I want to know you
Like I want to be known
I want to feel you
Like I want to be felt
I want you to love me
The way that I love you
I need you hear me
Like I hear you
I don't want to be left alone
All alone, outside in the cold
left by myself with you
Not in my arms

I would like to know your mind.
Do you think in puzzles and rhymes?

I would like to know your heart.
Does it skip a beat in its gossamer sheath?

I would like to know your love.
When you close your eyes can you see me in your arms?

I would like to know your body
Slipping effortlessly into mine.

I wish you could read my mind

The hours spent in numbing cruel silence; pacing the gaumy floor of resistance

I wish you could see my mind

The brutish gloom that seeps into your soul during a nightmare, those are my daydreams

I wish you could hear my mind

The mournful call in the bleak wintry landscape; frozen and crackly

I wish you could live in my mind

Fearful of the labyrinth, no end in sight, the roar of the hungry beast waiting impatiently to rip your beating heart from your chest....you scream.

I wish.....I wish....wish....

Sitting in silence

I sit here. In silence. In the dark. I make no noise. I wake no one. I disturb no pet. I am an entity left alone. I break no hearts. I make no misery. I am not cheeky, rash, nor belligerent. I peacefully sit in my bed. I have my guard down. I am simply here. 

This is my nightly ritual. Alone. I listen to dogs snore, creaks in the house, the air purifier sucking and blowing air. I do this every night. 

Do I like it? Not particularly. I long for rich conversations while lying in bed. This never happens. My expectations lead me to misery. I walk myself into the room of despair. No one takes me. I go there alone and willing. I don't like it there, yet, I go again and again. I have jumped on huge hamster wheel and have not figured out how to jump off or how to get someone to join me in the sprint, 

It's been a long silent life. An only child then married a man that doesn't speak. It's quiet and lonely. The expectations keep me walking to the room of despair. I believe this time will be different.

I know my biggest hurdle is the fact I don't know what I want out of life. Ok, I want simple things. I want to be healthy, active, and happy. I want the same for my kids. My goals feel emaciated. They need more meat, but what? 

I sit in this moment thinking about what it is I want out of life. My children are growing older and needing my assistance less and less. This leaves a void because my husband has never been the talker/sharer I desire. It is what it is and I have to decide my plan of action. Until then I will sit here. In the dark. In silence. Alone. 

Grief

Sometimes the grief hits you like a brick  to the temple when you're in the middle of a belly laugh.

I see my mom, in my minds eye, lying there in my living room dying. As if that wasn't bad enough my brain decides too be a real douche-bag and I get to relive more horrors. My pets dying, my grandma yelling in pain and dying, the lady that got electrocuted and I stood there watching paramedics try and revive her with the paddles (years later the family pulled the plug).

Those moments flash back and stop me. They stop my joy. They stop the laughter.

I will never be that person I was the day that woman died in front of me next to the carousel.
I'll never be that person that I was the day before my grandma died in my arms.
I'll never be that person I was the moment before my mother slowly and painfully died in my living room.

No, I cannot be that person. I've made peace with that. I'd like to know who I am now? I'd like to know how to heal from those experiences. I'd like to be me, whatever or whoever that is today.

Being woman

Pluck your eyebrows, wear make-up, don't wear that color, don't wear those shoes, put on a bra,  wear glasses it makes you look better, you'd be so pretty if you'd lose weight.... 

The comments about what I should and should not do with my body is endless. Well meaning sentiments by other women that think they are helping me are only tearing me down. Bit by bit, little chink here and a big chunk there. 

Then come the men. Oh, the men! They think they own you. You are property. An extension, a rib piece, of themselves. So indoctrinated in this belief that they can't even see it when they do or say something. They, not all but big majority, are clueless. 

Add this on to the fact that society as a whole are ok with the misogynic behavior. Much of it they don't see as being that. It's traditional behaviors that are so ingrained it's considered normal. 

