anitalorrainemoore

Musician devoted to Justice, Creativity, and Courage


Leave a comment

TuesDayNewsDay Vol.2 Issue 17, October 30 Caution: Trigger Warning, references to sexual violence

TuesDayNewsDay Vol.2 Issue 17, October 30th – CAUTION: Trigger Warning – this newsletter contains triggering sexual violence references. Please take care.

Dedication: Today’s issue is dedicated to my therapist Karen. Today, while going through what came up in therapy, I realized I would drive to the place, where in October of 1990, I was first molested. I was seven years old. I decided I would drive there, sit on the ground and take a photo. I would also take something of the earth to work with this healing. As the idea came to me, a light bulb exploded in my head. Karen said, “Anita, don’t take your wounded little girl there without your whole adult self holding her, seeing her, and telling her that you are there for her no matter what. You are her nurturing parent now, hold her in your arms.”

I pulled my car into the driveway for the first time ever on my way home from therapy, realizing I have never driven into that driveway before in my life.

This spot, which I have to drive by every time I go to my grandparents’ house, is also a block from where my mother still lives with the pedophile step-father just across the railroad tracks. When I say this healing is a daily, a moment to moment process, I mean it. Literally facing those places every day has wrecked havoc on my insides – but I am resilient and strong, vulnerable and honest with myself. The place is a vacant lot in a trailer park on Pomeroy Street in Graham, where my home used to sit. Now it’s an empty, dirty space with an overgrown concrete platform over which there was a carport. Under that porch, I remember having to take all of our stuffed animals outside to be thrown away because there was such a terrible flea infestation. I remember sneaking up late at night after everyone was asleep, turning on the television to watch Alfred Hitchcock and the Twilight Zone, my face about an inch from the screen, ever wary of any sounds coming from my mother’s end of the trailer lest I get caught.

Vividly, I remember the game we were playing that night in October. My baby sister, a developmentally disabled boy named Jason, and his sister Tasha and I were playing charades. Jason and Tasha were the teenage children of my mother’s red-headed boyfriend. We played in teams and it was decided we would go into the closet to decide what animal or character we would pretend to be. I was seven years old, my sister was 2. I was on Jason’s team. Jason was sixteen. (Typing this I can feel my heart racing and the old familiar anxiety aching in my chest and shoulders, my left eye and cheek twitching.). When we went into that closet and Jason molested me, I was too afraid to move, too afraid to scream, too afraid to fight, too afraid to do anything at all except to freeze. So, I froze. I could feel his icy cold, trembling hands on me. To this day I can still feel the darkness of that closet, the walls closing in around me. When we came out of that closet, I was sick. I don’t remember anything else. I don’t remember the game, nothing. I remember after they left that night, I told my mother what happened. She said to me, “Honey, if it happens again, let me know.”

Those words etched endless caves into the crevices of my heart. Those words are the haunting. Those words represent the moment I knew I was on my own. With no one else to turn to, my grandparents were gone to Disneyland at the time, I was completely alone. I prayed and prayed and heard nothing. Those words mark the day when I, as a seven year old, realized that god didn’t exist and that I wasn’t worth saving. Those words created children’s tears. They cannot be undone, and of course, it happened again.

Despite those memories buried deep in endless caves and my mother within shouting distance, I went. It was my nurturing, accepting, loving, and whole adult self who sat on that ground. I felt the cold, wet grass and soil underneath me. I looked at the trailers to the right and left of me. My phone was propped on the very metal bracket that once held that trailer to the ground. I snapped a shot of me sitting on that sacred ground. It took less than a minute. Leaving, I searched for a four-leaf clover in the tiny patch of yard, but found none. Instead, now a big green black walnut from that place is with me. I plan to do some ritual with that walnut. It tried to escape twice from me before walking up my back-porch steps in Saxapahaw. Something inside told me not to bring it inside my house, so I left it on the back patio table. It is not clear what kind of ritual will come about, but it is sure to be a powerful one of releasing the physical ghosts of that moment. It will be one of forgiving my mother for not knowing or realizing what she was doing. It will be a process of exorcising the grief and trauma which has been sitting in my bones and blood, blooming into the person you see today. Today is all I have.

Quote: Choice is all we get, change is all that’s real.

