyn Monroe Goddess)

I like it here, in the past. Where just the right song unleashes an energetic flood within. Where the ignorance of youth struts through the world carrying an invisible guarantee of future ownership. Where death is just an imagined scenario of attendance and guessing how many hearts will be broken. On good days that is. On bad days it is simply a struggle to discover reasons to bother staying. Trying to believe it is their jealousy and not your inadequacy that entices such behavior. If you were not about to be King you might just give up.

Perhaps Alzheimers will not be all that bad. Living here, if I can just keep remembering here, I can stay here. Right? Believing I am a little girl, out in the woods alone, the big bad wolf by my side and a Mighty Mouse at my beckon call. It will be beautiful. Except in the awake moments. Offered a reality of an unknown old woman staring at me in wonder. Not knowing how I got into this body, this room, surrounded by all these unknowns.

When did I end up so alien? Sitting upon this spec of dust brought to life by the eye of Apollo. I know I was born this way, not yesterday, yet I wasn't bought or sold this way. All those half baked ideas on the cover of magazines teaching me exactly what I never could be. Those were the always and never of everything I was promised I would be. If I just, if I just, if I just ... turn to dust.

All that can be afforded in a time none bare witness until some bare ignorance. Laying claim that she is in the river when we all know she is of the land. A Virgo to be precise; if you ever wonder why it is that I analyze. Everything and nothing in the lies.

To make sense of it all is, at times, the most tiring thing. Forced to predict the facts of the outcome desired. Preparing for the redemption of the choice before it is ever made. A ladies prerogative presented to enhance the darkness. Sometimes it is hit, sometimes it is miss. It all depends. Just how long can you hold your own against the antagonists hatred of self. Before reaching the moment of awaited failure certain to see your rage.

Yet maybe if I just turn the page. Or the volume up on this song and the next. I can remember riding the bus next to him. What it felt like to be Queen of the backseat with clothes on. His eyes speaking the truth of a broken heart. His lips professing such strength on his part. Letting me go.

Nowhere but here, in this moment, does it matter where I came from. You can stick tape on the ends of the cassette tape and record over it all. Playing the radio, collecting the songs you can't afford to buy. Pausing to skip the advertisements of a life never to be recorded in the history where anyone looks.

by TigrisSky
©November 12, 2016


Fri, May. 20th, 2016 06:54
tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (starbuck)

It's not going to be the end of the world.

In this moment that is the truth I must hold tight.

it goes on
in need of nothing
in search of everything
on a path to nowhere
all to become

but this moment
right here
right now

I am nothing more than a wayfaring stranger to this experience known to humanity as life. Where every step is one step closer to the nothing we are born to become. Where every choice redeems or condemns, where every story is told or forgotten, where every acceptance of self is acceptance of the nothingness we come from and return to. Holding vigil over our significance. As if significance will allow eternity.

tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (starbuck)

It is perhaps best I stick with the name Tigris Sky, (TigressSky, Tig, Tiggy, Tigeroni with Cheese, Tigster, Tigopolis, Tiglet, etc.).

I am an atheist in the land of Pagans.

I wasn't raised with an indoctrination of any specific religion in my life. I have always sought out answers to the mystery though. American society tends to adhere to Xian religious ideals in one form or another. So it is in that Xian space I began learning. As a child I adventured to attend Sunday school all on my own while believing I had a Goddess who lived in my kidneys, (whom I called Kidna), and animals, especially horses, talked to me.

I thoroughly enjoy researching, studying, learning, and discussing history. In high school I really got wrapped up in the escapades of Alexander the Great. Which led to a deep connection with the ideal of Greek society & mythos and their philosophical roots in modern societies design. It would not be until university that I would discover a section of the bookstore called "New Age" and familiarize myself with the term Pagan. Starting off with a book called "A History of Pagan Europe" by Prudence Jones & Nigel Pennewick.

In my initial studies of paganism, most of my time was spent online discussing with others all sorts of topics. I was even in charge of several boards and communities on differing subjects. A group of us had formed a site called the Indigo Bridge Cooperative, a website dedicated to providing accurate information on Paganism to Pagan groups and organizations. We also provided web design support to many different pagan groups at the time. Remember, this was the mid-nineties and not much was online, but a lot of what was popping up online in regards to Paganism was pretty poorly done and not well maintained.

After university I moved back to Oregon and found connections at Cleda's Magickal Garden in Jefferson. Before this intro to Cleda's Garden, any Pagans I had dealt with offline IRL (In Real Life) were just assholes. It took about a year of convincing from friends before I was even willing to set foot into the Garden. Once there I was hooked though. Much like Troutlake Abbey, you just feel the magick when you step onto the grounds. Unlike Troutlake Abbey, this site did not have dedicated financing behind it's creation. Significantly smaller, the stone circle has been a progress of community creation since its inception, a little over 15 years ago. Either way, I find both sites truly amazing wonders to behold, and feel lucky to have them both in my back yard!

I have organizational skills up the yin-yang and love putting things together and manifesting them with others.

For the past ten years I have worked with a committee of volunteers from the area nearest Cleda's Garden to put on two festivals each year (Beltane and Fall Equinox) and several other sabbat rituals (Imbolc, Samhain, Full Moon, Garden Anniversay, etc.). I have written several rituals, led and participated in many different roles in several more, edited and critiqued even that many more. These rituals have touched many different spiritual paths (Egyptian, Greek, Norse, Mesopotamian, Hindu etc.), dealt with many different ideals (community, love, reciprocity, tradition, etc.), and presented many different themes (tarot, Dracula, the tree of life, the gundestrap cauldron, dark & light, etc.).

A few years ago I completed training here in Portland in the practice of Tantra and am a Tantrica (Tantric Priestess). The first 'official' practicing title I have been assigned in Pagan community.

