Music; "Where Words Leave Off, Music Begins"

       

           My knowledge of music began in the form of records and tapes.  Dad would thumb through his collection, as Mom would wait intently.  She would either vote "yes" or "no"; as a small child, I didn't get a vote.  On occasions, I can remember Dad putting in a tape of his desire and throwing on these gaudy, avocado green, headphones that covered his ears and then some.  Of course, as a young child, I wanted to be just like my Daddy.  He would indulge me and allow me to wear the esteemed, avocado green, headphones.
          As I grew and learned the ins and outs of the stereo-system,  I would put on my parents music and listen to it myself.  I remember those nasty looking headphones bringing me such clarity of sound.  I would lay on the living room floor all by myself with the headphones on; I would lay there, close my eyes, focus on the music, the beat, the words, and be enveloped by the sound.  I came to appreciate many different genres of music through this.  When Mom cooked, we listened to music.  When Dad relaxed, we listened to music.  We. Just. Listened to music.
          My first memorable tape was Nirvana's Nevermind.  I came into possession of this by pulling one over on the neighbors dad at Meijer.  I was in 2nd grade.  GRUNGE.   I felt like a dirty 7 year-old  smuggling that tape in with the cover of a baby and his penis.  This was the first album that was mine; MY music.  This was a simple precursor for what was to come.
          I became a writer of poetry at age 10.  Songs would either inspire me to write or would accompany me as I wrote.  After all, music is poetry of the mind and heart put to a tune.  As I grew older and moved through different emotions and experiences, the music that I listened to started to put to words what I could not.  Music served as my voice in a mind filled with questions; it served as my answers as well.  Bare in mind that all this was before the digital age.  During these times, we knew the album names, we had the next song on the album playing in our heads as the current one was fading; we knew the character of the album.  Some albums became our friends.  We would know them deeply and rely on them in difficult times.  I sought my albums many times for answers unknown.
          All I needed was a song to give someone.  Even if it was something like Ice Cube's You Can Do It, I knew what I was giving would make my friend dance, rap, or whatever else some adolescent white kid would do with a song like that.  I made CD's for everyone in my life.  My writing wasn't the best gift I could give someone; music on a CD seemed eternal.
        Video didn't kill the radio star; digital music almost has.  We no longer know the names of albums, let alone the CHARACTER of an album.  I'm hard put to learn the words to song now.  We are in an era where our attention span is short at best.  A song begins and we immediately skip to something a bit better, and then something else better.  I miss the days where songs sank into my soul.  It didn't matter whether or not they had any great meaning; they were with me.  My adolescents is soaked in songs, albums, verses, words.
          As technology progresses, I can't help but wonder what love of music I will be able to pass on to my instantly gratified, (digital) kids.  Will they ever know the satisfaction of listening to an album from beginning to end?  Will they ever know the art and character infused in to the production of an album? I won't begin with those avocado colored headphones, but I most certainly will sit with my children while they connect with the wonderment that is in a piece of art that is known as music.

Deep Hurt Says Everyone is an ENEMY; Love Says Get Over It!

