Theatrlis Tigris

This is the celebration of life video I created in honor of my Grandmother. On Friday we will be having her memorial services. Floodplain is going to play the hymns "Amazing Grace" and "That Old Rugged Cross" on guitar to start and then end the services with. We will be planting a fuchsia in her honor at the Memorial Garden at the Cherry Park Methodist Church.



I am working on editing and adding to my post in regards to memories about Grandma; as I was asked to read them at her services.

This is a hard loss for me, not because it was unexpected, not because it wasn't the right time for her to go, just simply because she meant so much to me. I was her favorite, I was the little girl she never had and always wanted. I sit here wishing I would have had a home she could have come to stay in when she originally was moved into foster care. I really wish she could have been living with family, more specifically me, through the end years. I wish she could have spent her last years living with, being taken care of, and enjoying time with me. The same way she always took care of and enjoyed time with me while I was growing up.

The reality is that she lived in a beautiful home and was well taken care of in the end. Other family visited her more often than I during those end years. She died with my cousin Minnow cuddled around her in bed, relaxing her, telling her how much she was loved.

My Dad, (who believes in nothing even more than I do), said, "As Grandma was taking her final breath and the death rattle rumbled through the room, everything got very cold. So very, very cold. Then I thought of Shells", my cousin, his niece, whom passed away at just 32 years old back in 2008.

"It was as if Shells arrived to take Grandma home," Dad said adding, "And you know me, I don't believe any of this stuff. Yet that is what I felt."

"Later", he continued, "I was standing by the window and a hummingbird came to it. I have never seen a hummingbird at Grandma's window the entire time she has been there, and you know hummingbirds are Grandma's favorite. It was like she came to say goodbye."

This last part took my breath away, as I have spent the past year learning with and connecting to hummingbird. In fact, when I think back on it, it was right after I began connecting with hummingbird that I started seeing Grandma more regularly - physically as well as in memories. It is as if Grandma is the reason I have connected with hummingbird, the Phoenix of Native American tradition, the bringer of Joy! I had to find my joy, my connection, my rebirth, and Grandma was there for me, once again, to help and support me through it, showing me she loves me, and is always there with and for me.


Orgeon Native - Rufous Hummingbird (Male)

I asked Dad what color the hummingbird was and he said, "it was just a plain one, not very colorful."

My first thought is that it must be the native Rufous Hummingbird, the females are just a very plain brown, whereas the males have a bright tuft of orange around their necks.

It makes sense to me that Grandma would choose this kind of hummingbird, she never wanted to be the center of attention, although she always was. She just wanted to bring us all together, to fill us full of joy, and to love us as much as possible!

I look at the pictures of Grandma, in her youth, and find myself wishing I could have known her when. She looks so much like me, everyone keeps saying that to me anyway, and we both have so much in common. I bet we would have been the best of friends. Hell, when I stop to think about it we really were the best of friends.

*sigh*

I love you Hazel. I hope the after life is real, and that you are amongst the stars shining your light for a whole new world to see!

~TigressSky~

I can't even begin to imagine
What it would have been like
To be worthy of a Cinderella story
Swept out of the poverty
And into the abundance

No need to work
No need to push
No need to try

So

Damn

Hard

All the time
In the world
To work on nothing
Besides that which makes me ...
_________________________________

Often I find myself wishing I would have never gotten fat. I know it seems vain to focus on, yet it was with fatness that I lost confidence, and what I wouldn't give to have confidence.

I have been drilling down inside of me - straight into the quick of my marrow. I can see all these things I gave up on in an attempt to be normal - just like 99% of the rest of the damned world. I don't know how else to say it other than "normal." Just because normal doesn't make me happy, does not make normal something that cannot bring happiness. It also doesn't make normal a dirty word; something bad to be.

Crazy isn't exactly all fun and games. It's rather tough to live so close to losing it all ... at any moment.

Anyway, there I go trying to explain myself so that I don't seem like an asshole.



I am an asshole though.

At least that is how I have been feeling lately and, it seems, how others have seen me lately (aka - over the past few years).

So I am just going to go with it. I am an asshole. Or a snob. Whichever comes easier.

I am done trying to figure out why and what to change. No more change. I am an asshole. I am a snob. Love me anyway ... or not.