As happens, the committee I was so deeply involved in has gone through many changes the past few years and I have felt a little out of place. I have turned back inward to focus on self for awhile and am not really willing to dedicate to making things happen with or for others at this point. I am slowly re-emerging, with a differing perspective of who I am and how I want to proceed coming with me. I have been suffering a bit of anxiety with this change, as I am uncertain as to how I will be received, where any of this will take me, and where exactly I am willing to set sail just yet.

A visit last year from my long last Aunt brought to fruition that my Mother was a practicing Witch. I know that sounds cliche, but I have spent the past couple of years reconnecting to her, and so it all makes perfect sense to me that I am only just now finding out about my "natural" inheritance. I certainly do not mean that as a claim to some sort of greater abilities or birth right, as so many others do. It is not like my Mom taught me the tricks of the trade and honed my skills in any way. It just makes sense to my life and makes my connection to this path seem more solid.

So here I am ... trying to find my way ... again.

Rinse and Repeat ... so is the cycle of life.

tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (starbuck)

This song, Wild One, Forever, is from Tom Petty's debut album; self-titled:Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers. A lot of people may have never heard this song before as the album itself came out 7 months before I was born, in November of '76.

The moment I heard it I was whisked even further into my fandom connection with Tom Petty. I could see myself in it immediately. In so much as the way my life's relationship experiences have defined me that is.

"They call you the wild one. Said stay away from her. Said she could love no one if she tried."

Then, as the song announces with fierceness, "But then something I saw in your eyes, told me right away that you were gonna have to be mine ..."

That is the hope of the Wild One. To be seen as worthy of the effort. Worthy of love. To find someone who allows the sight to go beyond that which the Wild One has come to judge as unworthy of love.

Those things in me I had come to believe were my flaws. To be loved in spite of them, or even because of them.

Floodplain brought that ideal, that hope, to me as a reality. With the softness of the next verse, "Well it's too bad, but I want you to know that I understand..."

He opened me up to a love that is more important than any I have ever experienced before - the love of self.

I love and cherish all of the other relationships that have brought me here.

I have good memories of all of them, and I choose to let go of the bad ones. That is how I stay friends with everybody. That is how I never let anybody go.

Some people have hurt me more than others and the drifting apart doesn't bother me as much. Yet if they come back into my arena, I am nice and I try and focus on the positive experiences I have had with them. Sometimes it is hard, but it is what I do.

Lately I feel like people see me as a person who doesn't meet their expectations, which makes me feel bad about who I am. Yet I know part of it is not them making me feel bad. It is me making me feel bad because I have become uninteresting and people don’t really want to make the effort for me anymore …

Don’t get me wrong, I realize people love me and people love having me around. It has been five years however; nobody calls me, emails me, or texts me. Save a few, Mistress, Turtle, and before the weirdness, Aurora.

Granted I kinda gave up contacting others, because the lack of response was getting to be to heartbreaking. I can handle alone, I can't handle ignored.

I grew up with a mom who got beat regularly for being a Wild One. This lead to fleeing regularly and also lead to a habitual expectation that this was just how it was, so, the beaters were prone to return regularly as well.

From this I learned that you have to let go of the negative and you have to cling to the positive, especially the positive you find in other people.

How else would I have been able to live with all of those guys … repeatedly … scared that mom is gonna die.

I just focused on the fact that all those guys were nice to me. All of my mom’s friends were a ton of fucking fun, just like the community is.

Seriously, I lived a life of adventure in my youth. The type of adventure that most people in their middle-age only dream of getting to experience. I got to grow up with that, and I feel like I was probably very lucky to have the mom I did.

My mom was judged pretty harshly for the type of person she was. Simply because she was more male than female. She didn't fit society’s gender expectations and she didn't have to be transgender to try.

Hell I can’t wait for there to be no more gender expectations! Old white guys are scared that the brown people are trying to wipe out the white race, still to this day. They realize that in the future race won’t matter, therefore it can't be used to control.

It simply won’t matter, because we are evolving to become race-less. Soon it will seem archaic that we ever asked the question “what race are” you on any form. Can you even imagine what life will be like when race is invisible?

Gender is on its way to being erased as well. A lot of men in general, although admittedly mostly the same old white guys, are scared by marriage equality because, “Oh my god, they are going to make it to where people don’t see gender anymore.”

This loss of gender is going to be so good though. Because it is no longer going to be bad for a woman to want the exact same opportunities, the exact same adventures, and the exact same fun as a man.

Which is what people who dislike the lifestyle of women who live like my mom, the Wild Ones, are really complaining about.

They dislike her lifestyle because she is a woman living that way. If I had been living with my dad and that was his lifestyle no one would even care. Because that is what guys do, they get drunk and fight, they are passionate about things, especially when they are single and working blue collar jobs and taking care of a child.

My mom raised me in fun adventurous environments, with crazy fucking people, from all walks of life. Most people got boring, typical American dream bullshit to grow up in. I got to be the Wild One.

free spirit

Yet what I never had was this seemingly constant, consistent, feeling of connection and love and concern for me that I had in the past within the Pagan community I found … and I needed that.

It is okay that it is gone for me right now. Just like always, I can focus on all the good, and let go the negative. Although, GOD DAMN! it took me so long to get here this time.

I attribute this slow move as a desperate clinging to the fact that I had built every ounce of my being around being the community.

I needed to feel that type of connection. The problem is, for me, it was hard for me to express my returned love in those connections, how happy I was, in any other way except for sexually. So what I personally feel like has happened ...

DISCLAIMER: I have to proceed the next statement with a disclaimer that I DO NOT regret the sex. I don’t have any qualms with people who live the poly-lifestyle. I understand, with great empathy and experience, why people are drawn to it and I don’t knock it in anyway.

Personally though, I did not really understand, until Mistress and now Floodplain helped me to learn, you can connect so well, so deeply to someone, and it does not have to be about sex at all.