It's exhausting being a woman. Men send you pictures of their dicks, get mad when you say you're not interested, women cut you down to the bone with a helpful unsolicited suggestion. You get paid less, you work more, you have to prove your worth, you have to bear the brunt of raising the children alone or mostly alone.... Then we are expected to open our legs and let men take our souls and use it for their pleasure with no regard about how we feel. 

All the while you do this with quiet rebelling. You refuse sex even though you are horny, you refuse to clean, make dinner, and sign many petitions in your favor to change laws that are against you. You raise boys to think differently. It has to get better, right?

Not fitting in is nothing new.

I don't fit in. I have no slot. I'm not a square peg that is trying to fit a round hole, nope, I'm a polyhedron trying to squeeze through a chink in the wall. I never really understood how different I am to the rest of huge population until now. It's not easy to make friends when your life doesn't look like anybody else's life, ever. 

At times it hurts not to be like everybody else. I couldn't try if I wanted because I honestly don't know how I'm different enough not to fit until I start talking to someone. At some point in the conversation I've discovered we've not been talking about the same things. My brain interprets life differently. I know this now. Having this knowledge doesn't help me at all. Just being aware isn't enough. It bothers me. I don't know how to make friends, how to have "normal" conversations, or how to understand people at times. I know it's dyslexia, for the most part, but the rest is my interests in life and the lack of career. Not to mention I'm very guarded. I was bullied in school, badly. I was bullied in the family, got to love asshole cousins and grandparents that think he can do no wrong and thinking I was lying. Flip side, I was treated like a baby for years past actually being a baby. I don't have many find happy childhood memories. There was always fighting. Fighting at home, cousins fighting me, extended family fighting, fighting at school; fighting never seemed to cease. Add on to the fact I was a daydreamer. My thoughts drifted away upon someone speaking. I became hypnotized by people talking. I can't focus on spoken words. I hear cadence, tone, feeling, and accent. I am swooned by perfect voices, not their words but their essence.  I like the noise of spoken words but I don't gather much in the way of content. This makes being with people hard. My responses are based of something I thought they said and, well, this makes people think I'm weird. 

I'm half way to 40. Life isn't easier now than it was when I was a kid. Oh, sure, less fighting. Fewer bullies in my life. I don't talk to my cousin anymore, by the way he is still an asshole too much of the time.  

I have no point to this blog, never really are points, I'm afraid. I just hate being the odd duck all the time. I can't look at someone young and in my position and say, "it gets better." It doesn't really get better it just only gets different. I'm still the same person. The same awkward person that would like to fit in but doesn't have the ability to fit in. This polyhedron would really like to find other polyhedrons to hang out with while we talk about that chink in the wall.   

Demons of men

I don't believe in the devil but I do have demons. Demons like self loathing, low self esteem, zero confidence, depression, and many more.

I've dealt with these demons for years. I was bullied in school and on the school bus (a boy punched me in the nose.) In fact, when retelling this story my MILs partner asked what I did to deserve the punch in the nose, basically condoning the abuse. I was bullied in my family. I'm always been heavy. I got a taste of being thin (for me, I was a size 9) and a boy told me I was still fat. I've always been short. I've not had the life of being lived and admired because I'm thin, tall, and, well, that's all. 

I'm passed over, ignored, and not respected because I'm a chubby and short woman. My MILs partner is a shining example of what an asshole men can be. He's loved by everyone for being a nice guy. That's because he bends over backwards for thin women and all men.

I digress. The point I'm making is that I'm not magazine model worthy and I'm not a Mensa scholar. I'm just a regular person that works like to feel happy.

This brings me back to my demons. I'm not sure how to vanquish my demons. How does one kill the demons that keep the happiness away?

How does one come to grips that their family and married into family are toxic and how to deal with that?

I'm not sure where to begin in my healing. I've had many talks with my husband about this but it falls on deaf ears or he sets up his defence. Either way, I'm left worth no resolve.

