Mary Jane's Shoes

Mary Jane's Shoes

Musings of one person among many. Not exceptional in any way, as with all, I have exceptional experiences and varied reactions to those events. Mine is one of many life stories and how I manage and cope with the events which make my life my own, I attempt to put forth by way of my writings.

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Chaos Over Order

June 23, 2016

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I once believed life was a constant, vast space, not a continuum of sequential ordered events.  The immediacy of a childhood day was not seen through the lens of time. Events were occurrences, filling the immense space I occupied, seemingly not related to the clock. 

As children we understood. 

Lost was this truthful magic in the midst of our aging, our need for order over chaos. Calendars and clocks took hold of our thoughts.

As children we were wise and brilliant, immediate people. We flourished in the present. I need to unlearn the notion of order; live in the chaos. 

I once believed life was a spatial constant, not a continuum of moments. That belief need return. 

~ With what we fill the space takes precedence over the time we have to fill it. ~

~ Mary Jane Goodman

Silence Has Swallowed Sound

June 14, 2016

Silence has swallowed sound.

Blinders have shadowed sight.

We strain to find any noise, 

to see any light.

~

We live in an era varied from our country’s past. A call for musket owning by our citizenry was answered. Those in 1791, ratified that which was proper for the time, simply and without knowledge of our future. Our founding fathers would be the first to seek appropriate change for the society in which we now find ourselves. They were believers in change for safer, more fair lives for all. To live amongst those who have been under investigation by the FBI, yet still carry assault rifles, is neither safe nor fair. 

~

For family and household protection, a gun without large capacity magazines will still maim an intruder, or kill if a life is truthfully threatened. Guns meant for military use, guns made for war are not necessary in the home. To a related point, hunters will hunt. Some will for the food on their tables, some for sport. Though I do not condone the latter, in either situation, never is an assault rifle a necessary piece of equipment to put down a deer or a duck. 

~

To further this argument assault weapons shouldn’t be available for the general public to purchase. My belief firm and simple is this. Retroactively, they should be surrendered by the general public. If some want the thrill of shooting an assault rifle, they should be available for them at shooting ranges and used only there. Hobbyists can satisfy this desire in an enclosed place where the general public isn’t and doesn’t feel threatened, nor live in fear. 

~

It is grotesque that background checks for all aren’t the norm, and are not detailed and somewhat lengthy. A hunter or a parent wanting household protection should have no problem with this. If they cannot wait that is grounds for a modicum of concern on the part of the seller. The police can provide protection in the interim, if an urgent situation makes itself evident. It takes months, years, to be fully licensed to get behind the wheel of a machine that kills many each week. Can owning a gun take at least as long to process? Those asking for stiffer background checks are not even asking for the same as drivers’ licenses. 

~

In light of recent global massacres, we find more evidence of the radicalization of citizens in many countries is an entity that needs to be addressed. Though I do agree with the current president’s stand on gun sense, whole heartedly, I feel he has blinders on when acting to fully protect the United States’ citizenry. I did write ‘fully,’ meaning as well to say ‘all encompassing.’~Yes. All crimes of this magnitude involve hatred, whether based on religion, race, sexual, identity, or what is perceived as a decadent lifestyle unacceptable to another section of our world’s population. Those that seek to maim and kill Americans, for any reason, those that seek to eradicate our lifestyle of freedom and love for all, need to be called out for the reasons they take the actions they do. To refer to the Orlando Massacre as a hate crime is correct. To refer to this heinous crime as radicalization and extreme perversion of a religion is correct ~ radical Islam. This latest horror on our land is both and needs to be handle in that fashion. All have to except it is not either or, and make decisions accordingly. With the degree of hatred and many zealous perversions of thought we live with in this society in the 21st century, we must strip the potential perpetrators of some of their weapons. True Americans can see the sense in this if they clear love the country in which they reside, and love the people with all their differences and make our home what it is. 

~

Silence has swallowed sound.

Blinders have shadowed sight.

We strain to find any noise, 

to see any light.