I think in the end, honestly, because sex was the only connection I really made with people, (yes I know there are other ways in which I connected, but that was one of the main ways I connected the closest. The way I could really express love.), when that connection was lost, so was the connection to me.

Yet I must admit, I have no deeper understanding then this, because, as aforementioned, the connection is lost ... I don't know what or if people feel or think about me anymore.

Not that people don’t love me, or that they don’t want me around or something. I get it. I’m not the life of the party anymore. I am not interesting anymore.

That’s what I really miss. Being interesting to others. People who will talk to me about me, about things I am interested in.

Community does not connect to me anymore.

I’m not trying to be selfish. I realize I haven’t been around much, I haven’t been doing things. I became celibate, I became “prude”, I got uber-sensitive about the teasing and built anxiety about being something wrong in our community. I also realize nobody cares about that anymore – so yeah, awesome!

Yet it has been heartbreaking for me for so long to go to festival. I know I built expectations around the type of person I was. When I finally tried to explain to people that I had these new boundaries, I started with those closest to me, and their reactions made me expect the same from others.

It made it to where I just didn't want to get fucked up around anyone anymore, nor be around when the party began, even if I was sober, because I had to be fully responsible when someone was going to come onto me in their intoxicated loving state.

I have a hard time with that role, because I love everybody, and I want to express to them love from me in the way they desire of me.

I love to be needed, wanted, and most importantly to nurture love in other people. I love the feeling of giving everyone as much of my energy as they need and seeing them burst with happiness because of it.

Yet not doing it sexually was new to me, and, due to my anxiety, I wasn't really afforded the opportunity to try to learn how to express it in a different way. My anxiety being built around the expectation that if those closest to me could not respect the boundaries, than how could others.

In short I was scared, I didn't fit anymore, and I didn't even know how to try to fit anymore.

When you compile all of this into the heart of a woman, a Wild One, who takes care of herself, well, you get a woman who slowly disappears. Because a woman who can't try to make it better, who sees that the fight to change is not an option or not working, will eventually take flight.

Yet this is the longest I have ever been connected to others; ever. I clung desperately to the idea that, if I just stuck it out, if I just kept going and made changes to things I could control; leaving the fire before the party started, staying sober, then it would all get better.

It didn't get better. Instead I learned what it was like to suffer from constant anxiety. Too have your heart pounding out of your chest, while your brain worries about everything that most likely will never happen. To build a sensitivity to everything around you as if at any moment just the right thing would shatter you into pieces like glass.

The truth is, with my past, I have never really had anybody there to help me with my problems but me. I have always solved them myself, through writing, or music, art, or time with nature. I am really good at this and I don’t really feel strongly about changing it. I love this artistic part of me.

However, my clinging desperately, rather than stepping away and spending time alone with it all; topped with my anxiety, made it impossible for me to figure anything out. The art stopped coming. All I could do instead was play chess with my life. Move myself cautiously into a square and hope to not get knocked out of it.

Until the music came that is ... but the music is a whole other story.

Most of my life I was lucky to get a few years with others; and then I gotta move. Then it is time to write letters, because there wasn't facebook, internet, texting, hell sometimes there was no land-line because we couldn't pay the bill.

So I would just move and lose contact with people. I would be alone again, usually it was summer, and usually we were in the middle of nowhere. So I would be in the woods, in nature, for the summer, by myself, all my friends living in some different city or state doing whatever it is that normal kids do in the summer.

Despite all the change and loss I would have a good time. I spent my time alone, contemplating the good memories, the lessons learned, while exploring nature. I would wonder if others thought about me. Sometimes I would fantasize reconnecting later in life and all the fun we would have then.

It is silly, because I really believed I was just forgotten. Yet with social media I found out that a lot of people did wonder about me. Even some people I had minimal contact with wondered about me. It’s been surreal to be connected still.

What I also realize is that if I met up again with all these people of my past, we would sit in a room and babble at each other with true interest in each other. We would express our passions and share interest in each other. Maybe some of us would find common things to follow-up with. Maybe connections would grow and new close friendships would be made.

This use to be what community was like for me.

I realize this is what community remains or has become for so many others.

For years I have expressed a desire to have a ritual, something to study, something to do, that connects us all like this again. Something that we can all focus on and learn together that allows us all to participate with each other and have something to talk about together. Something I can be included in.

What I finally realize is this: I am the only one not connected like this anymore.

The community still shares common interests, interests I am disconnect from.

I can’t express what I am passionate about and find other people interested in the community anymore.

Hell they don’t even have to really be interested in it.

It’s like when I was dating the second Corey, and he was such a dick. I learned everything about kayaking. I don’t ever even want to fucking go kayaking, yet I know all about it. I know more about the types of boats, rapids, boaters, water levels, then I ever wanted to know about. All because I wanted to be able to talk to him about what he is passionate in.

Yet with my passions he would say he, “Didn't want to know about it,” and he, “Wasn't going to learn that shit.”

I don’t expect people to learn everything about the things I am interested in; but it would be nice if people talked to me about it. To just try taking a moment and talk to me about things I am doing too.

Because right now I realize I could make an effort to be with the community, maybe twice a month, give all the love I have and then leave, and everyone would be happy to have seen me and fine with that level of connection.

This is what I have now.

I have come to accept that this how I fit.

It sucks not being included. I know that some of that is my fault because I am not sexual anymore, I am not really focused on the party anymore, and my interest are not interesting, etc., etc. As well I am sure there are other things about me that bother people that they just won’t converse with me about.

Yet those things I can participate in make me feel awesome. Even if it leaves me only connecting to the community ever so often.

Seriously, Yule was SSSOOOOOOOOO awesome. I felt so connected. I was needed. I was able to bring comfort and love without sex. The kids welcomed me like I was the best thing since sliced cheese. People loved the meditation. I was included in conversations and some people even asked and talked briefly about things I am interested in.

