About You

By Kelene Blake

You may think this poem
Is about you
Well
Maybe it is

About how tenderly
You looked at me
Sometimes
About how softly
Your whispered kisses
Would brush my lips
About how your touch
Sometimes
Would bring me to stillness
Would make me quiet
And yielding
About how your passion
Would flare
And flow through me
Making me a goddess
At whose altar
It was your pleasure to worship
Sometimes

You probably think this poem
Is about you
Well
Maybe it is

About us
Being friends
About us
Being lovers
About how awkward it was
To be both
About how impossible it was
To be neither
About the chaos of emotions
That time
And distance
Can only translate
To pain

I think you think this poem
Is about you
Well
Maybe it is

About you
And me
And we
And what we had
And what we couldn’t have
About what we wanted
And what we sacrificed
And what we achieved
About how well we worked together
About how bad we were for each other
About what we became
About what we lost
About what we never had

I’m sure
You think
This poem
Is about you
All
About you
Well
Maybe it is…
Or
Maybe not.

(Photo by Kelene Blake: Sculpture at North Bridge, Edinburgh, Scotland)

In Scotland Without a Clue

I’m over in Scotland without a clue. Another case of me jumping and building wings on the way down (see me frantically gluing feathers together). I made it here though, and it’s beautiful! I got here just in time for gale force winds, an ash cloud, and a rugby tournament. I wanted take this trip for a while. I told myself I would, and I still do not quite know the logistics of how I got here and how I’m getting back, but I’m so happy I jumped.

What I am most happy about, other than seeing my wonderful brother and hanging out with some sweet people, is the fact that I didn’t let this one become a pipe dream. I didn’t wait for everything to be right and in place. I said I would take this trip and, in spite of everything, I did! This is how I want to live my life. I don’t want to wait for “one day” because so often that “one day” doesn’t come.

We don’t always realize we’re putting our lives – the real ones, the ones we want to live and are currently working toward – in danger when we wait for perfect circumstances. We spend a lifetime and die waiting for that “real” life to begin. Sometimes it’s important to take risks and do what you dream of doing.

Many of us don’t really make that definite, no-turning-back move toward our dreams because we fear failure. It’s one thing to fail at something you don’t care about, but it is brutal to fail at something you’ve put your heart into. The thing is, you may succeed if you try, you may fail if you try, but absolutely nothing happens if you do absolutely nothing. And life can get really dull if you do absolutely nothing with it.

But if you do decide to pursue dreams, you don’t have to do like me and take the scary headlong route. My methods are a bit random and… optimistic. If you don’t want to live in negative capability like me, that’s perfectly fine (and smart). Even taking small calculated steps is progress, and has its risks. But the key is to move toward where you want to be.

You’re not going to wake up one day to find that you’re living your dreams unless you take those scary steps towards those dreams. Don’t wait for the world. The world is just doing it’s thing, minding its business. Waiting for it to get to you is a mistake. The world won’t come to you because it’s too busy waiting for you to grasp it and make it take notice. Yes. The world is waiting for you to step up and take your place in it.

(Photo by Andon Blake)

Like Lead Razors to my Guts

I have a knack for getting myself in over my head. I take leaps of faith, only to find myself freefalling from a cliff of my own making. I get an idea I like and turn it into a project. I get started on the project all excited, thinking, “This is going to be great!”

And then, I start. And then I commit. And at that moment a lead seed lands directly into my gutsy parts and begins to germinate. And as I dig myself deeper and deeper into my project and realize what it would require to bring my idea to life, that lead seed grows into a seedling, then to a sapling, then to a tree – a lead tree with razor sharp leaves slicing at my guts and poisoning my system.

Fear...

The funny thing about getting in over your head is that sometimes, as you stick with it in spite of the fear, you begin to grow. You learn as you go along, you persevere, you improve, and soon enough you’ll find that you are no longer in over your head. Rather you have grown to match what you are trying to do. And, if you keep at it, you grow past that project, prepared to face even bigger challenges, and you’ve outgrown the things that daunted you, planting that initial seed of fear in your gut. You stand tall and triumphant with your achievement underfoot.

So sometimes, when you leap, you build wings on the way down and learn to fly.

(Photo by Kelene Blake)

I Just Couldn't Help It

The only reason for being a professional writer is that you just can’t help it. Leo Rosten.

I’ve fallen back into my journalism habit. Really. It was unintentional. What started as interviews to understand the jobs of athletics professionals has turned into a series of feature stories, one idea leading to the next. Who next should I interview? How should I approach this discussion? How do I write this? I’ve turned an athletics internship into a writing assignment. Why? Because I just couldn’t help it. Writing is what I do. I’m falling back into the habit of finding stories and committing them to paper.

I can’t help being a writer, just like some people can’t help being teachers, coaches, healers, artists, musicians… It’s more than just a habit. It’s the way we’re cut. It’s the shape we take. It’s who we are. It’s our soul’s profession. As a Catholic I was introduced to the concept of vocation. A vocation doesn’t apply only to priests and nuns. A vocation isn’t just a career. It’s not just a job. A vocation is a calling. It is like finding your niche in this vast life. It is doing what you were made to do, what comes naturally, what you love.

I think the best career is one you just can’t help doing, something you would do for free – except by some divine loophole you manage to make a living from it… Nah. That’s more than a living. That’s the life.

(Photo by Kelene Blake: An example of another thing I just couldn't help...)

Finding Kara Part 5

Kara
By Kelene Blake


James let me out and sat in the car, instinctively knowing that I wanted to be alone. I went to Mama’s spot. I sat down where she used to sit. I pictured her sitting with me. “I’m so sorry Mama.” I told her. “You were waiting for me to get a hold of myself. You were waiting for me to step up, and take care of my own daughter like you took care of me. I never gave you what you were waiting for.”