~ Mary Jane Goodman

Eight Days

June 3, 2016

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~

Eight days I listened for a name.

Eight days marked a passage. 

Eight days the sun set and the moon rose.

Eight days the tide pools drained and refilled.

~

Eight days I felt mixed stirrings in my heart ~

of excitement, of loss, of love, of fear, of pride. 

I felt excitement for the moment. 

I felt the loss of a bird from my nest. 

I felt love for my child now adult. 

I felt fear of the future unknown. 

I felt pride as each walked the stage not unlike a young bird lifting off a branch. 

~

Each came to life through me, but each is not mine. 

I was merely the first warm blanket. 

~

Each I have been privileged to meet.

Each I was fortunate to hear first breath and see first tear.

Each I have been privileged to first touch fingers.

Each I was fortunate to hear first laugh.

~

Eight times the same I have lost my footing. 

Eight times I have dressed for celebration,

though sadness I have worn with gratitude. 

Eight times my selfish loss may have shown more than my proud lioness. 

Eight times have I listened for a name. 

~

~

  

A Day

May 6, 2016

A Day

It moves forward yet sits still.
It is spent with focus, or wasted with too great a desire to be another. 

Boredom within is not boredom, if taken fully as a gift, as space-forming time. 

This is a day. You choose. 

It may seem as if waiting; for invested creatures it is patience. 
Waiting is a sloth in form invisible.

The movement of the sloth, do emulate. 

Each movement of muscle speaks of a decision, 

of a mindset determined.  

Deliberate. 
Painstakingly, slow moves respect time. 

Slow moves grasp underground corridors.

Slow movements feel the pulse running through these passageways. 

Slowness feels the blood to heart moving in the chest, and to the destinations needing oxygen. 

Precious, not entitled, are true results. 
He thrives, the sloth.

He carries the visions of his today. 

Only of today, this day, 

though to the flighty seen as boredom, this is the true sense of living. 

He has taken many breaths of which we should breathe. 

He sees more than we. 

He is now;

he uses time slowly without anxiety. 

Within our own chests, his lesson of the slow, of patience, we need learn. 
More can be learned by the wind passing though car windows while sitting in a parking spot than in traveling down the town main street at 45 mph. 

~ Mary Jane Goodman

Again, Thoughts on Music

April 10, 2016

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Again, Thoughts on Music (If the subject interests, read the following quite short paragraphs.)

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Though not trained in music in any capacity, other than childhood violin and piano lessons and a short stint in voice classes, music to me is second on life’s ladder; family has its place owning the top rung, absolutely and without question. If I regretfully had been part of neither a beautifully complex extended family nor a family of nuclear love, the sounds coming to me in the form of music would be my family members. Notes would be my siblings, the melody and harmony my parents. 

~

Music catapults the true listener to the most spiritual of thought, without using conscious thought. The receiver is taken, without resistance, to a different realm. The mind absorbing the notes and rhythm, while possibly relating to the words, is given a taste of another life, another plane of existence, perhaps. It hints at worlds beyond what we know, or think we know. I like to believe it is a window into what follows our physical passing. It brings powerful connection. It creates its own power. It is a deeply emotional family connecting this earthly life to any that lies beyond. 

~ mary jane goodman

~

I Saw You Glance

March 27, 2016

I saw you glance. 

My eyes met yours 

in innocent recognition, though I believed only my own. 

To you, I was any other.   

~

The light fell gently and slowed all movement. 

Candle flames burnt yellow 

and in their most heated, blue. 

The voices of those celebrating gayly, 

their words were indistinguishable to me.

I relied on sight, on body language, on facial expression. 

~

Standing so far across the marbled floor,

the women in multicolored dressings looked to me as butterflies, 

and men as black or navy fence posts wearing hair coiffed like the tines of a fork, slick as silver.

The butterflies each found preferred fence posts upon which to light.  

Human nature

All creature behavior

~

Wind driven ivy streamers 

dancing in front of lights,

became bats skimming my shoulders. 

I thought of disappearing through the calling doors. 

I was a white statue against a white washed wall. 