I was included, I could participate … yet most importantly people made the effort to include me and participate with me.

So it is I start anew.

I no longer search for how I fit. I know the small way in which I do and it is enough; for now.

I hold out hope, that in the future the connection to community that I use to have, that so many others still have, that so many others have gained, I can find and have again. I accept, however, that this may never be ... and I hope that the small connection I do still have is enough to sustain me in community if it never does happen.

So the Wild One, becomes a Lady, a Lady Godiva on a Buffalo, playing the drums, singing her heart out, honoring her Mother.


Take It Easy

Mon, Dec. 22nd, 2014 13:16
tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (starbuck)

Don't let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy
Lighten up while you still can
Don't even try to understand
Just find a place and play your hand
And take it easy

We may lose and we may win
But we will never be here again
So open up I'm climbing in
To take it easy

Don't let the sound of your own wheels make you crazy


The closer I get to my mother, the more I truly see and love myself.

I worry about an impending loneliness while I receiving the message, "I will wait for you."

I desire to save those I am closest to, yet all I can do is offer beautifully worded hope from far outside their needs.

I feel like I am failing regularly at so much in my life, yet I am accomplishing more growth than I ever have before.

I am stuck and yet I am moving so fast ...

In life, we all want to be loved.

Part of that feeling of love comes in having our accomplishments celebrated; no matter at what age we achieve them. This is how experts are born, finding something they can try, share, fail, then become accomplished and celebrated at. It is also how strong communities are born and sustained, finding something a group can accomplish together, supporting each other, failing together, succeeding together; thereby allowing the group moments of feeling accomplished and celebrated.

Yet, as you age, or as your group ages, you begin to realize that there is less and less that you can accomplish and be celebrated for. For example, the levels in which I become accomplished in playing music: drums, guitar, and singing, (all things I have never before in my life attempted), are simply amazing! Yet because I am almost 40, rather than 14, no one cares. Or, for a group example, the set-up of an outdoor festival is amazing and celebrated the first few years it is done; soon however it becomes expected, not so amazing, and no longer celebrated.

The catch-22 in all of this comes with our human drive to extend our lives, sustain our groups, and make things last forever. As we age we begin to notice that our need to be loved, to have our accomplishments celebrated, is less and less fulfilled until eventually we feel as unseen and uncelebrated as a beggar on a street corner.

So it is, we find ourselves clinging to anything that makes us feel seen; sometimes even if that something does not make us feel loved and celebrated.

We cling to fleeting ideals of what society, with a loaded gun, points at us as "reasons to celebrate and love someone." Beauty, sex, power, strength, and so many other "accomplishments" that simply do not have the ability to sustain their effects on us. Instead these very things simply tear us down as, with age, the celebration of them dissipates into an obscure nothingness -- some faster than others.

It is hard to step away from these things though, things that make us feel so wonderful, so loved, so celebrated.

It is hard to stop looking in the mirror for a prescribed beauty that age just can't afford.

It is hard to imagine that he or she just simply doesn't desire us in the ways we still desire.

It is hard to know that the only finish line our body will work to cross anymore is time.

It is hard to empty ourselves, by letting go of these fleeting ideals that can only temporarily make us feel accomplished and celebrated ... momentarily loved.

It is hard to crack ourselves open and pour over all the things inside that require nothing more than our love and celebration of them. To begin filling our cup with these beautiful things; our very own blood, sweat, and tears. To know that if we can just love and celebrate ourselves we can continue to grow in happiness until are body crosses time's finish line.

I understand now why Mom was always searching, always moving, always alone.

Now the question remains, how full will my cup become as I pour myself into it? Is there a point at which I will reach some limit, spilling over the edges, losing parts of myself, parts of my mind?

I have already lost so many pieces and parts of my life; so many lovers, so many friends, so many addresses, so few amends.

Yet isn't that just like life? To demand that you experience it just so that you can lose it all.

What are you willing to lose?

tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (Impossible Lov3)
Dear Mom,

glenn frey

I get it now.

tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (starbuck)
Bob Hoskin's death has prompted me to go back and remember my youth. Cher played two characters in life that were my mother, this is one of them. :) This is also why I know all the lyrics to this song by heart. It's also why I love Cher.



Tue, Apr. 15th, 2014 12:04
tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (starbuck)
No eternal reward will forgive us now for wasting the dawn. ~Jim Morrison

I have been outside in the sun, barefoot, feet in the dirt, planting veggies and flowers, after enjoying a green cookie, everyday for the past four days now. Hence why coming into the office this Monday morning is just one big fat bummer.

If I can get out from under the debt of my student loan I will stop working full time and start a career in something that matters - maybe before then, if I can find anyway to make it happen.

I seriously have to do something with all this energy and desire to make a difference that runs through my veins. I've started looking at a few different possibilities. I just need to make some contacts and start pushing myself to get out of the comfort of a government job and back into a world of ideas that actually help people.

Sad isn't it; I work for the very place that should be about nothing more than helping people and yet I need to get far away from it to actually help ... anyway.

This weekend I also spent time with my two CraZeE Aunt's, one my mom's sister and one my dad's sister. A crazy Italian and a crazy hippy! A cobbling of myself pretty much.

Neither of these Aunts were around much while I was growing up for some personal family reasons which kept both my mom and dad not wanting to have much to do with either of them.

Sitting with my Aunt Trucker (my mom's little sister, yes she is a trucker) I finally got some answers on my brothers. I already know one of them passed away, he would be the baby born just before I was. His name was Christopher Redmond (b.2/2/73-d.3/6/05), he would have been just 32 years old at the time of his death. I do not know what caused it, just that it happened. He was 4 years old when I was born and already completely out of the picture for my mom. Not because she wanted it that way, that is just how life went for her.

I also have 2 other brothers, the first is nine years older than me, named Johnny. I believe the other is 6 years older than me and his name is Paul. I believe all the boys would be named after their father's. If only I knew their last names ...