I'm quite disgusted by men. At one time I went asking with it. Sex when you didn't want it, accepting their belief I was the bad guy, and accepting the overwhelming loneliness and silence.

Tired of being the bad guy that deserved what I had coming to me just based on the fact I'm a woman and I must have don't something to cause the; abuse, rape, and painful words.

I'm tired of men. I'm so weary. I'm willing to accept my flaws and work through them but most flaws wouldn't exist if it were not for MEN!

Silencer; The Great (NOT) Communicator

In "normal" interactions with humans one person speaks the other person says something back. Back and forth, the natural flow of nature. Ocean waves of human conversation.

Yet, everyday I speak my waves and everyday I stand back waiting...waiting...waiting. No one grabs onto what I'm talking about and ask questions, make statements, respond, nothing. NOTHING.

It's hard to feel connected with people that don't make an effort to be connected to you.

Spiritual endeavors

I was on the road to happiness and was spiritual when my turned super ill and then died. Then I turned into s grief stricken,  angry, Good hating human. I was bitter, lost, sad, and extremely lonely. I went from talking to my every single day, sometimes more to nothing. NOTHING. I grieved alone. I lost my spirituality. I lost my soul. It slipped away with my mother because I wasn't strong enough to hold on to it.

This June will be 3 years since she passed. My birthday week marked the slip in her health. A tedious and painful time that happened in a blink of an eye in slow motion. I did it alone with my emotionally absent father. I was the rock beaten by the seas and I was also the wave that carried the burden of the ship and her crew.

When it was all over and I was alone at night weeping in my bed suffering, from what I now know was Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, I went from sad from the loss to complete  anger in the abandonment from everybody. All the men ran out of my life, ALL. I was angry. I'm still disappointed in them. Mostly because I don't think they get what their lack of actions did to me. They don't get it. Plus, they have no idea how it all happened.  I was angry at all men, even the ones I had not met. I was angry at God, the idea of God, and everything God stood for; I was pissed and I wasn't backing down.

Today I went to church. Not your typical church, mind you. I went to a Unitarian Universalist Church. I still do not believe in the God most people believe in. A loving and living God, in my opinion, wouldn't take someone out of their bodies like that. I do need community. I do need fellowship. I do need women. I've lost all trust in the ability of men to be present, to be available. I was let down mute than once over the 3 years. In my time of need I was passed over. When my husband grandfather died my bitterness returned when he was angry I didn't go to the funeral.

I realized I needed to step out of my lonely box and look for my soul again. I want it back. I'm finding shards along the way and gluing it back together.

I've signed up for a women's mini re-treat. I went to chant. I drug my family to church, even if non-conventional.

I don't trust the traditional religions, dogmas, the belief in this God in a box. I don't trust hierarchy of the patriarch and the status quo. I know now my place is among the sweeter scents of women, the warmth, the love, and the connections that form among sisters.  I know my place is among chanters, dancers, and lively folks. I know my place is among those that accept me for me and I give them mutual respect. Bit by bit I pick those pieces out of the muck, wipe them clean, glue them together, and welcome myself back to this world. And each shard glued together leaves not a scar but a beautiful reflective shimmering light catcher that shoots rainbows and stars into the eyes of all that look upon my radiant beaming soul.

Look out world....I'm back!

Wonder what life is....

Lately I've been exploring myself. What do I want? What do I need? Who am I? Uh? What? Um? Mostly my conversations with myself have been dim witted, dull, lifeless, and unintelligible. I'm going to go back to the middle, the beginning is too far back. The middle was my mom dying. That moment was life changing in the fact that it felt like it took something away from me. What was it that was taken away? Who was I before my mother's last breath? I can tell you what I was doing. I was meditating. I was tap dancing. I was exploring my anger issues with my mom a few months before she died with a life coach. I was very angry with her. I never told her. In fact, I lied to her as I said she was a great mother. She wasn't. She never said sorry. She never admitted wrongness. She lied about her role in arguments with my father and making me out to be horrible  and she was sweet. She was not a nice person beneath her smiles, laughs, and she masked that ugly person very well. At her wake I heard all about her bubbly personality. I know we are not all perfect but it's really hard to respect someone who is not perfect when they act like they are, always. 

