What is yours?

What is yours?

It is an hour before. With pen and paper, you sit as you always do wherever you are. A bartender stares at you when you order a beer and asks, “How cute are you?” You think, ‘No, you can’t have my number’ but say, “Thank you.” Writing and editing in a bar keeps men away. It’s easier to figure out what you’re after. It’s not them.

What is yours?

You look at your pens as if they belong to someone else, borrowed, unwanted so you picked them up. You look at your journal as being second hand, disregarded by its owner, so you picked it up. Where does this come from?

You bought each. You chose each. They are your tools of self-expression, of deliverance from a muddy mind and heart. This is your pen box. This is your ‘unlimited’ access to paper and ink. This is where the fire glows.

What is yours?

Your glasses. Your handwriting. The box of half used tissue. It is your tears that they wipe away, no one else. You are driving a meat wagon too that others seem to think they have some dominion over. They have no power over you, none that you don’t give them.

You have chosen the life of a worker. You pursue other activities once all your energy is spent. You can barely participate in anything else. You have no companion. You were not a good one.

What is yours?

This pain. This sorrow. Longing for a lifetime, for approval from someone wholly incapable of accepting themselves. Why are you surprised that they cannot accept you as you are? Why do you concern yourself with the behavior, the absence?

You carry so many heavy things. The wall of silence pressed down upon you for so long that it stole your words, your tongue, your expression. What are your rights of passage? Who celebrated with you? Who ensured that you knew that you mattered?

Now when people look at you and say, “Get over it,” they do not understand that the eruptions into the light are new. You have not dwelt upon this. You have been silent, silent, so silent. Your words are backed up, a packed colon of blackened pain. Your hopes feel unreachable.

What is yours?

 

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, November 2016

Great American Road Trip- Part 2

Saturday, July 22, 2017 ~ MN-SD (519 miles)

Minneapolis, MN; Mankato, MN; Worthington, MN; Sioux Falls, SD; Mitchell, SD; Chamberlin, SD; Wall, SD

I wake up at 6am on vacation day one. The weatherman expects temperatures in the 90’s-100’s along my route. Hoping I am not overpacking, I bring the tent and sleeping bag, just in case. One never knows what might happen 1,000 miles from home.

Leaving first thing on Saturday morning (instead of Sunday) feels dumb to me because I must scramble to pack. I simply couldn’t get it done Friday night. But it gives me more time out west, one more travel day. I am on this road trip alone so I need to allow some extra time for that. In the morning rush to pack, the coffee maker overflows but the rest comes together: atlas, food, cooler, suitcase, day pack, toiletries, electronics, passport, messenger bag… Continue reading “Great American Road Trip- Part 2”

Great American Road Trip- Part 1

I bought my brother’s car: a 2013 Chevy Spark that is only slightly larger than a postage stamp. I named her Lorraine. As a kid, long cross-country road trips were what vacation was all about. So, with a ‘new-to-me’ vehicle in my possession (after three years without one), I could not resist scratching the itch to head out onto the open road.

Lorraine is in great shape according to my mechanic so driving solo for 4,500 miles, over 15 days, through 9 states did not seem so nutty to me. But if you want to get some weird reactions from strangers, be a woman driving alone on a very long road trip. Out there in the Wild West, I found an uncharted horizon that women’s lib has yet to conquer. I guess traveling around the mid-west is not considered so unusual for a mid-western gal. But seriously, I did not consider driving to the Pacific Ocean and back to be that big of a deal either.

So, I went. And I wrote every day. And I took some 2,100 photos along the way. I took my time at times, which caused me to have to make up time with some long driving days. Was it relaxing? Not really. Was it breathtaking? Oh yes, oh yes indeed. My road trip occurred July 22 to August 5, 2017 through MN, SD, WY, UT, ID, OR, WA, MT, and ND. I will share my stories and photos of this amazing trip over the coming weeks. I hope you find it as interesting and enjoyable as I did.

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, August 2017

Also See:
Great American Road Trip- Part 2
Great American Road Trip- Part 3
Great American Road Trip- Part 4
Great American Road Trip- Part 5
Great American Road Trip- Part 6
Great American Road Trip- Part 7
Great American Road Trip- Part 8

Affinity

There is more
There is so much more

Yes, breaks are allowed
But time marches on
Ready or not

It is unfair to expect
One person to serve
All your needs

It is unfair to think
You can serve
All theirs

Consider the great
Humbling honor
It is to love another

Agree to share
Their life with you

We have so few days
Mayfly life
In the memory of the world

Why chain them in sorrow
Why chain yourself in anger

Let go
Hold Loosely
Love always

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, April 2017

Bitter Fruit

The years pass
In two’s and three’s

You still are as you were
Softer, harder

Not bitter, so bitter that
No one calls or visits
Or wants to talk to you

You are given a choice everyday
Where you want to go
What you want to do

If it is to be enraged
Yet one more day
About what might have been
You are free to do so

But the years will pass
In two’s and three’s

Walking the treadmill
Money in, money out
Sex maybe, food always
Death upon death upon death

Pick the dandelions while you might
Blow them into the wind

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, April 2017

Sands of Time

You do not have that kind of time
You do not have time to put it off
The writing, the painting, the music
Day to day has its demands
Takes its pound of flesh

No, your family doesn’t respect your art
Enough to leave you to it
But if you are compelled
If you write because you must write
You do not have that kind of time

The kind of time that keeps you stuck
In the moment twenty years ago
When your ‘big reveal’ blew up in your face
All the joy you hoped to get out of it
Turned into deep grinding shame

Coated your heart with enough anger
To shield the wound in it
But the hole that is there
Still sucks the sands of your life away
And you do not have that kind of time

Write it out
Ink it
Line it
Fill it with
Crumpled paper drafts

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, May 2016