I do not know why I want to find them ... only to say that I feel like I need to. Maybe I never will find them. Yet little by little I keep learning small pieces about them.

Mainly, as these new pieces develop, I just find myself angrier and angrier at the people whom decided to keep it from me. I get especially angry when I think about no one telling me while my mother was in her last days here on Earth, yet still here enough to tell me how to get a hold of them herself. No one even told me the brothers existed until my mom had passed. Even then I was only told about 1. Hell mom has been dead for 15 years now and I am only just now learning their names! Ugh!

I find I hate that the most about my family. They lie and keep secrets from me a lot, especially when it comes to anything about my mother. As if telling me the truth about things would have been so hard for me to deal with. As if I was being protected from something only they could possibly understand; which was and always will remain nothing compared to the life I already have lived. I mean come the fuck on I LIVED with my mother, what the hell is anyone going to tell me that I didn't already get in some way.

I grew up well aware of their judgement of my mother and in turn their judgement of myself. I know damn well where I came from and how I lived with my mother. How unacceptable it all was and still is to such "polite" society as my "wish they were so much better" white trash Father's side of the family would like to have me believe.

Hell, I grew up well aware of societies judgments in this regard as well.

It's too bad my mom is dead. I would really like to tell her that she was everything society hates and that is exactly what I want to be when I grow up.

Here we are Mom ...

tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (starbuck)
Lighthouse in the Dark by Nancy Rucker

When you grow up poor your youth is continually bombarded with wave after wave of reality pounding upon you. Each wave eroding your shore just that much more. Until eventually your shore becomes a jagged rocky cliff face that is hard to penetrate and can kill those who get to close.

So, you build a lighthouse, initially just as something to protect yourself. Finally though you make it to the top and find that beacon of hope that makes the lighthouse shine; a beacon bright enough to help guide others. Oft times shining as a warning signal to avoid your jagged shoreline; yet more importantly, rather than a warning, it could also be a guide. A guiding light that would allow people to get close to you. A guiding light that could even simply allow people to take notice of you. A light you had been gifted in which you most likely would not be aware you were in complete control of. As a matter of fact, you might at some points even allow it to extinguish, because it seemed so outside of you.

~TigressSky © February 28, 2014~
tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (starbuck)
I'm going crazy trying

That one line is all I managed to get typed last Friday afternoon. I am sure more was to follow, but, as I am not certain what my motivation to start writing was, I am not positive what I was trying that was making me crazy. There are so many things that can fit into that mold in each and every one of our lives. So it is I leave it and remind myself, trying is just one of the many things that make us crazy.

Speaking of trying; there have been many men in my life. A majority of whom have said they "love" me and in the same breath offer reasons why it "just won't work." Then I watch them move on with their lives, doing nothing more than continuing to make the same old same old happen again and again. I use to wonder about the "just won't work" statements and how I fit into them. Now though, I finally realize the truth of what wouldn't work for them, and it has nothing to do with me really in so much as it does. That truth is better called change.

These are men who spoke so ill about their situations, from the past, or current. Telling me what they wanted in their future - it would "be so different". Yet it never is. These are men whom just go on, finding the same types of girls, finding the same types of mistakes, finding the same old same old in everything they do. The exact same old same old they told me they wanted to escape from - rise above - do or be differently.

What was wrong with me then? Well, nothing really, except the fact that I am a catalyst for change. If there is a dream to work on making happen, I will be in the middle of it, stirring the pot, researching, trying to figure out how to make it work. What does it take? What tools will I need? Do I have the resources? Etc.

Often times, in the process of changing dreams to reality, I discover a different way to take something - a direction that will better it, an opportunity to make it more perhaps. Or, I may discover a completely new dream and skip down that path merrily adventuring - leaving off from the old efforts into some completely new course of action.

Always the Fool, never the Emperor.


It is with revelations like these that I continue to piece myself back together ... slowly. I had ripped myself down into a bare mass of shivering anxiety before I could actually understand what lay inside. Removing the skin, the muscle; exposing all the deeply functional dysfunction with which I was created.

I am feeling almost myself again; almost whole. There are still pieces of me bandaged and bleeding. Some of which I am just accepting and letting heal. Others of which I keep reopening, ripping into, like a anteater into a termite mound. Sometimes I end up hobbling or blinding myself for awhile while digging ever deeper. In the end though, I know no other way to clean things up and ensure a framework of stability with which I can operate.

Like my mother, who placed every item I owned in the center of my bedroom in a fury of maddening anger when I was five. I "lied" to her about my room being clean. So, she started me over, from the beginning, ensuring I would put everything I owned away properly, and I do mean everything. Including dumping the contents of my dresser onto the pile in the center of my room; emptied drawers included. The pièce de résistance being the mattress from my twin bed precariously balanced on top of everything.

"Now, do it right."

So I did. Toys and books peering out here and there - it was a virtual ice cream Sunday of character building. So I started with the cherry, an item any 5 year old would look at as some sort of immovable tank, my mattress. I dragged, pushed, and pulled it into place. Then, making my bed with perfectly tucked corners I moved on, the pile not really displaying any vast accomplishments yet.

The drawers went back in the dresser next; frustratingly. It was as if I was playing my first live tetris game with huge long weighted blocks. They were full length full wooded heavy drawers that I had never had to put together before. I managed all six of them some how and began re-folding and hanging all of my clothes. Finishing by placing play items in neat order in the toy-box and then organizing the rest to be displayed on shelf top and bed in a manner where all of their faces could be seen. Admittedly this part was more fun as some playtime ensued and the toys, especially stuffed animals, "talked" with me.


When everything you have to deal with is central to your focus it is much easier to figure out what to do with it - and I mean that for more than just a messy room.

tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (starbuck)
change - darwin

Mister Darwin has nothing on my mother in teaching this point.