So, what  was ripped from me when she died? What was that piece I need to reclaim back into myself? Happiness? Forgiveness? What was stolen or was it given? 

Respect is something I never got from my mother. Never. Jealousy, she was jealous of me like no other person on this planet, perhaps the cosmos. She was angry. She broken. My mother was broken but would never admit even to herself she was to blame. She always, always, set that blame out into everyone else. She blamed me, her aunt, my dad, other people. Whatever it was, it was someone else's fault. Being one of the people she blamed angered me. I was blamed for her smoking, it was my fault she couldn't quit. I was blamed for her anger. I was blamed, period. 

I need to forgive my mother. I'm having difficulty doing that. I look at things she purchased and it sits in my home and I'm angry. I'm angry I never got to tell her she was a mean and spiteful person that needed therapy more than anyone else I know on the planet. I wanted to tell her she needed to grow up. She needed to stop being jealous of me and my life. She should take control of herself and not let chaos ensue. I wanted to shake her and scream in her face like she did me but say these words, "To get respect you need to give it, bitch." 

Now, I know stooping to her level would not solve anything. It would only anger her more because it would be my fault, again. You see, I think death was a blessing. I needed peace. She needed out. We both got what we needed. I do feel sad I don't have a mother. The last few years of her life she was trying to atone for her shithead ways without admitting to it. Our relationship did get better but she was still the same old person that never got help. The same person that would snap her fingers and by damn you better jump! She was still the same person that found more pleasure in being out of touch but numb. She was the same yelling, screeching, bossy nutcase that I hated with a passion and loved just as much. 

So what did she take with her when she departed? She took me. She took the person that coward in her presence. She took the little girl with no voice. The person that's feared her most. She sucked that person right out. What she left behind was a person that didn't have a clue how to react, behave, and how to get along in this world without my unstable rock. 

I was given a gift and a curse. I was left without saying my truth and left knowing it doesn't matter now. It's a surreal swirling tidal wave of chaos to swim in. A murky abyss with the unknown. 

I'm getting back on track. I'm thinking about meditating. I chant, not because I think it's magical, but because the rhythmic nature of it all releases tension. It's my verbal meditation. I'm exercising. I'm looking at lifestyle changes in a new light. I'm joining women groups and doing my best to let go, love, go deep, and don't give a fuck about shit that doesn't matter. If it's not a life at stake or the environment, it probably doesn't matter. Case by case matter. 

I think it's time to forgive mom, the wounded broken woman child. 

Diet fail

I've given up on the diet. Even while being faithful and exercising I started to gain. I stopped after watching a video on Gaiam Tv from an Ayurvedic physician about diets. I did some research and I bought his book and I'm starting the first phase tomorrow. First phase is you eat 51% from the season your in food's list and you eat only 3 meals a day. When give comfortably mastered not snacking at all you move into the next phase, so on and so forth. It's all about not stressing and figuring out how much or what kinds of foods you need to sustain yourself until the next meal. He advices to play with that aspect until it's a stress freeand works. He also says gaining weight in the winter is normal and not to be stressed either.

I've never read such a natural instinctive diet. His philosophy is simple, honest, and  seems easy enough to follow. You tweak for your body type and try to eat as many of the foods for that season.

There are 3 seasons; winter, spring, summer. Fall is included in winter because you are in fact eating fall foods in the winter.

Winter is high fat and high protein meals. Your cheese, nuts, meat, and fats. Slow down and hibernated.
Spring is low-fat and low-protein cleansing diet. Lots of spring greens, sprouts, etc. It's detox and get active time.
Summer is high-carb; cooling pasta and fruits to keep you going longer for the longer days. Then cycle back to winter's thick warming foods to cuddle up too.

