Feline Warrior

Mood music for today’s post.

When do you stop thinking the childhood superhero thoughts? When do you let those ideas -ideals- go? When do you stop, drop and roll and say, upon standing and dusting oneself off, “Even though I felt for most of my life that I would be fabulous and amazing and make an impact of some kind, I now understand that those thoughts were foolish child’s play”?

I want to know.

This isn’t disappointment in life in general, I don’t think. It’s… melancholy. Once again the longing for the unknown, that sensation of near-greatness, near-goodness, a sparkle of perfection that was close enough to fingertips to have burnt. Close enough to send heat like a bullet through one’s core… and then -poof- gone.

Probably I never learned to grow up completely. I am still idealistic. I still think that I have the power to make people better (ah, my dysfunctional childhood), my inner four-year old still stomps her small foot, little hands firmly on little hips, tiny brows pulled together sternly, saying -to herself- “WHY can’t everyone get along??”

Oh, those tears… tears don’t age. There is no baby Franque (thank God, probably), so there’s no transference, no tiny girl upon whom I can place my misguided / misplaced / mistaken hopes and dreams. They don’t age, either, but I think they change form.

So listening to that song, I wonder, “Am I too scared to try?” Maybe so. Fear is incredible. More powerful than a thousand armies sometimes. More mysterious because there is often self-trickery involved. That self-sabotage “they” talk about. Setting oneself up for failure - all that stuff. Bah humbug.

And what’s to be scared of, anyway? (Here’s where I get all lofty, trying to pull on my intellectual boxing gloves and beat the crap out of societal meanings and words and expectations.) What is failure? Why do we just DO these things? I mean… why not pursue higher education until you feel educated enough? Why can’t we all be poets if that’s what we want to be? Dressmakers, painters, professional nappers, golf caddies, bookmark makers, cookie decorators… why not?

Think of how wonderfully rich the world would be if it was filled with the goodness of people doing what makes them happy. So much more authentic and organic. You want to be a fisherman or woman? Do it! La Gordita would be happiest with a baby on her hip, tending to gardens. Why can’t she do it?

The need to earn money is very disruptive.

And finally the truth: Why do we barricade ourselves behind STUFF -houses, cars, objects, metal and plastic and un-recyclable crap? Is it, as I fear, just more and more walls - separation not from others (for once I’m not blathering about that) but from ourSELVES? Or better yet, from myself?

I’m not complaining about my stuff - God knows I love my stuff. Hell, Kitten will tell you how much I love my pink hairdryer chair, circa 1950-something. All my long playing records, compact discs, art supplies, bits and snippet of paper and yarn and buttons and such… just in case… I might need to make something with that. Maybe it’s not a barricade just of stuff but of the value we -I- put into that stuff. If the house burned down (God forbid, knock on wood, and so on), how devastated would I be?

And then back to the start… How do you know if it’s a life well-lived, time well-spent? Does everyone have a lingering feeling that they were to have amounted to something much more than what they have? God tell me it’s not just me. It can’t be.

Trying on a brand new dress
But you haven’t worn the old one yet.
You’ve come too far, to turn around now.
Giving up a good fight.
You’re as strong as anyone.
You’re back when you started from,
I see you’re back where you started from.
Staring down the stars, jealous of the moon
You wish you could fly.
But you’re staying where you are,
there’s nothing you can do,
if you’re too scared to try.
Drag your pretty head around
Swearing you’re gonna drown with a beautiful sigh and a river of lies.
Staring down the stars, jealous of the moon
You wish you could fly.
But you’re staying where you are
there’s nothing you can do
if you’re too scared to try.
Why don’t you call me, I could save you.
Together we’ll find a god we can pray to that will take you by the hand.
I hate to see a friend of mine,
Laughing out loud when she’s crying inside,
but you’ve got your pride.
Staring down the stars, jealous of the moon
You wish you could fly.
But you’re staying where you are
There’s nothing you could do, if you’re too scared to try.
You’re staring down the stars,
You stay where you are,
You’re jealous of the moon, but there’s nothing you could do
if you’re too scared to try,
If you’re too scared to try.