Although at times change can be hard for me, my ability to respond and adapt to change is immaculate. Growing up with a need to be ready for change at any moment aided in developing my keen analysis skills. As well as what appears to be an ability to let go and move on without much emotion.

This time of year my mom always comes to visit. It's weird, but I can usually ignore it better. Maybe it's the moon.

Walking in to work this morning I felt the need to get drunk and party. Which was quickly followed up by a need to crawl under something and hide.

Keeping myself busy this weekend will be a nice distraction.

I found the Godfather and a flood of realizations came with. Maybe it is the realizations and the moon.

Am I the moon?

Maybe the reason the Samhain rite I had come up with was stolen from me years ago is because I wasn't ready. Am I ready now?

This is the song that reminds me the most of my mom ...

... the song that I find describes the strength of woman. The song I envision myself being gifted from my mom. Her lesson to me.

She was beautiful.


Catch Up

Tue, Jan. 14th, 2014 17:57
tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (starbuck)
Life is ... change.


Pants is still on antibiotics and steroids. This makes 4 straight months. That cannot be healthy and is most likely fucking up her immune system in some way. Yet the alternative could be worse so, I go with this for now.

I met the Godfather. It was a strange moment and at the same time it wasn't. I mean, my whole life has been one strange moment after another. I don't say that with any jest. The things I have done, seen, and been exposed to are, to put it lightly, quite enigmatic.

So, deciding to call on a man I had not seen in approximately 27 years. A man whom I knew for all of about 6 months of my youthful life. Well, it's not the strangest thing I have decided to do in my life and I quickly learned I needed to do it -- for many reasons.

One of those reasons is very selfish: Thomas.

There is a piece of me that hopes he will want to have contact with me again. That he will know I did not abandon him. Heck, truth is, I hope I remain important to him and that he wants to know me still. A few months back he popped up on Facebook, he is in 9th grade now so I knew it wouldn't be long before I could find him there.

While writing this I got brave enough to send him a friend request. Blah! Maybe that is stupid, but it can't be any stupidier than the rest of the things I have done in my life.

Anyway ...

The Godfather also opened my eyes up to the fact my "miserable past" people like to help me focus on was not really that miserable for me. Yes, I went through shit storm, after shit storm, after shit storm, yet through it all I smiled. I found the good in people whom were pretty bad. I loved. I laughed. I challenged myself and learned so much about the world. Experiencing more adventure in my youth than most adults experience in their 20's. I have stories people wouldn't believe, been places many dream of, and met so many different kinds of people from all over the world. All before I was 16!

As well, someone finally reminded me how much my mother loved me. How much I meant to her. Her world was insane and she did the best she could within that insanity to show me love, to raise me, and to find her way as well. Yeah, she fucked up a lot along the way, I mean A FUCKING LOT, but she did the best she could.

It's strange how much my heart cracked and I felt love just pouring into and out of myself in that moment. A moment in which I felt allowed to love my mother again. Which was the same moment I felt allowed to love my past as well.

I've been exploring a lot of what makes me me. Discovering pieces of my past that equate to the present action and reaction I have to things. Some of it I want to recognize and work on changing as it comes from fear. Some of it I want to embrace and run with because it comes from a place of hope, love, and laughter.

It's so different when you can sit with someone who doesn't make you feel shame about your past. It feels like I have spent years being told how "bad" my childhood was, and how I should have never gone through all I did. "It's horrible! HORRIBLE I TELL YOU!"

All of that horrendousness being repeated makes it that much easier to judge the person I had become as bad, because bad begets bad right? I mean I grew up with a lot of "bad" people. We did a lot of "bad" things. Nothing was normal. No wonder I can't be anything but bad and weird.

Except that is all wrong.

It is good to be bad and weird. It is good to grow young and not cold.

Hence the song I am working on the hardest lately, because you may think you know how it feels to be me, but I guarantee you definitely don't.

tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (starbuck)

The Awakening
by TigressSky © January 10, 2013

It's so different to sit across the table of someone who has actually had a glimpse into the life that made me. Someone who reminds me how happy I have always been.

Someone who doesn't always have mean things to say .... about my mother. Someone who has, at this point, never said a mean thing about her.

A deep comforting voice to make me feel a little less insane. Nothing can wipe the crazy full away. At times it was all I had to get by.

Most of the time it is still the only thing.

Someone who knows me; but doesn't.
Knows what it was like
Growing up for me
Knows how my mother was
Who my mother was; but doesn't.

Someone who doesn't hide my life from me like I wasn't there.

Someone who looks at me without sympathy in his eyes. Without a constant questioning of needed reassurance that he didn't screw me all up. Someone who doesn't place the blame of the screwed up moments in my life at the feet of a dead mother.

I'm pretty good at screwing myself up, thank you very much.

From that an awakening

To my life,

Oh dear.

There was bad, but that is not where I dwelt.

There were smiles,
Love, Laughter, Tears,
Trying, Fighting, Living,
And so much dying.

There were miles and miles of
Rebirth and scars - both mental and physical
Some so visible they screamed until those witnessing ran and hid
Some so hidden that to this day no one has ever spoken their name

So many eyes to look into
So many souls to hold onto
And then



They do not need to return to be love,
To prove love to you.

The rule was and always should remain
If you love it
Set it free


No forged pretense of expectations.
No ring wrapped preciously around any fingers.
No legal trappings in which to perform.

An alienation ritual that shouts out to the Alone
When there is and never will be
Anywhere else to go.


So I sat across from this deep voice, whose heart beat as my own. Whose words fell as if I had chewed them up and spit them out myself. Wondering how one persons soul, could wrap so tightly around my own, to just ...