I'm excited. The funniest part is that I've been naturally doing what he said. I've been eating lighter, juicing to detox, etc... plus his herbs I've been taking as well fir the spring season without knowing he was going to say that. I just could feel it in my body I needed something different.

I hope this lifestyle change helps.

SPOTTED LEAF

About 4 years ago a kitten arrived at my door hungry and sickly. I took the kitten food and water. When it got cold I brought the kitten in and she was named Spotted Leaf. My son was into the Warrior book series about, well, warrior cats. Spotted Leaf was a tortoise-shell cat that died in battle. Oh, how we live up to our names.

Spotted Leaf went into heat in the spring after her first winter indoors. It all happened so fast. She sliced open the second story window screen and escaped for several days. She came home pregnant. People railed me how I should've gotten her fixed. Yes, I should've  done that but my mother was dying and spaying a cat when my other cat was already neutered didn't seem important. Less than a month after my mom died Spotted Leaf gave birth to her kittens. We find homes for 2 but couldn't for the other 3. One we kept had never came home and presumed dead. We still have the 2 Grays; Walkie and John.

Spotted Leaf was not a good mother. She was young and dumb. I put kittens on her nipples, I had to watch her like a hawk because she works steal them away and then not feed them. If she was human the kids would've been in foster care and adopted out.

The cats were allowed to stay in the house for their first winter. Since they were born in July they were not ready for snow and ice. They were much too young. The following spring I set them all free. I put food and water out and off they went to explore the great outdoors. Come winter my husband wouldn't let them back in. Spotted Leaf was cold and found a warm spot, an old car. The problem was the hole she crawled into was to high on the windshield to get back out. My boys just happen to walk by the abandoned car in the field on a nice winter day and see her hopping around inside. She was almost dead. She'd been missing for 3 weeks. I had been concerned but didn't know where to look. She ate and ate and ate and drank and drank and drank. I can't help but think more than one factor played in her youthful demise. Feral kitten, tortoise-shell (they typically don't live as long), eating God knows what on her adventures, almost starving to death, stress of dogs hating you, and young mother. This winter I put my foot down with my husband. I told him to either help me build a warm cat house or they were coming in. They came in.

Tonight Spotted Leaf took her last breath. A young cat that lived hard and fast left this earthly plane with a fight. She was not happy about dying. She wasn't ready. She was determined not to go. It was extremely painful to watch and experience.

I didn't have hospice drugs to help facilitate the end happening faster and easier. I had to hear all the screams. It was like being there when my grandma died.

I chanted, I petted, I said "I love you" and "goodbye." I wiped her bum every time her bowels emptied. I would lay her on a new clean towel. I was her attending nurse for an entire week.

Not being my first death I knew yesterday the end was near when she started eating and drinking like crazy. The calm before the storm was about to hit. This morning I found bloodied vomit. When I hit home from my dad's there was poop everywhere. I knew it was going to be tonight and, sadly, I was correct.

Her last 3 hours a rarely left her side. I am filled with grief. I was alone. It was painfully hard. I'm exhausted and too upset to sleep. Life, as it is.

Here I am

I don't understand everybody's journey, it's not mine to know. I do know this, I can appreciate beauty even if I don't understand what or why of the situation.

I wish people could be more tolerant and loving. Tonight I read aloud what an acquaintance had written on Facebook about the death of his ox. The ox quit eating 12 days before and had been lying down for a week. Several times a day he was pampered with water, brushing, and chanting. They set up an iPod in the barn of chanting so he wouldn't feel alone while they did other chores. He was well cared for as he made his transition. Today after his morning petting and brushing and refusing water he passed.

I read the post out loud because I thought the care given to this ox was beautiful. He was treated with dignity and love.  The crass person across the table said...oh never mind. I can't blemish Vayu's death with nasty remarks.

Anyhow, I realized how many people out there preach love but they have none to give and they are completely unaware of their situation.