~

With gracious smiles,

with small talk given,

I heard not a sound from you. 

The doors did reach to me,

offering a simple escape. 

Lips formed words, 

and I watched you kiss many a cheek.

As yet to you, I was not present. 

~

Fantasies are dreams. 

Dreams are the mind’s art expressed,

formed with desperate wishes and often with stifling worry. 

The dream of eye connection, with you, 

became a real event. 

A dream come true seems the purest form of art.

~ mary jane goodman

Castles of Sand and Seaweed

March 27, 2016

Castles of Sand and Seaweed~

Music. When I hear notes glide into one another in a pattern soothing and mathematically sensible, there is no break for my mind to wander. I am caught. I have been snared in the fisherman’s net, though startled, albeit ensnared willingly. The netting represents the bars and released bubbles, the notes. 

~

Thoughts other than those the tune itself brings, are not given permission to enter the six walled space enclosing me. Outer subject matter seems not to exist, and is not granted permission if it does indeed want entry. If the patterns and notes flow seemlessly and with allure, permission is simply not allowed for interruption. Nothing disrupts the musical tome. How could anything command attention from sound’s musical perfection?

~

If I am listening intensely, and more so if I am as well singing with lyrics, I am protected. I am insulated from all that causes pain. Even if pain is known and felt through tune, it is experienced in a way that brings release and comfort. 

~

The other of my senses are shut down to a degree, as if I am alone on the sea, with no other, with no biting fish nor broken shells to cut my feet. I am safe with the music of rhythmic waves crashing as my guardian, my castle of sand and seaweed. 
~ Mary Jane Goodman

It Catches My Peripheral Vision

March 24, 2016

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Driving, it catches peripheral vision,

a swash of graffiti,

fire red paint on the yellow yield sign. 

Bright.

Harsh.

A change in colored light, a flash on the side of the road does startle.

~

The distraction of sprayed color
disturbs the passing view of corn and cotton,

soybean and pecan. 

Soothing it was passing fields that were planted as if pages in a book. 

But I was driven, driving. 

I did not note the words. 

The faster my driving,

the more quickly I read, and the more overlooked.

~

The flash of bright red interrupted
the quiet flying rhythm as it fed a break in turning farm row pages. 

The field’s book has now attention paid it. 

Smooth movement now is staggered. 

As rain languidly transforms more the view,

reading each line now requires the slowing speed so as to catch each word before it runs down the leaves, 

to the dirt, 

on the backs of rain droplets. 

~

Crops as words in his field, the farmer oversees. 
The author he is. 

If country road drivers flip pages too quickly,

missed is meaning and heart of his dirty, earthy written lines. 

Slow down the pace. 

The complete story then can be read, even with peripheral intruders 

and rain to drown the words. 

With concentration, with slower pace,

the pages’ words can be caught as they fold into ditches. 

To be sure, the rain with dirt will deliver again the story.

~

~

gestures

March 13, 2016

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i turned down 

his white shirt collar 

after i slipped into my well-worn shoes

and adjusted his paisley tie that shown beneath,

a small gesture 

     seemingly
          not much

          though much
~

he held my sweatered arm

and steadied me as i tripped on an unruly lace

guiding me into the passenger seat,

he buckled my belt

pressed a kiss to my cheek

a small gesture 

     seemingly
          not much

          though much
~

cat hair on my sweater

he brushed it free,

his mug held no coffee

i filled it with the first from the pot,

a towel to the steamy shower door

he draped for me,

he napped on the sofa, work forgotten

i removed his shoes
          

          not much

          though much

~

~ mary jane goodman

~

If Numb

March 11, 2016

If Numb~

if you see the flames, 

  but do not feel the warmth

if you see the smile, 

  yet do not feel the laugh

if you know the punch, 

  but do not feel its pain

If numbness is left,

  from stiffening frostbite

~

move inside,

  deep inside the home where winter snows 

live beyond windows

and fire burns in the belly, 

and in the hearth

~

notice, and dissect, and linger
you will learn again of keenness and sensibility

~

~ mary jane goodman

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