         I'm nothing special.  I do good, I give to my community.  I love with a vigor.  But something is a little broke. My life and hardships I've met and trudged through make me different but not special.  Everyone wants their life to hold meaning or at the very least, give meaning to someone else.  It's our way of making sense of pain and embracing the joy.  If something awful we've gone through can add some sense of hope or enlightenment to someone else, then we did not suffer in vain...right?
         Overall, I've had an extremely blessed life, filled with wonderful, loving, supportive people; until October of 2009 - February of 2014.  This isn't to say that the good people of my life left, but rather I did.  I moved far away from the goodness that I had always known and entered into a long journey that, in hindsight, I'm sure added character but also stripped me of many things; good things.
         I desperately want for my story to be of use to someone, somewhere.  I do not want what has made me suffer to win by virtue of getting to exist in my life and not do good somewhere for someone else.  The hard part is that I am still trying to figure out just what the fuck happened.  I moved back home to my nice life with wonderful people where I lived for 26 years a happy, whole, mostly undamaged person.  I had these fancy thoughts of sitting back into that life comfortably.  And I could.  Most everyone does not know my secret.  They don't know the damage that has been done to my spirit.  They just see me as I always was.  But I'm not and try as I might to forget, I know my secret.  It affects my interactions with people on a daily basis.
         Deeply rooted pain not only gets inside you and changes you, but it also isolates you.  It's your dark secret that you carry around, hidden, but close to you at all times.  You're always aware and you always feel just a bit different than the rest.  I honestly thought that my spirit was so strong that it couldn't be shaken; that I would never lose my hope and faith in people.  It's sad when life teaches otherwise.  I don't believe that is God's will for me or for anyone else.  We are broken humanity that can be filled with beauty.  This beauty shines through people in the most simplistic ways.  And it's there for the taking.
          But what if life has taught you to be tough, to be hard, to not trust anyone, and expect the worst from people?  I am constantly caught in the conundrum of wanting to embrace my friends and family, people that have been a safe, source of joy, and meaning for me for decades; to give myself to them and then comes the deep learned fear of expecting hurt, pain, deceit, ultimately abandonment.  So I keep these undeserving beautiful souls at bay.  We have our superficial enjoyable interactions but I no longer expose my depth like I used to.
         Two women have managed to pry themselves into my hard shell and demand my heart and depth once again.  One is my best friend from college, who thankfully has never lost faith in me and has vowed to always fight for me.  In her words, she wants me back to the "pre-Colorado" Jess.  I do too.  The second is my poor girlfriend who fell for me long before she realized how broken I am. I've been trying to have a relationship with the most respectful, loving, intelligent, driven, depthy woman for over 8 months now.  We share a deep love and I want to see it all blossom into what it can be.  I want all these things and more but I keep her at bay.  I want her as close as possible but when she approaches me in that way only emotionally intimate lovers can,  I find some reason to push her back so the imagined possibility of her hurting me is minimized.  I've done that with all my unsuspecting friends.  They think I'm just really busy, or when we do talk, my life is just surrounded by work.  Truth is, I just don't want to hurt anymore. I went from being such an open, optimistic, naive, opened-armed person, to guarded and suspect of everyone.
        So my hope for this writing is to simply declare that I don't like this version of me.  It's not who I am at my core but I've been so broken, I don't know who's for real in my life anymore and who's not. I can make educated guesses but there's such room for hurt.  I don't want to isolate anymore.  I don't want to hurt my beloved and plentiful people in my life that love me.  I want to be the partner I need and want to be to the best thing in the flesh that I've come along romantically.  I want for my best friend from college to feel secure in that I will always invite her into my life and my heart.  I want so much.  My faith is God can heal me from all this; this I know.  God can do that for any of us.  Trouble is, if If I'm having trouble being vulnerable to family, friends, my love, how much more scarier is it being vulnerable to the one the Created me?
         I write this in a public forum, not to air my dirty laundry but rather to be real.  I have always been and will always be that.  My hopes is that someone somewhere will read this and know that maybe we're all not as isolated as we think. Having the right people in our lives that can hold up that mirror for us when we have forgotten what we look like is a blessing.  Who ever has broke down my walls many times and reached to my depths, love, and interest...please sing the song of my heart; I've forgotten the tune.



At the end of the day, no matter what has happened to us, God does not desire for anything to impede our ability to love, grow, be vulnerable, in our loving communities.  God help me.

Sometimes Good Presents Come in Bad Wrappings

364 days and 22 hours ago my life changed drastically.  After a long, hard legal battle, which required me to be away from my job too frequently, I was fired.  I was fired from the best, life changing, character building, community giving, job I’ve ever had.

For 2 years and 9 months I worked as an Education and Employment Counselor for homeless youth in downtown Denver at Urban Peak.  I journeyed with my youth through some of the most pivotal, hardest times of their lives.  If ever a person was able to get up in the morning and go to work knowing their labor had purpose; I lived it. 

364 days and 22 hours ago, my supervisor who had journeyed through my personal difficulties, misty-eyed, called me across the street for a meeting.  This was not an easy thing for him to do.  It was necessary though.  My youth needed me present all the time and I simply could not be.  Though I shamelessly begged and pleaded through sobs, my supervisor and deputy director, (who had become my friends, my family) offered me the ability to resign, effective immediately. 

My supervisor walked me to my car, apologized, and hugged me.  It. Was. Over.  Just like that.  My labor, my love, my sense of purpose beyond myself was over.  I had lost my legal battle.  I had lost my home.  My pride, dignity, and self-respect were all gone.  The last thing that held the few pieces of myself together was now gone; my job.  Losing my job also meant that after a number of years of trying to make Colorado my home, I would have to move home to mom and dad. 

There is no cure for a broken heart but time.  There is no Band-Aid for a bleeder but the supports that we surround ourselves with.  I stayed well past my time in Colorado, trying to scrape through ski season.  My sense of purpose was all gone and depression thrived.  The only escape I had from my personal hell was snowboarding.  It provided me a peace I so desperately clinged to.  Money was exhausted and so was my soul. 

I moved home 4 months after being fired from my job.  Into mom and dad’s home I went at 30 years old, after 5 years of living in Colorado, and being out of the house since I was 18.  I had no job prospects and a paralyzing fear of never finding work in my field again.  I returned home to my parents, very much so a child broken by life and needing some rehabilitation.  I had the support I needed to get back on my feet again. 