Anyway ... that tangent derailed me ... back to the bleeding quick of life.



tem·pes·tu·ous

It is at the core of being that the child lays. Put to bed, to find an endless sleep, by the constant drive to grow up, and grow up I did.

To truly enjoy life, to truly get the most out of it, you can never put the child to bed. You just can't. She has got to get up with you every morning, look in the mirror at the old which you have become, and make you laugh at it.

She has got to ride to work with you, sit in your grey cube, and give you the courage to dream of what it will take to get out of there. She should laugh at the ridiculousness of it all - for, and with you. She should inspire you to try all the new things you can, because one of them may be the best thing you have ever done.

In the end, it is she that will be there holding your hand, while all that is in this life fades away ... as it always does; in everything, in every way.


__________________________________

She's putting herself fully into her own care.

It is a revolutionary step for her. Far too long, she'd been separated from her own body, heart and soul wisdom. She'd lived on borrowed intelligence, alienated from her original longing. Her many journeys underground has helped her separate her genuine voice from the counterfeit one. She's not willing to live a soul sapping life anymore. She's stepping out of the only life she'd known.

She's putting her trust and vote in her deepest truth. She cannot yet pinpoint her longing. It's still shaky for her. All she knows is the feeling of rightness in her bones.She's not sure where she's leading herself in her outside world. It does not make complete sense yet. She only knows that every decision is taking her closer to her centre. She's walking through each of her fears of survival ~ her heart melting, her eyes limpid pools of vulnerability.

She can feel her spirit igniting, and she's willingly sacrificing herself in the fire of her longing.

She's going back to innocence.

by:
    ~Sukhvinder Sircar
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________________


All the signs, all the time spent deep inside the spiral, just to awaken ... me.

The Tempest. The Tigress. The Queen and even The King.

How could I not see, feel, hear, and be?

Why did I rage against it for so long?

A fear of losing it all, when it is always on it's way out to sea.

Salty tears, the sand between my toes, a sea full of possibilities - washing in on me, washing out from me.

Opportunity, comes while dipping my hands deep into the wet moist sand, and letting it all slip through my fingertips.

How often have I let go?

Unknown.

We all came here to get hurt though. Get hurt or die trying.

What is life without experience?

What is experience without pain?

What is pain without love?

It is the desperation in a Orangutans eyes, caged at the zoo, all the humans staring at you. On display. Pain without love is to be on display. Trapped. No other option but to crawl out, day after day, into what little space of comfort you are granted. Crawl out and try to ignore their stares, their expectations, their judgments, their laughter at your expense.

Only there is no expense, it is all for free. The only cost is of your self. Not something others can see.

I mean, sure, they can look in your eyes, they can watch you cower away, the cost is physically written all over you - the difference is they love, they care, they are allowed ... allowed to what though?

Allowed whatever pain you grant their kind of love.
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I have been writing this for a few weeks now, on and off, just coming back to it and adding, yet my Grandmother passed away and with that I have so much more I want to write about. So, this is it, as far as this rambling is concerned. I have a obituary, eulogy, and remembrance video to create. For someone that knew and gave love in a manner others can only dream exists.

So much changes in the blink of an eye.

I am done mourning the loss of what was important in my life.

I am sure I still have more to write about in this regard as I continue to process on.

Yet, as I pick myself up, I got my combat boots on, passport in my hand, a bag packed, so I can run ...

                                                                             Free!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Like a painted mare, across the plains, straight into the sunset of all I have ever dreamed - maybe I am alone now, maybe I was once loved greatly, maybe that is all I will ever know of belonging, maybe I will regret every pounding hoof beat that takes me away, maybe all I have dreamed is nothing but a nightmare ...

Whatever may be, I am in charge.

Not others opinions of me.

Not others expectations of me.

Not others ...

Just me.

Alone.

As I came into this world.

As I learned to experience this world.

As I have been taught by this world.

It is to be.

It is.

It has always been.

Disappeared.

I am disappeared.

As is everything ... always.

~TigressSky~

As you get older you start conversing with death more regularly. It is quite amazing how quiet death can be in your youth; where endless possibilities dominate the discussions. Death only whispering in your ear every now and again, grabbing your attention for small brief moments in your youth; becoming increasingly louder as you age. Until it reaches a fervor pitch, eventually drowning out possibilities and leaving you waiting for "it's" handshake with your heart.