I may not I understand the religious aspects that these humans give to these oxen but I can understand the love and because of that I can find common ground with them. 

Goodbye, Vayu. If you reincarnate I hope you come back with as much love as was shown to you in this life time.

5 Alive

5 people in this house. I'm the only female. It's lonely, terribly lonely to be in that predicament. The makes of the house are very independent and do well without communication. Tonight my 2 younger sons are in their rooms when my husbands came home. He walked over and kissed me while I was waking on the treadmill. Then outside to his garage he goes. I finish my walk, make dinner, and sweep the floors. Hubby comes in and gets his dinner, eats and then heads back out to the garage. The boys come out of their rooms for food then sneak away with their plates full back into their rooms. Much much later my oldest comes home and he's on the phone as he walks in and heads to his room. By this time hubby is in the house but sitting at the table carving. We've yet to speak.
This is typical. They are all happy too. The younger boys have seen me all day and that's all they need. The oldest is busy with growing up. Hubby, well, he's always been a happy toddler, he likes the fact I'm there.

Finding my place in the world is not easy. I feel like I'm 18 all over again. I know it's time to grow up and stretch my wings but I'm scared.

What do you want?

The question must be asked; what do you want?
What do I want?
I envy people that know, have a clear definable goal. I'm vague. Chronically and severely vague. I'm wishy washy and scattered. My emotions lead and my doubt takes over.

I'm working on s list. It's very generic, nothing eye popping. Keep a broad view, that's what I'm doing. I'm afraid that's still vague. Oh, dear.

Remember....

The time we had sex on the beach while people walked by by the light of the moon

The time in the bank downtown in the women's restroom

On a navy ship behind an unlocked door in a prominent place

Our friend's bed

Couches, futons, hide-a-way beds...oh my!

The tent after river rafting all day

In the rv in the driveway when the kids think we are cleaning

The lawn chair

The porch swing

The blanket on the grass looking at the stars

The car at the lake when the kids thought we went for ice

Passion

I need it again

It seems to have fallen off the truck during the move.

Illogical

I have this one friend, maybe you have one too, that no matter what outing we are planning of putting together  turns into an illogical fiasco.

To look at my friend she looks like a very well put together person. Everything is perfect, on the surface, that is. House organized, clothes clean and always new, car fashionably new and well cared for.  Once you get past her typical charming small talk you begin to see glimpses. At first it's a tiny awkward glint in the vast beige dessert. You brush it off as a mirage and nothing more. I've now been in this friendship for years. I'm now noticing that it was not a mirage. Something is really amiss here.

This friend comes up with the most complicated illogical meetings. I calmly and quietly say that maybe we should do this or that and sometimes she agrees and sometimes she is so stuck on crazy that you know you shouldn't even go there. It because too much work.

To be quite honest I've never met someone like this before, ever. All my other friends scratch their heads, my husband too, after hearing the antics. I tell my husband in great detail the conversation I'm feeling nutty about and the whole time he looks at me with a screwed up face, shaking his head, and saying, "what?" Yeah, it's like THAT.

I love her but, those Damn ol'big buts again, but she's difficult. Sigh.

The other day my husband said I was difficult. Ha! He doesn't know difficult. If he knew a quarter of the shit I know about women he would treat me like a fucking queen. He doesn't have to put up with illogical, uncompromising, wishy washy, flighty, lying, etc etc etc of the world of women to their men. He has no idea how great he's got it. No fucking idea.

As for myself, being a woman, I don't know how to handle women either. Fuck, most are crazy!

Quiet house

The house is quiet. Very quiet, indeed. One soon is at work, one is at a friend's house, one is sleeping. One dog outside lounging on the porch, one dig in her bed asleep. Only one cat in the house and she is watching the sleeping dog. The furnace is running and I'm keeping quiet Shi my son can sleep.

