In the cave

Fiction, truth, what’s the difference?

A blog is essentially narcissistic, isn’t it? But our struggle is too often how to get out of our selves. We are a species of lonely people during a time when we are set against one another—competing for scraps and basic survival. I am stuck in my cave, and I spew out a few words. Will it help?

The Cave

Water drops from the ceiling of the cave and falls into a pool on the floor. I watch. The drips sooth me. They take me away from the moment and connect me to the universe beyond. Here I know passion. The menus

  • In The Cave is meditation, violence, and sorrow—random wanderings of thought.
  • Between Blue Mountains is a novel, chapters and dreams being added as I can. Chapter 26 was just added!
  • Too Much Reality is the memories that haunt me most and the stories from here and there. I won’t tell you which are real; I’m not sure I can.




the sound echoes
through the narrows
of dark tunnels
full of puzzles

breath in life
a wisp of strife
touch of a hand
making no demand

the monster’s there
but i can bare
to bring you near
despite the fear




each speck of love
falling from above
full of endless pain
washed clean by the rain

standing here small
invisible to all
but you can see me
as someone who is free

and my power grows
as the old one knows
haunting my dreams still
but never breaking my will




dark of night

in the dark of night
when the world sleeps
i am such a fright
as my soul weeps

all my emotions
of old arise
as my blood runs
and my strength dies

i want to release
all that weakness
and take a new lease
on life’s deepness

in the dark i feel
all that i am
and i become real
no more a sham

tears, laughter, and rage
all spinning round
now out of the cage
and i am found


thinking of when my children were small
i remain puzzled as to how i was so happy
being a mother of two beautiful children
while i was so miserable as a wife

it’s a contradiction that haunts me
having exactly the life i wanted
and surrounded by love and caring
except for when he came into the room

but somehow i need to feel less of a victim
and find a way to move on from the pain
of working so hard for a happy family
and failing so miserably to be loved

if i feel sorry for myself for a bit
will i be stronger tomorrow for it
or should i pretend that my time then
with my babies was only full of love


i want to connect
i need to connect

How do you do it?
You call and text,
and connect with one another

i let the boys touch me,
and they made me feel,
but they didn’t fall for me

i made people need me,
but they never needed me
enough to want me later

i took a blade to my skin
to feel like i was alive,
and you locked me up

i am trying to change,
to love myself and all,
but i’m too scared

lack of a mother’s love,
partly healed in mothering,
but needing a caregiver

i am too old to still need
a loving parental figure
but i crave it like oxygen

please tell me how to become
like you who walk alone
and use one another so easily

can you teach how to live
without attachment and love
so i can simply be a mother

hold me

Can you see me?
Do I want to be seen?
I need to be seen.
And I need to be invisible.

Loneliness and fear
fight against one another
when the real issue
is about if I should stand.

Can you hear me?
Do I want to be heard?
I need to be heard.
And I need to be quiet.

The past and future
hold me in place
while my fears
and fantasies hold me.


home for the holidays
a home i sought to escape
yet have sought refuge

i walk and note what is new
what is falling apart
and what has transformed

new neighbors and old pavement
old bridge and newly planted trees
the old neighbors would have raked

it is the same and not the same
my father is dead and gone
but these pieces of him remain

i am the same and not the same
the lies do not fool me anymore
and i can speak my mind some

my child needs my protection
but no one else has ever needed it
in this house of bad dreams and fear

the clock ticks so loudly now
though i slept every other night
until this my last night here

it is hard to hold onto who i am
my mother’s fears needing quiet
while the past screams its loudest

the irony that i believed my love
my husband would protect me here
rather than becoming the worst

do you remember the past?
the times you believed in joy
and the times when hell emerged?

tonight i remember it all at once
and cannot sleep in this bed
this room and this house now

the past meets the future
and i cannot find myself
as i fail to breath right