Two months after moving home I secured a job in my field that would quickly lead to my leadership skills, experience, and passions being utilized.  Urban Peak was an amazing experience but the ceiling was about 2 inches off the ground for me there.  Goodwill Industries has provided me a career where my best has the ability to shine.  Now, one hour shy of it being a true year since I was fired from Urban Peak, I am a boss in my field with a ceiling that feels limitless!

I’ve come from the bottom and I’m rising to the top.  Again, there is no cure for a broken heart but time and there is no Band-Aid for a bleeder but the supports that we surround ourselves with.  I was certain that God had forgotten about me or at the very least, didn’t care about my misery.  It made no sense to me that He would allow me into a position where I could be nothing.  It all makes sense now. 

“And we know that in ALL things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” – Romans 8:28

“For I know the plans I have for you”, declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” – Jeremiah 29:11

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding: in all your ways acknowledge Him, and he will make your paths straight” – Proverbs 3:5-6

TRUST.

The Hands We Hold

     

         More often than not the hands that holds ours as we grow end up being the hands we hold as our loved ones age into the afterlife (if we are lucky).  There is a profound feeling when one returns as an adult to hold one of those hands that has guided us through life.  If you're paying attention the significance of it can hardly be contained in words.
        Today is the first Mother's Day I've been home for in 5 years.  I had the joy of spending it with my Mother and my soon to be 95 year-old Grandmother.  I knelt next to my Grandma for a few family photos.  After the photos had been taken and the rest had dispersed back to their places in the living room, I remained stationary next to my Grandmother.  She rested her head upon my shoulder as I stroked her arm.  I stayed there for a while soaking in the moment; paying attention to little details.  Her body was warm as our shoulder were resting on each others.  I noticed that we were off sync on breathing and I adjusted my breathing to fit hers.  I guess I just wanted to take a moment to breathe with her.  I'm sure there has been many moments in my younger years as I sat next to her that we breathed together but I can't remember one specific time.  I wanted to remember this one.
          I put my hand over hers, noticing the differences and imagining how my hands might look at 95.  I wonder if they will look like hers.  The hand that I held hers with carried a beloved token of love that belonged to her.  My Grandmother gave me her wedding ring a year and a half ago.  It holds the diamonds from her first marriage (my Grandpa Robinson) and the diamond from her second (my Papa).  Papa passed away several years ago.  She was deeply committed to him and wore his ring for many years after he passed.  The honor and bewilderment I have felt over the giving of the ring has coated our relationship since then.  I never asked why she chose me out of all her grandaughters but I sure am grateful she did.  
          It was a very special moment for me to see my hand holding hers with her wedding ring covering us both.  Grandma didn't want to wait to give it to me after she passed.  She wanted to give it to me personally.  I guess it doesn't matter how old you are or what the dynamics of your relationship with your mother or grandmother have been.  At the end of the day we are all children and have come from somewhere.  Sitting next to where I came from, breathing with her, feeling her warmth against mine, I felt a deep love and history that is irreplaceable.  In that moment I could have been anywhere in the world and as long has her head was on my shoulder, I was home.

Poem: Wanderer

Wanderer

3-31-14

By: Jessica Cole Robinson

 A thirst I cannot

Quench

Stumbling repeatedly

To you

A beggar in the

Desert

Your hand does not

Extend

You give what was once mine

To him

Shriveling up further

I cannot so much as

Swallow

The harsh realities to

Ponder

For me your heart is

Hollow

I turn in circles

In this land

Of dry and bone

Looking for the everlasting water

To bring me into my own

Each time I return to

You

You look so good in the day’s sun

I think you’ll bring refreshment

To my skin

And yet again

You have not for me

Some

How can it be

That you’re the only one here

In this hot as hell land

I beg you, I beg you,

Please extend out your hand

My savior in this bright, beating light

For me you have nothing to give

And life does not abound

Why, oh why, then must you be

The only one

In these circles that I live?!

Returning to you

In my merry-go-round of sickness

Lips parched dry

A heavenly excitement

Pours in

I’m not going to die

With your sweet smile

And kind eyes

I think THIS IS IT! THIS IS IT!

But the water goes

To the other guy

I kneel to the ground and grit

I am bound by life

A purgatory of my own

To simply keep repeating the same

Cycles

In this dry ground

My love has grown

To see you is a moment of

Relief

An excitement to be sure

But when I realize

You have no water for me

I continue to wander

Thirsty

Poem: Tracks We Tread

An idealistic person walks through life digesting relationships and experiences and holds on to the nutrition found within them.  It's difficult to predict or to fathom that pointed shared experiences can be so sustaining and everlasting meaningful to one but easily discarded by another.  Regardless of the ending we are left with the growth we obtain from them.  I'm an idealist and like to think that meaningful life happenings are equally worth holding on to for the other party.  This is not always the case.  Or it may be simply that people change and so does what they value...   Either way, for the one that holds, it is a sad pill to swallow.