Let go



A quarter century for my awakening. As I wrapped my arms around his neck and knew, there is someone who understands.

tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (starbuck)
I talked to him, heard his voice again and for the first time ever had a fetish of mine I always wondered about answered. His voice is amazingly deep, almost hypnotic. He has a Brooklyn-New York'ish kind of bad boy accent. I always thought my infatuation with this male voice bloomed out of nowhere. Well, okay not necessarily nowhere, I mean all my life I have been surrounded by "bad boys" but most did not have this voice. So it always seemed like something I must have heard in a movie and been attracted to. That isn't the case though.

It was his voice. Just like the certain scent, found in a variety of male colognes, has always made me feel comforted and held. This voice does the same.

No I am not talking about romance and sex, in this voice and this scent. I am instead talking about a feeling of security, strength, and protection. Things that my mind grasped onto as safe in my youth. Things that are just a part of my psyche now.

Unlike others I do not have many constants in my life. Everything was always changing and so it makes sense that I would have found these types of small comforts to hold on to.

It is interesting the dots I have been able to connect lately. My quirks are there for a reason and those reasons are not negative. Being able to start appreciating the intricacies of the person I am is really helping me handle a lot of my recent grief at the loss of acceptance I have been going through.

We meet in person on Monday evening, without expectation, and I hope it isn't too ridiculously awkward. HA!

tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (starbuck)
Growing up my Mom was fond of starting over. Which is to say that we moved; a lot. Typically I spent no more than a year at any one location. This left me with a lifetime of people coming into and out of my life.

This isn't the norm for most people I meet. Most have moved maybe once or twice in their child hood. Typically not even moving out of the same school district and therefore making life long friends. Whom, become adults and may have changed from deep friends to fondly remembered acquaintances.

For me there are no life long friends ... just a long list of fondly remembered acquaintances. Acquaintances whom knew me only during one school season or short summer together. Acquaintances whom sometimes end up with a mythical status in my mind of the closeness I had been able to achieve with them in such a short while together. Acquaintances whom, all these years later, I have no expectation will even remember me -- as they grew up with lifelong friends whom certainly have had more profound an impact in their life than I ever had.

Yet once found, they all remember me and they all have always wondered about me. Remembering me with a fondness that is equal to our greater than my own for them. I am always amazed at the stories they have to share with me. The memories even my elephant brain has forgotten. Sometimes with tiny details I am so surprised they still carry in their hearts. Details so small I would have never remembered on my own -- even for the longest of life long friends; had I any.

How do they remember? Seriously, only knowing me for a few months out of a year or just for a year itself, How do I remain memorable to so many?

"Tried to be, a good man. But I've done so wrong for so long, I don't know if I can, ever be that man." These song lyrics run through my head so often. Was it all the wrong done in my life that brought about the ability to remember me? Or should I be recognizing I am already a "good man" and good men are remembered?

I've always had a loud mouth though, maybe that's it!

Regardless of the how, I am remembered.

Somewhere, that piece of me that was so scared of always being forgotten is smiling a bit at the knowledge of how remembered I am. Remembered while I am still here even. I'll be gone soon, and I hope I am remembered for a little while afterwords. Yet right now, I am sitting up from the table of my wake knowing there is a piece of me in many hearts and many memories ... and I feel blessed for all the souls I have known and touched in my life.

Brydge - New Day

Especially his. I will call him tonight and try and set-up a time to meet and maybe get to know each other again. Or at least just get a moment to say, "thank you" to him.

It's been many years, but every year for the past 13 I have been moved back to Oregon I have thought about trying to connect with him again. He was the first man I had been exposed to whom never beat my mother, whom never belittled her, whom knows what happened to me ... in so many ways.

He came into my life like some sort of breath of fresh air. Soon enough we were mingling with his very Portland friends whom happened to be in a band. I watched them record in the studio, but, even more fun, I got to hang out with backstage passes and watch them tear down and set-up for performances all over Portland and Western Oregon in the summer.

He was a chef and taught me how to cut mushrooms properly. I remember falling in love with making salads because of him. He and his friends entertained me as if I was not a nuisance and, although none of them had kids of their own, I never felt left out of anything.

Then again that was the norm of my life. Always hanging out with adults. Sharing in adult conversation. These adults where so different though. They didn't seem as crazy as the rest of them had in my life. None of them were bikers, none of them were alcoholics, none of them hit their women ...

When I reflect on community and the connections I have made there, these adults remind me of community. Closely connected, loving, respectful of each other, truly friends, and well, it was my first true knowledge of "wife swapping" people. hahaha!

Which, discovery of this last part is when my mom and he split. At least from what I understood of their fight anyway. Maybe I am off base, but I think many of the group had been swingers or love filled hippies, whom at least danced naked around bonfires together. My mom couldn't even handle a man she was dating watching a bra commercial on TV, "what the hell is this smut you are watching!" she would exclaim bitterly. By the time any response could be given the commercial would most likely be over and the accused would be left confused.

Anyway ... he was the first man I hated my mother for letting go of. Perhaps he stands as the first example of what I wanted a man to be. When I think about it, maybe he was my first grown-up crush. Hmmm....?

So it was last Friday I finally sent the email and this morning it was answered; happily. It was even followed up excitedly, making sure I received the response.

I'm nervous. I feel a bit silly. I don't know what this may all mean. I hope good things. We shall see.


Alone #5

Tue, Dec. 3rd, 2013 15:34
tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (starbuck)
Quick Update before I go into my rambling; Pants went in for surgery last Tuesday only to find out she can't really have surgery. Apparently she is just suffering from a severe infection of her salivary glands which means another 3 full weeks of strong as hell antibiotics and anti-inflammatories. Surgery on a salivary gland is a lot of work and can be dangerous. The doc did aspirate her and do some minor exploratory surgery checking everything carefully and there is definitely nothing lodged in her throat just infection. So I guess we lucked out there. In the week that has passed her neck seems perfectly normal again. I am hopeful when the medication stops, her neck stays the same. We shall see.

more me

Alone. I want to add the word again to that statement but, in truth, the correct addition is always.

