Monthly Archives: February 2021

Troubles visiting Blyss stealing my bliss

This has become another rather difficult time, and a cold, snowy winter at that, a time of having had to make a change that I had no input into making, it was imposed upon me by someone else who really over reached his boundaries in how his decision impacted me.  No, I did not get to choose but it happened anyway as it has many times before.  The one unifying trait of these former friends, mostly men but the phenomenon occurs with girlfriends, too, is the sudden, unforeseen, cold, silent treatment I receive.  I am not worth a syllable.  Two men in my past were so determined to get away from me, they died. The others looked at me and saw damaged goods, and they fled.

The only truly happy love I have had in my life was when my husband and I had our borzoi, and bred our one litter.  However, when life was at its best, he was taken out with an illness that was terrible and swift.   Much has been written about my joy living with my borzoi, and yes, it was a profound and perfect joy, free from the treachery of human love, so often based on self serving motives.  They are gone now, and not to be returning.   Today I have a new dog, a beautiful Silken Windhound bitch from the Wind ‘n Satin kennel.  Her name is Kensey (CH GCH Wind ‘n Satin It’s My Party) and she is lovely.  She comforts me with her love.  But I am as lonely as ever, doomed in romances that repeat my failures of childhood.  As with my parents before, I evoke terrible rage and disappointment in men, and I cannot imagine what all the fuss is about.  If they wanted to break up, all they had to do was say so and be a gentleman about it.  Instead, they blame and slaughter me for alleged unforgivable wrong doings towards them. And it just goes on and on and on.

I will look ahead to the May dog shows that will be held first in Bethlehem, PA, where I will be among friends for a few days.  I will have had my second COVID-19 vaccine so I should be safe to participate.  Later, during the third week, I will be in Wilmington, Ohio for the Borzoi Club of America National Specialty Show.  I will put the winter with its painful cold behind me.  I will be all smiles and hold my head high.  I am not like the other ladies who have to be married to survive, no, I can be quite the survivor on my own, as I have these long, past ten years.    Yet, I believe somewhere, out there, there is somebody worthy of my love, I just have to find him, or he to find me.  I am working on it, a work in progress, for as long as I draw breath.  If not, I know I am enough of a self reliant person to go on, to do the right thing, and be happy alone.

Facebook wisdom again, for Blyss

I keep coming across this beautiful poem by Mary Elizabeth Frye, so I decided to make a copy of it for my Blog.  I believe I will feel this way when I die.  And, I want to think that the people I love will be in this state, as well.  I just wish I could feel this comfortable about the death of my borzoi, but of course, we all know that is too terrible a thing for me.   I cannot accept that.  I am nothing; they are everything I ever had worth anything good.  If I was ever good, it was because of them.

“Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there.  I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow

I am the diamond glint on snow.

I am the sunlight on the ripened grain

I am the gentle autumn rain

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at  night

Do not stand at my grave and cry

I am not there.  I did not die.”

 

Finding wisdom on Facebook for Blyss

I am frequently amazed by the truly great pieces of writing that end up in my Facebook feed.  It is as if the writer were sitting there in the room with me and looking deep into my very heart and knows exactly how I feel and expresses it with perfect clarity.  So it is with the writing of  Stephanie Bennett-Henry, especially one particular post, that I will share on my own blog, here that she posted on August 2,2015:

“I want the weirdos, the clumsy, fumbling, awkward ones  who call themselves a big mess.  That’s where it’s at.  Give me the one whose eyes are colored with shades of madness.  Throw me in a room with the loners, the ones who never found their place.  Sit me down at the table with the dreamers, the ones who feel with their eyes and see with their hearts.  Surround me with the extraordinary souls who inhale passion through their fingertips and exhale creativity from masterpieces in their bones.  I want to dance with the ones who will break their own hearts because they only know how to love too hard or not at all.  Build a path with the pieces of the broken ones.  I will follow the trail and carry each piece back to its owner, showing them the stained glass pieces of their beautiful, broken magnificence.”

Stephanie Bennett-Henry. Copyrighted.

So yes, there is dignity and loss in defeat.  There must be, be some positive dimension for humans since it is so ubiquitous and it does not kill us, it just keeps coming.  Is this a realistic interpretation of the human condition, flailing around, coming up short, losing everything, “dying” even, when you are still very much alive?  I am a master at surviving deaths.  I have had several reincarnations: surviving my childhood, surviving my first and second marriages, and coping with the tragedies that befell my kennel.  First, a puppy died unexpectedly.  I had forgotten puppies died, as I was so focused on breeding them and on their subsequent arrivals!   After, the puppies from my only litter were sent far away by my co-breeder, the one I got to keep was very sickly his first two years of life and was not emotionally sound.  This was challenging and I was focused on these events more than it was warranted until the punishing hand of God delivered its final blow: taking my darling husband, prematurely young, from cancer.  The only mercy to the story was it was swift.

My dreams of an adult life, happily married with a child and a houseful of dogs, Llewellyn English Setters come to mind since I did not know what borzoi were then,  a show kennel and horses in a pasture,  and never at a loss for love, was a bitter delusion that I never stopped pursuing long after it was feasible.  I pursue it still, and I am a very old woman.

And there lays my psychosis.  It is what places me in the room with the eyes colored with shades of madness, thrown in a room with loners who never found their place, who feel with their eyes  see with their hearts.  And yes, I have wanted to “dance” with the ones I knew would break my heart because they, too were flawed and could not love, so like my parents before them.  My life is lived on a path of broken stones and every step is painful.  But I see no magnificent stained glass portrait of myself to hang in the window to catch the sun and celebrate my life.  I am in a very dark place. The pieces of my life lie on the ground like broken stones, and an urn will hold my ashes in a mausoleum when I die.