Song: Silence is the song today folks, listen to your heart beat. – my Tuesday video song series is available here: TuesDay Song Series Video on Facebook

Dear Humans,

Today’s post wasn’t meant to be this way. The events of today were not planned, but have made a mark. The words of my song, Darlene, record this event in a lyrical, symbolic sort of way. Being an artist is a privilege because it lets us put words and visions to feelings and thoughts. We are able to somehow transform our feelings into a universal language others can share. Today with Karen, I admitted to trying to let go of my fears: people won’t like my arts and I’m not good enough to walk in the footsteps of my idols. Slowly and purposefully, she said, “Let’s transform that. You are working on your language, so let’s start here.” So after thinking, my mouth said, “I am letting go of my concern for people not liking my art or me as a person.” I do not need validation of others to justify my existence. This self-work is Sacred. I feed on it; it makes me feel more and more alive and free every day to uncover and unleash the demons. Turns out, they aren’t demons at all. They are one scared, frozen little girl, stepping into who she is destined to be, not solely a victim of her circumstance. I looked Karen in the eyes today and spoke my gratitude for her being here with me this last year and a half of journeying, visioning and healing. It was the first time I’d ever asked to hold hands with anyone. With our feet on the floor, we grounded, I closed my eyes and saw little Anita sitting on my right knee. There Karen prepared me to go sit on that patch of grass, which someday, I will drive by without flinching. I will drive by proud to have been seated there.

Love, ALM


Leave a comment

Poem Prose for this Morning

I arrived in the night in a whirlwind of giggles and tears of reunion.

Awoke in a dark room, warm from the heavy comforter and wool South American blanket designed with a red, black, blue, and cream colored geometric design.

After less sleep than normal, I rise.

Venture to the South facing kitchen for tea and hot water for which to make my compress. Yes, I must sit on hot towels to put my pain at ease, to let loose the goop within me to be HEALed.

Although it is cloudy out, I am happy to be in this home.  Still.  Quiet.  Exactly where I am.

The mail has stacked up since Thanksgiving when I exited last.  There are magazines, bills, advertisements, and letters. Dear sweet letters.  One from my sweetheart, from down South in Georgia.  Three from my dear friends in Chapel Hill and Saxapahaw.  I visited Saxapahaw while home for a swift meeting of the loved ones – perfectly timed as it should be, learning lessons of how sweet it is to fall in love all over again with those whom you’ve loved for centuries.  Learning also to understand the process as well as the means and the ends.  Time seems to stretch out when there is no returning home for a long while.  This is the romance of life and the nectar of true longing and contentment.  To miss and to be, all at once.

I sipped my tea and read those letters and cards this morning, smiling at the uniqueness and love in each of them.  Wondering when I will create time to write back.  Eager to put my pen to paper or keys to paper, whichever it may be.  Typewriting surges me with prose and poems as well.  I do like to sit in a big comfy blanket and read poems, or novels, or Mother Earth News.  Although the times this happens have been few and far between, their occurrence will happen again, I am sure.

To all you dear folks, I send to you love from these mountains.  These streams and trails.  These clouds, and these sunny days to come.  May peace be with you during this time of holidays and I hope you all remember to give back that which you have been so blessed.  Service is the action required to fulfill words and works of faith.

IMG_1091

 


Leave a comment

What a beautiful morning.

I watched “Milk” last night and it was a tear-jerker.  What a beautiful movie, what an amazing person.  Harvey Milk.  Wow.  Read his hope speech.  It’s absolutely pertinent just as much now as it was then, http://voicesofdemocracy.umd.edu/milk-youve-got-to-have-hope-speech-text/

The sun came up again today and it poured in through the windows as the sun rose above trees from across the street.  I live in a rural area in North Carolina.  In the morning, the sweetest peacefulness of frost on the ground and the chilly, brisk air is enough to make me smile.  I had to wake up early to go babysit my two nephews.  We’ve been having a blast all morning.  Check out our awesome skills.

Desktop1

Kevi is the oldest, he’s 8.  Joey is going to turn 2 in June.  Kevi started reading Moby Dick this morning (the kids’ illustrated version) and Joey drooled on his new book, “What Penguins Do”.  I love to give them books and see just how long their attention spans last.  Kevi got through one paragraph and Joey ran after a moose after 5 minutes.  Cute.

I’ll do a historical reflection in a blog later today.  Right now I have boys to look after.