Hospice workers are visiting my last remaining grandmother regularly now. It is almost time. She has been living in adult foster care for years now. Moving her there really began her decline. Taking people out of their homes, dumping them in a single room, then keeping them doped up and sat down in front of the television doesn't lend for much mental or physical stimulation. Especially when family and friends do not visit regularly. All of these factors lend to ensuring a form of Alzheimers will develop.

I do not know why, but I was always Grandma's favorite. She didn't get to see me that often growing up, as my parents divorced when I was three and my mom left the state with me.

Yet I did spend the first part of my life in her home. She has told me a few memories from that time. She also babysat my sisters, cousins, and seconds cousins regularly so all the parents could work. This meant she would babysit me from time to time while I was visiting my dad every other summer. Eventually the babysitting stopped, at least for my side of the family; as we got older and my dad and stepmom just left us at home alone instead.

I use to idolize her. She was single the entire time I knew her. Living on her own, going out and doing her own thing, gardening and taking care of her own home - a home that she had helped build!

I didn't know the truth of it all until I was in my twenties and living back in Oregon. I spent a lot of time with my Grandma then. Her house was comforting to me. The memories it held. Most especially I loved just visiting with my Grandma.

I learned during these visits how my Grandpa cheated on her. How he moved out from living with her and into his girlfriends home. How long it took for her to finally put her foot down and tell him he could no longer gallivant between the beds of the women in his life - he had to choose. He chose his girlfriend.

Yet they never divorced. His money and benefits from the Navy all came to her. She was always his wife and she never had another lover, dated, nor anything after that.

I wish I knew more about it, Dad never talks about it. I wonder if Grandpa left when the three boys where still young, or of they had all been older? I wonder how they handled Grandpa being an ass? What was it all like for them?

I have a brief idea of what it was like for Grandma, because she spoke to me about it and I caught the reflective pauses, inflection changes, and subtle looks she gave while thinking about it. It was always weird for me to recognize how vulnerable this woman, who lived on her own and took care of her damned self!, truly was.

People say she and I looked a lot a like when comparing pictures of her and I in our teen years. Here is a picture of her in her early twenties I believe:



When they moved her to the foster care she started forgetting my visits to her. She couldn't hold much of a conversation anymore. She always knew who I was, but never really when it was. It got hard to visit and see her like that. Now I feel guilty as I have only really made one or two attempts a year over the past few to see her. Last time I went she couldn't even stay awake and had become bed ridden.

Now hospice is visiting regularly and making sure she is in the best comfort as she prepares to feel Death's final handshake upon her heart.

It makes me sad that I didn't spend more time learning about her. Knowing her life and how she grew up. She lived in the middle of what is now pretty much gangland when it was all just fields and farm.

Three of the four houses that encompassed her side of the street on the 86th block, just off of SE Division in Portland, were built by my Great-grandfather, Grandfather, Great-Grandmother, and her. Now they are all old and falling apart as no one in the neighborhood really cares about having a beautiful home anymore. In what that neighborhood has become they simply cannot afford to. They also shoved two row houses in right next to Grandma's old house, in what use to be a large side yard that was part of Grandma's property.

There are cars lining the streets and lawns of the neighborhood and the beauty of the area is completely gone. There is nothing there that displays anything of the beauty, farm, and people who made that area thrive for two full generations. It is so sad how quickly and strangely everything changes.

It started getting bad in Grandma's neighborhood when I was about 13. She got robbed a few times; waking up to flashlights in her face and men in her bedroom telling her not to scream or they would kill her. Yet she stayed there, and would have continued to stay there had she not been turned back into a child, decisions suddenly being made for her, then placed into a small room of things, and forgotten.

At least I will disappear quicker, (I am already forgotten a lot of the time as it is), as there is no one to remember me. There is no one to regret not getting the full account of my story and in turn no one to lose out on finding a piece of history that personally belongs to them. No one to understand my life's possible effects on the world around it. No one to find out how my life was affected by the rest of the world.

After Grandma passes, all of the family women who affected my life the most will be gone; except my little sister. Maybe I should get her story before it is too late.