It's how we start, it's how we end, it is the void in between. The void in which we are born and all our time is spent trying to fill the emptiness - people, places, things; the nouns we surround ourselves with. Often fooling ourselves into believing we have succeeded, always painfully aware there is no succeeding, no escaping; just lies that fill our inbetween.

Something strange is happening for me. Being ejected from the spotlight and told it is all my fault has torn me open in a much unexpected way.

For one, I have truly forgiven my mother ... there should be a long pause here, I wish I could put into words what all that means, but I myself still struggle to understand fully.

As well I struggle to forgive myself ... but that is another topic altogether. I am sure I may write about it, but who knows if I will share. I've stopped sharing much, it just gets used against me, makes me feel bad about who I am. Settling me deeper, ever deeper, into the void. Were I am lost wasting time trying to escape the alone again. The void, where so many sit grasping, practically begging, for connection to all the nouns one can surround them self with. The void where I find I am doing nothing more than lying to myself that if I can just be more, do more, prove more ... but ... there is no more.

So I just stop sharing and instead embrace.

Sitting closer to alone, holding it knowingly. Eventually Alone will be the dark cold arms in which we all lay our souls. Spending so much time running from it ... HA! what a joke.

In the end, if you cannot be happy with Alone, you will never be happy nor truly appreciate the nouns of which you naturally become surrounded. Don't spend your time in need of someone or something - instead spend it appreciating someone or something.

That is love.

That is a true connection with all you are and can become.

In intoxication I decorated my Christmas tree last night. Out of the literal hundreds of ornaments my mother and I had packed around our entire lives only three remain with me. The loss to me, of which is unexplainable, stings venomously every year and has done so for the past 15 years. One would expect it to get better, but there are some fantasies a child without a childhood cling to more desperately than others. I still believe in Santa.

A comedy dealing with loss knowingly provided the soundtrack for the evening. I pulled out the ornaments coated beautifully in the loss they have come to represent and yet, in the same coin toss, shining magnificently bright with all the happiness they held. Three of them come attached to a dead mother, all the rest come attached to a lost son, the yin-yang of yule. The return of the king. The death of a another. The end. The beginning ... of tears crawling out of the abyss I had lost them in. My lover embracing me.

Alone. Always.

I know those whom whisper darkly about me, the ways I fail - fail you, fail life, fail myself. Judgment ... just another way in which we can try to free ourselves from the Alone. The Alone is always, all ways, and All. It is that which we try and separate from life; grasping at nouns, shouting out abusive verbs, hiding behind the adjectives of a smile.

I love even as those dark words sneak their way to me and try and make me hate.

I love because I know. The darkness has always been and it cannot be used against me. 70% of the known Universe is darkness and from it springs the light and to it the light returns.

Stop trying to escape the alone and start embracing it -- recognize we are all saying, yelling, screaming at the top of our lungs the exact same thing, "Love me!"

Love me before the darkness calls me home.



Wed, Aug. 5th, 2009 14:20
tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (Default)
This post started out being a submission to the newest Note Meets Letter Challenge, it became to personal for that. I think you can find the moment it stopped being a story and started being a catharsis.

The names have no longer been changed to protect anyones heart....


drink me )

p.s. I figured out why that song has been on repeat...

a book report

Sun, Apr. 24th, 2005 14:23
tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (Default)
Someone will hear me. Eventually I will finish. At some point this chapter ends and a new one begins. The same characters may be aorund, some may have died off, some I may have killed off and some may be just showing up. In this drama that is my life each chapter has moved through many characters and those whom remain for several chapters do so out of their own free-will. This story is not one about a woman who is good with people. Honesty seems to lead to arrogance and people's ignorance tends to fear my arrogance.

So far in this story the main character, me, has been represented with the following characteristics, loyal, honest, independent. A wandering warrior gypsy stands tall before the world and faces down each obstacle with strength, dignity and only the slightest of fear. She is an adventurer and becomes bored with stagnation and the ignorance of the world. Her intellect demands to be matched. This characters mind is developed way beyond her years, therefore she does not expect the same development of mind from her peers. Yet if you are mature and your level of intelligence is dated and stale she may have disrespect for you, intolerance or nothing further to do with you. Arrogance? Perhaps. Or perhaps it is her minds way of dealing peaceful with a situation she has suffered her whole life. Ignorance has been one of the most destructive forces in her life and perhaps she will no longer tolerate the destruction. Then again it may all still be labeled by the simplistic term of arrogance.

In this story a child is hurt, repeatedly throughout her life. She manages to push that hurt off as a side-dish of life and learns to make responsiblity and laughter the main course. Sometimes the wry humor is to frequent, she seems impassive, unemotional and again the labels come forth, this label: insensitive.

There are many chapters that are filled with the love and adoration of the animal kingdom, sometimes the character herself feels that her connection is too close to that of the animals then of the humans. She questions if this is a draw-back adding to her huge list of character flaws. This character whom is always in such control may becomed panic when dealing with those of the animal kingdom. Where if she is put into a similar situation in the human kingdom she may become angry and frustrated at the humans and feel little to no sympathy for the situation they have gotten themselves into.

This character is full of an every changing degree of personality that makes you love and hate her at the same time. Yet the chapters keep coming, she has tried to stop the story numerous times, yet she is no longer a coward. No longer does she fear this story called life and the challenges it presents her. She is in control of it. She controls her actions, her reactions and her path and any whom get in her way be damned!

There will come a time when the story is complete and truly all she wonders is who will be left to tell it? Who will be there to hear it? Who will care? She knows, she knows that the ancestors are no longer respected and revered. She knows that at her passing, those of her generation and perhaps the following will remember her and then, then her story will truly be over. No one will tell it any longer and that is the real tragedy of the stories of life. The real sadness of this story will be in it's final telling. When it is no longer even a memory. When the wandering warrior gypsy wanders no more.



tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (Default)

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