Tracks We Tread

3-31-14

By: Jessica Cole Robinson

Walking restless

Mental weight

Shifts

To you

Paths we’ve tread

Once dug deep

Now covered by

Time

Where did you go?

Naive

Once I thought

Trails walked together

Could not come to pass

Could not be forgotten

As if we didn’t happen

Once happy to love

Longing for our

Tracks to be visible

Side by side

We created something

Beautiful

Have you forgotten?

A journey

Appreciated

For our passage to once again

Bear fruit

My friend,

The one who enlightened me

To myself and to

A special kind of love

Where are you

And why do you

Remain hidden?

Love at First Sight

“God is great, beer is good and people are crazy.”

            The belief that that an individual can fall in love with another at first sight has always been seen by me as either absolute poppy-cock or for those that are not me.   The notion that an individual can lay their eyes on a future beloved and know intrinsically that the target of sight is their one and only defies sensibility and logic.  It perpetrates the comforts of knowing and boundaries, yet manages to be a notion that all that are single either are intrigued by or secretly wish the love bug touched them. 

            For our friends or family that have relationships where they claim they found love at first sight and knew immediately, we caution them and we find ourselves embedded in the conundrum of thinking they are idiots but wanting the phenomenon to be true for ourselves.   Much like God and Heaven, we want it to be true.  We hold hope but the skepticism in us usually reigns. The notion that our paths can simply brush with another and intuition can kick in so hard that we know instantaneously that they are meant to be our forever is both ludicrous and intriguing. 

            I read a research article on sciencedaily.com that says, “Falling in love can elicit not only the same euphoric feeling as using cocaine, but also affects intellectual areas of the brain. Falling in love only takes about a fifth of a second.” The question they posed after stating this is, is it the brain or the heart that does the falling in love?  Either way, I don’t care.  As a non-married woman, the process involved is irrelevant.  All I want to know is when it happens and whom it is with.  Some, if not all would say that I was a hopeless romantic in my younger years; in love with love, rose pedaled glasses, idealistic to a fault…yadda, yadda, yadda.  And they would be right.  Love was a meal perfected and I wanted to taste of it daily.  I had a vicious hunger. The slab of love that I had served up on my plate, however, was of the Taco Bell ground beef variety and not of the filet mignon variety.

            So here lies in wait a 30-year-old woman who has not found neither love at first sight nor that delicious filet mignon plate…or have I? I no longer wear the rose-pedaled glasses of loves idealism.  I’ve been to broken down by that system of belief to subscribe any longer. I am genuinely concerned for my beloved friends and family who fall in love quickly and yet, when I become immersed in loves wake, I understand and do not fret.  I understand the hypocrisy in this.   Though I have a superior sense of how I feel and why I feel it compared to those that care and do fret about my life choices.  It is true that I have drowned in my Taco Bell love experiences before.   The ground beef snuffed me out!   But what happens when love really does come around????

            Love has come around for me.  It was not love at first sight or second sight.  It was love that I wanted to shun for I have become a disbeliever in my own ability to find happiness with someone else.  You get so used to the shit that when Gold shows up at your doorstep, it’s a learning curve.  It’s met with almost a resistance.  I do not desire to keep referencing this metaphor but it’s rather accurate; when an individual is used to eating Taco Bell for fulfillment and then you switch over to filet mignon and say, asparagus….one is left craving the crap nutrition of T-Bell.  Bad love isn’t too far from that.  The healthy comes in and we crave the carbs and saturated love fat. We want to eat in the car instead of the fancy restaurant. 

            Do I believe I found my love in the fifth of a second research says it takes? No.  (Perhaps it was a 5^th of a second from when I didn’t know to when I knew) But then again, do I have all the knowledge and tools I need to make a well informed, educated, logical decision on this love piece? Nope.  But doesn’t love in its very form transcend logic?  We can sometimes quantify it and qualify it with data and logical reason but it is my belief that for EVERYONE there are elements that supersede logic and mathematical equations.  We all cry wolf on love until the moment a wolf really shows up.  But who believes us when we get to that point?!  Especially after so many attempts to cry out?!

            Love can happen at first sight for some.  Personally, I think I’m not intellectual or intuitive enough to know if it were to happen for me.  All I have to work with is this;  I know how I feel.  I know I don’t trust diddly-damn-doo at this point and I also know that I have faith that there is someone out there for me.   I know that my filet mignon has ended up on my plate and that I’m found feening for the ever unhealthy Taco “Hell” in my arteries.  Good food and good love is a learning curve and an adjustment indeed.  Love is unpredictable and people are crazy.  =)   Bon-appetite!