I love this part of the day. It's not rushed or hurried. It's not stressed. It's really a time of just being. Being right here, right now, in the moment as it is. No plans. No structure. Nothing more than being.

I really love the stillness of quiet moments. The gentleness of them. At times they can make me feel anxious. That's because I've lost the moment. My mind starts preparing for something. Like what? I don't know, that's why I get anxious. Could be a cat puking, dog barking, phone ringing, or my son opening his door to ask if he can play video games. Simple things, yes, but those moments break up the coveted silent moments.

I dislike silent moments when I have a human nearby. I like to fill the air with our noise, our souls. I love to hear people talk. Some voices reach out and kiss you on the lips as they speak.
I lie, it's nice to be silent with a human when you connect in meditation. Both working on the same goal of peace, love, and oneness. How intimate to face each other, hold hands, then close your eyes, and then be silent. Concentrating on the love, the life, the light of Earthkind. Then breaking the silence with a kiss is the bliss in the cosmic pudding.

I've seemed to strayed from my path. I've wandered down a dimly lit gravel road. The fear of mountain lions, rattlesnakes, and rabid beasts lurking in the tall grasses masking their desires to destroy me.

I see the path, my path to take, yet, strangely this dark and dreary path seems to have a rut worn and is comfortable to stay in.

I know I need to make a commitment to myself to walk the path I seek. My fear of walking it alone can't be nearly as scary as beast waiting to devour me.

I must step out of the despair and into the fear and hold on to the unicorn horn tightly because it could be a bumpy hella'fun ride!

Time to break silence as I break my fast. Until next time sweet souls....

Life

A cat peed in our room as we slept. We woke to the odor. We've been housing them inside because of the extreme weather. My husband, who agrees to build a cat house, never builds one. Last year one of the cats almost died trying to get warm but being in an old car the neighbor abandoned. She couldn't get back out of the awkwardly placed hole in the windshield. My children happened to walk by and see her jumping around and meowing. She was starved and dehydrated. It was terrible! Another cat came home with singed fur. He was trying to get warm someplace and almost got too warm. My husband, and his heartless family (towards animals) think this is just nature. This year, when it got cold, I brought them in. He was angry. I tried to make Rubbermaid houses but they got wet inside and wasn't warm enough. The year before I Jerry-rigged an old chicken house into a cat house. They could use it after it snowed because the snow was too deep to get to it. I was heartbroken to see how they were fairing. My husband's hardened harsh heart saw nothing wrong.

Well, today, as our bedroom smells of urine, he washed his hands of this again and said, "I hate animals in the house." And then added as he walked out of the room shaking his hands, "you can handle this."

What exactly do you handle, HUSBAND?

Everything seems to be of my expertise.

What's more annoying than this is the fact he wants to get higher in his spiritual life yet he can't see the connectedness, or in his case the disconnectedness, of the situation.

We, as humans, are connected to everything. We are all one. We can't treat one creature/human poorly then meditate ourselves to enlightenment. The enlightenment comes from seeing, feeling, and knowing that connectedness and embracing it. By doing what we can avoid harming others. Loving others, and animals, as they are and not expecting your behavior to be theirs. No judgement. All LOVE.

I wish I could say that's my husband but it's not. I can't say I'm 100% but I'm not nearly as low as him. :-\

Compassion he lacks for this situation. Cat pees in OUR room. They always pee after he's angered them. He says it is my problem. No compassion for the mega ton load of laundry heaped upon my head. No compassion at all.

He can't see it. He can't see any of what I say. He thinks so highly of himself, his family speaks of it too, that his ego is bigger than the empire state building. How could he see the piles of laundry, dishes, dirty cat litter, trash that needs to go out, laundry folded, etc.. from such a high place?

I love him. He knows not what he does. I'm frustrated and telling him seems to make the frustration worse. He gets so defensive. His untarnished blemish free existence heaped upon his head from every woman not living with him can't handle the human truth. YOU'RE JUST LIKE YOUR FATHER!