It always seems to be too late though. I will never know my brothers because no one told me about them until the one person who could give me details died. No one tells me about a lot of things. Choosing to lie or keep things quiet so as not to hurt my heart. Do I come across so fragile? Because I am not. I want to know - as much as I can, before Death grips my heart and every ounce of me disappears from this planet.

A disappearance which could be at any given moment. Something I learned with more poignant reality as I happened to be exploring my friends list on Facebook. I was checking out people I heard little from since FB decided to change from displaying all my friends post to just those I had interacted with recently. I learned if I just went and said "hi" on their homepage and they responded I would start seeing them in my feed again.

Being nostalgic lately, I was looking at people I had gone to junior high and high school with, and the first name I clicked on was dead.

She would be my age and I met her during my freshman year in high school. Well technically during the last 4 weeks of my 8th grade year in junior high. I had just moved to the area and had to attend school for those last four weeks to be counted as eligible to graduate from 8th grade in the State of Colorado, even though I had already finished in Alaska.

Anyway ...

Amy was awesome and we corrupted each other. She was beautiful and sassy to, with a short hair-do I kind of envied at the time. She was sporty, attractive, and had the attention of a lot of boys at school. Unlike me.


This is Amy back around the time I knew her in High School.

I helped her be at ease with sex and her sexuality in general. No, we were not lesbians, she was just a virgin and I wasn't, so we had lots of talks.

I knew her for a little over a year because as soon as my freshman year was over, we moved, again.

I found her again in about 2008 through Facebook. We chatted a bit and caught up. She was living in Florida and soon moved to North Carolina. She was single, no kids, loved her dogs, and was a hair dresser. She was still beautiful and looked hot in a bikini! She was still sassy, independent, and strong; a beautiful specimen of feminine strength and beauty.

She died a horrible death in an accident in her car on January 24, 2011, with her dogs.

I was shocked to go to her page to say "hi" and find nothing but people posting how much they loved and missed her and still couldn't believe she was gone; even all this time later. She was loved.

In the past few years alone, people have been giving their hearts to Death fairly regularly. Some I have been closer to than others, yet all of them I was pretty shocked to see go.

As I continue to age this just becomes more and more the norm and people just don't seem to want to talk about or truly acknowledge it much. *sigh*

Maybe I am morbid for thinking often about what Death will say when Death comes for me. Will it be a soft whisper of forgetfulness until eventually I just dissipate? Or will it be a loud primal scream that hits me hard and shakes my core? Will it be a fearful boast or a gentle kiss? Will my memory live, in turn keeping me alive, after my physical is gone? Eh, I can answer that last question, no it will not - there is no one to remember.



In my youth, unlike most, Death spoke to me often. The fact I am here and alive is, in someways, unexpected. Top that off with the amount of times Death sat nearby and shook the hearts of those close, sometimes taking them directly, sometimes taking their loves. Well, it is no wonder I became a catalyst for change. It is also no wonder that I have developed a relationship with Death. Although come the fuck on, it is Death, how many relationships does Death really have? Maybe it is more of a fascination, appreciation, curiosity, and understanding that I have with Death; not a relationship.

I don't know, I'm not really trying to figure it all out; after all, there really is nothing to know. Death is just a little closer to me again right now, hugging me, pointing things out, like a father showing a child what work he has left to do, and what work he has done; proudly.

~TigressSky~



When I die
when my coffin
is being taken out
you must never think
i am missing this world

don’t shed any tears
don’t lament or
feel sorry
i’m not falling
into a monster’s abyss

when you see
my corpse is being carried
don’t cry for my leaving
i’m not leaving
i’m arriving at eternal love

when you leave me
in the grave
don’t say goodbye
remember a grave is
only a curtain
for the paradise behind

you’ll only see me
descending into a grave
now watch me rise
how can there be an end
when the sun sets or
the moon goes down

it looks like the end
it seems like a sunset
but in reality it is a dawn
when the grave locks you up
that is when your soul is freed

have you ever seen
a seed fallen to earth
not rise with a new life
why should you doubt the rise
of a seed named human

have you ever seen
a bucket lowered into a well
coming back empty
why lament for a soul
when it can come back
like Joseph from the well

when for the last time
you close your mouth
your words and soul
will belong to the world of
no place no time.

~ Rumi