Grief and regret

I woke early this morning and found myself humming Mona Lisa:
Mona Lisa Mona Lisa, men have named you
You're so like the lady with the mystic smile
Is it only 'cause you're lonely, they have blamed you
For that Mona Lisa strangeness in your smile?

Do you smile to tempt a lover, Mona Lisa?
Or is this your way to hide a broken heart?
Many dreams have been brought to your doorstep
They just lie there and they die there
Are you warm, are you real, Mona Lisa?
Or just a cold and lonely, lovely work of art?

After a moment of thought I realized how appropriate this was. Within a few moments my mother came to my door, she'd heard me moving around so early and wondered if something related to the surgery was bothering me. She was actually wanting to talk. The last of her close girlfriends died yesterday and the friend's daughter called her late last night to share feelings that maybe she had not done enough. Mom told me she relayed to the daughter, a story I had never heard about when my grandmother died and unfounded guilt she carried for a while. When she left my door I laid back on my pillow pondering how guilt and regret are like a bird that fly into the house of your soul. Its the weirdest thing that it finds that one opening to get in, but once in, it just can't seem to find its way out. It beats against the walls, bangs from one side to the other. Other emotions and reason run after it trying to lead it out, but it continues to hit here and there.
How does this happen? I can only look in me for clues to how it has happened to me. I said Mona Lisa was apropos and it was. More like the subconscious wanting some time with me. See yesterday I was reminded that like a super hero I have a secret weapon, its my invisible wall of protection. It would be cool if it protected me from bullets, fire, explosions or even the hurt that it came into existence to prevent. However it protects from none of those, it just keeps people at a distance increasing the chances of hurt. Some time ago I was told that to hide a certain part of my anatomy was like hiding the Mona Lisa...yes those were the exact words, and no it wasn't said in my 20s, thank you very much,(there is much to be appreciated in we 40 somethings, just ask Ashton). At the time it was said I laughed at being compared to such a famously loved work of art, but it came to mind this morning as a reminder of the wall and hiding my feelings away behind the wall. The book and movie, "The Joy Luck Club, are about four Asian mothers and their daughters. As their stories unfold you discover each mother has experienced great pain, hurt, betrayal and or misfortune and it has intertwined with who they became as well as greatly affected sometimes even emotionally crippled their daughters. It is the stories of friendship, making peace with yourself,and your mother or daughter and specifically the past. The main mother and daughter of the book each have their own regrets about each other and themselves. It has rested quietly on their relationship preventing them from seeing each other clearly. The author of the book, Amy Tan seems to have a clear understanding of the human psyche in the area of hopes, dreams and desires that are not allowed to flourish, but are denied sunlight, water and nutrients. However, her characters manage to survive, tunneling to sunlight, trekking to where the water and food are and growing in spite of.
I remember being about 6 years old and visiting my aunt and uncle in DC. They had their first child who was a toddler, so I got to play with other kids on the block. Sitting out on the front step of their house, with one of the girls, we selected neighborhood boys that we saw to be our boyfriends. One that I had picked out stopped by on his bike, my playmate quickly shared with him that I had chosen him and he immediately denounced such a match, " I would never go with a fat girl!". I can't remember my first grade teacher's name, I can't remember who many of my classmates were, it doesn't get better till about 3rd grade. But I clearly remember sitting there on that porch and feeling embarrassed and humiliated. I can't recall what the boy or even my playmate's face looked like, just the sound of his northern accent cutting me to the quick. My mother grew up in a family of ten who, while they had occasional fall outs, did not seek out opportunities to test out dirty dozens skills or other children's games that taught toughness and the ability to respond on your feet. Deep thought and reflection were encouraged instead. She brought these into her home and instilled that in her children, hurtful words were never to be used to resolve conflict. I probably could just laugh this off as one of those silly moments in childhood if I had responded in kind with something like "Well, I wouldn't have a boyfriend that looked like ....". you get the idea, but I didn't understand the art of standing up for yourself or battling to get respect and even to build bonds of friendship. The bird flew in and began to fly around. I took a 4-H class in sewing one summer. We each had a sewing partner to work on our project with. My partner and I got along famously. I don't know why this caught the attention of two classmates, but they advised the instructor that I had been talking about her and in the middle of class this adult instructor told me and the class that perhaps I could do a better job on my project if I was not talking about her during class. My partner and I looked at each other in astonishment wondering what she was talking about while the two culprits of this laughed with great pleasure. Lots of people say with great enthusiasm, so what shit happens or life is tough, or well we all have our problems. This is true, but that doesn't mean it hasn't affected you. I realize by opening myself up to the world in this blog it may seem like I spend a lot of time whining, bitching or stuck on stuff. It actually means I'm trying to identify the birds in my soul and trying to get them out.
Sometimes we are fortunate enough that someone helps us open a window to our soul and the grief/regret fly away, sometimes reason and the other emotions are actually quick enough to trap the fluttering creature and set it free...then there are those times that in exploring the depths of ourselves we come across the decaying remains of grief/regret in a hidden spot of the soul and you realize that you've simply incorporated the stench into your everyday mode of living. You and I owe it to ourselves(and the ones we love or hope to love), to catch and set free the creatures that keep our houses (souls) on alert and not at peace. We have to put on gloves go to the attic, move the clutter around find the thing(s) that's been festering and smelling up the place, you may have gotten use to the odor, but others who come in contact with you smell the odor and know some thing's dying there. Find it put it in a garbage bag and clean the spot.
Now do yourself a favor and discover Amy Tan, go check out the DVD Joy Luck Club or better yet read "The Bonesetter's Daughter, or The Hundred Secret Senses, or The Kitchen god's Wife.