ambiguity

hell is not an ambiguous place ( i wouldn't imagine it is at least), and yet ambiguity is a pretty powerful form of hell here on earth. we call it all sorts of things like, "being in limbo", or "transition", but for me an ambiguous place in life is not somewhere i can comfortably dwell for long. it activates all of my "stuff". the parts of me that i have worked so hard to heal and move forward from all come rushing into play when my life stumbles upon a state of flux, limbo, transition, blah blah blah. however one dresses it up, it sucks... big time.

i think the pieces to ambiguity that really chap my ass are the unknowings. those pieces of the transition time that are hazy and unclear make my stomach turn, and my skin crawl. i could vomit just thinking about it. i like to know. everything. all the time. is that too much to ask? what's that you say, it IS too much to ask? well, fuck you. i still want it.

did i mention that ambiguity makes me really angry? makes me want to beat someone with the recklessness of my tumultuous adolescence. not a good feeling for this grown-up pacifist who prides herself of remaining calm in crisis, and pragmatically thinking through my actions. all i have to say about that is that there are people out there who should thank their mother-humping stars that i am a fully realized grown-up who holds herself accountable for her actions; because quite frankly, i could shank a bitch right right now. dear lord, that is inappropriate, and counter to my feminist beliefs on so many levels. this is what ambiguity does to me, it turns me against my own core values and makes me feel rage-filled in a way that i am really not comfortable with. luckily, i do not act on these feelings. i talk about them, write about them, and work through them by seeking to understand the shit storm around me. good times.

it's a pleasant way to spend the day, picking up a piece of fallen shit and examining it until i can know in my gut what it really is, and how it came to be in my life... and then moving on to the next hunk of excrement. once a piece is properly identified and classified it shape-shifts into a clear glass mound with smooth edges; the weight of which feels good in the hand, and can be placed proudly on the display shelves of healing person's psyche. it's like when lightening strikes in the sand and makes a free from glass sculpture, it came from a traumatic event, but now it is a stunning reminder of the beauty that comes after the storm has passed. if you don't look for the beauty however, you will never find it. it is buried underneath the sand and shit, only to be discovered and appreciated by those who are up for, and dedicated to, the excavation.