I felt her spirit move next to me. I knew she was there – listening. I looked out at the rolling waves crashing against the jagged shore below me. I looked out to the spot where the water met the sky. I felt the peace that I used to see on Mama’s face. I finally understood why she came there every so often. She used to worry too. I don’t know why it never occurred to me. All mothers worry. And she had to do so much by herself. In this spot she allowed her fears to wash away with those waves.

“Goodbye Mama. Thank you… for taking care of me and Mari, for sending James today, for everything. ” I whispered as I felt her spirit wash away on the water. Some tears rolled down. Not many, but each drop was loaded with emotion.

Then, I felt it. Something I had not felt since I was seventeen. I felt Kara. She was back. I found her. I found myself. With the ocean churning miles below me, I felt like I was on solid ground.

James promised to call the next day when he dropped Mariana and me off at my apartment. That night, as I watched Mari sleep on my bed, I worried. I worried that I would have to find a new job – outside of the house – to take care of her. I worried that I would not be able to keep that wistful little smile on her face. I worried about what I would say when she asked for Mama again tomorrow. I worried that while I slept next to her on my bed I might roll over and smother her. I looked at my baby’s peaceful sleeping face and worried in all my motherly glory.

I got up for a drink of water before turning in next to her. I glanced up as I passed by a living room window. The curtain was open and the night outside was black. For the briefest of moments I was startled when I saw someone standing there gazing in. I looked at the face looking back at me and smiled with recognition. “I missed you Kara.”

Finding Kara Part 4 (almost there)

The Perfect Spot
By Kelene Blake


We left the drug store and went to a small café across the street to sit. He ordered me chamomile tea and a sandwich. I was glad, because I was starving. His name was James. His mother suffered from panic attacks, and he recognized what was happening to me as soon as he saw me racing down the street and ducking into the drug store. I ignored the embarrassment flushing my face. He knew he could help, so he came in after me. I told him what had happened earlier with the taxi. It was only in the telling that I realized how funny it all was, and we both laughed freely. Free. That’s what I was feeling for the first time in years. I liked this James.

James asked me where I was going, offering me a ride. His concern returned to his face as he saw the change in my expression. I remembered my morning, realized I didn’t know where I was going. For some reason it seemed pointless to go to the Creole restaurant now. I knew I wouldn’t find Kara there. “I have to go find someone… I have to tell her that my Mom passed away this morning. Then I have to pick up my daughter.” I started trembling in the afternoon heat. I saw the weight of my words descend on him and I thought, Bye bye James. It was good while it lasted. He cleared his throat. “Um, excuse me a moment. I have to…” He indicated to his cell phone as he stood up and walked a few steps away. The poor guy was visibly shaken, likely plotting his escape. He came back to the table with a weak smile several minutes later. “Okay. I cleared my evening. You really shouldn’t be out alone today. Where do you want me to take you first?”

I could only think of one place I needed to go before I picked up Mariana. It was just outside the city. There was an old fort overlooking the sea. Mama and I used to go there sometimes. She’d let me wander around on the beautiful green open space chasing butterflies while she sat on a particular crest, looking out over the sea. She loved that spot. She always seemed so peaceful there.

Finding Kara Part 3

Running from Death
By Kelene Blake


I was in the cab for about seven minutes when I noticed the driver looking strangely at me in the rearview mirror. I didn’t trust him. My leg started to shake. I was trapped. I started to whimper, trying to hold in the growing trepidation. My whimpering seemed to rattle the driver and he looked at me even more curiously in the mirror. “You need to stop the car.” I managed to say. “We’re still some blocks away Miss.” The driver stammered. “I said stop! Stop here!” I nearly shrieked because the panic had reached my throat. The driver stomped the brakes and pulled aside suddenly, amid some frantic honking from surrounding cars. I jumped out and started footing it. I could have sworn the driver was chasing me, but it was just his voice in pursuit, yelling “You didn’t pay!” I reached into my purse, grabbed a wad of cash and dropped it on the sidewalk. I didn’t dare look back to see if the driver got it.

I just kept going. I knew the driver wasn’t chasing me, but I felt like I was running from death itself. I ran until my lungs felt they were about to explode, then I turned and entered the first doorway I saw. It was a drug store. I stood at the door trying to look normal (however that looked). My heart was pounding so much that I had to buckle over. I made my way to a magazine rack and stooped down, resting my chest against my knees and pretending to check out the magazines. While I concentrated on catching my breath I saw someone come and squat down beside me. I didn’t look. A masculine voice addressed me, “You okay?” I meant to nod but shook my head instead. “Having trouble breathing?” His voice had a sense of knowing confidentiality. I nodded, still staring hard at the magazine in front of me. “May I help?” I started to shake my head, then I considered my options; accept his help or die right here. I nodded.

The man shifted to face me more squarely. I still couldn’t look at him. “Give me your hand.” I looked away, shut my eyes tightly, and gave up my left hand. I don’t know why. I was scared and he seemed to want to help me. He took my hand and pressed my palm firmly against his chest. “Breathe like me” he whispered. After a few seconds of freaking out about him touching my hand and putting it on his chest, I noticed he was breathing slow deep breaths. I focused on matching his breathing. My breathing felt forced, compared to the smooth rise and fall of his chest. I wasn’t sure if it was the fresh air getting into my lungs, the faint smell of his cologne, or the relaxing beat of his heart and the rhythm of his breathing that calmed me, but something worked. The attack passed in about five minutes.

I turned my face to my liberator. He still momentarily had concern written on his face as he looked at me intently. His face unbuckled into a smile. Lord that smile! It took me away to a place I had not been in a long, long time. I smiled back. “Thank you.”