Maybe I am crazy, but I am real.
It started some time ago, and as I turned it over in my head today I came to it’s origin.
It was back in September, when I went on my journey and came home feeling ripped open and raw.
I Disconnect from the moment, to overwhelmed by the raw feelings of over exposure. I believe it is in my nature that when there is to much I curl inward and process and maybe, just maybe, I am now curling outward.
I have put a challenge to myself, to listen for it, to hear it , to find it in the static tides of this electronic high fructose opium sated world. Am I talking in riddles? Does anyone else know what I am waiting for? searching for? Longing for?
If I could find the words to paint you the knowing, If I could find the notes to play you the feeling, if I could reach into your heart and show you the light, all would I give you.
She called it a connecting thread, I am hoping it is much bigger than a thread, for the eye of the needle is the size of this planet, and I do not think a thread can hold that weight.
but then nothing is impossible.
The heavens themselves are waiting , more patient then mere humanity, more awake and aware than the children who they try so vigilantly to protect and nurture.
We will do what we can from where we are at.
Writing it out of my head
If I lose you, you will be lost in good company.
~smile~
I am struggling with concepts, that I can only pretend to understand. I can nod my head as I follow the explanations given me, but it doesn’t work for me. I feel like some one is handing me a size 0 pair of pants and asking me to cram my size 14 bum into them. Thats a stretch that even the imagination can not make. The seams just aren’t going to hold.
First, I do not , can not believe that time is linear. No matter how it is explained to me, I know that it is not. I can feel that is not. The moments that shape and form me, the structure of my ideas as they come and go, do not leave me. They are with me always. I can not “leave something in the past”, because the past is present right now. The young girl that was called “demon, and spawn of satan” by her grandmother, is still here, she is still fully present and aware, she may have accumulated more data, but she is still very much apart of the women who loved unwisely, who loved deeply, who still loves with her whole essence. When they tell me that I must move past this hurt, this pain, my brain cramps. Am I not stained, formed, created, manifest from all that touches me? Am I not the product of the joy and the pain? Moving past something, letting go of the hurt, leave it in the past where it belongs, these things don’t make any sense. No matter what I do, they are still apart of me.
She took my art and destroyed it, she stole it and spread vicious lies about me, tried to ruin my relationships with other people. It hurt me, it broke my trust into little pieces and tore at my soul. It may have happened in my yesterdays, but it is still part of who I am today. I look at that experience and feel gratitude, for I no longer have an attachment to things. I no longer see the truth as black and white, and I was aloud to see myself in ways I had not before. Does it still hurt? Like a scar healed over, I can poke at it and feel no physical pain, but it’s still there, and it tinges how I deal with situations, but the deep searing pain is gone.
It is not in the past, it is my now, and always will be.
His only God was and still is Money.
Atheists should not have children, for all children need to believe. Believe in something greater than themselves, believe in the magic of possibilities, believe in themselves, and their place in the cosmos.
Even from a young age I could not understand money.
It is an illusion, a game played by culture. He has always told me that money is God. It is control, power, happiness.
But he has money and has never been happy. He is consumed by the desire to accumulate more of it. Where then is the power?
She always bended knee to him, in doing so he granted her the comforts that money provides. But never the non physical comforts, the love, the respect, the consideration of her life and her being. He wielded money like a hammer and mocked her need for the spiritual. He beat her with status and illusions, to things that have never sustained her.
and as I write this, I begin to see…
I am not lost in the labyrinth, not lost to the illusions,
but rather the labyrinth is me, and the illusions are them.
Honestly
Authentic treachery is found when we abandon ourselves,
becoming deaf to the whispers of our spirit and blind to the powerful potential therein.
~Jaoquin Muriel Espinosa~
I don’t like doing my self work.
I don’t like to peel back the layers, feeling exposed and raw to the things I find buried in my heart and ego.
I want to stop, put my head on the desk and rest. I want the watershed of my tears to stop.
I want to be a simple women, with simple needs, simple dreams and simple belief.
You can not, however be what you are not.
I am not simple, and the path I chose is not an easy one.
I could give up, plant myself upon this summit and admire the view. Bask in my lofty perspective and wait for the first high wind to snap me in half and send me rolling down the mountain.
I could lay there then and cry, casting blame upon the mountain, the wind, the earth and the sky, but even a child would see thru my lie.
sigh
I walked my Labyrinth
going in deep,
standing facing east watching the snow flurries fly
weeping
coming out.
The center of a labyrinth, at least mine, is shaped like a womb. I don’t think I ever noticed it until today.
When I was leaving it felt like an expulsion, and when I looked down at the stones I saw the shape.
I have been hiding, tired and worn out from my own tail chasing.
I can no longer surrender myself to what I am not. It’s time I reach deep, let go of the fears, the insecurities and self doubt.
Faith in myself has never been an easy thing.
I went once to far, to arrogant, to full of myself and my abilities. The universe has a way of humbling you, and that humility is tied up inside me with fear. I don’t want to go down that road again. I don’t want to be that person ever again.
Don’t want to be that bitch that dark goddess, that cruel and pretentious.
I am so afraid to trust. My trust in myself and others has been trampled to many times. It hurts.
I think of what you said about labor pains.
Remembering how deep breaths seemed to easy the pain.
I am recalling
and catching my sobs in deep inhales.
breathing through the pain.
It’s time to walk it again…
Tea for two
It’s tea time,
time for some Rooibos and scones.
Some sweet lovely gave me the mugs,
and I am sipping
the warmth
and inhaling the fragrance
of rest.
For Haiti
I know a great many people are wondering what to do to help Haiti.
I have already heard a great deal about scams popping up all over the place.
I have very little left in me for the red cross, no offense intended, I have just seen them at there worst. ( I lived through Katrina in Alabama)
So when this site came VERY highly recommended I felt I should share
http://pih.org/who/vision.html
So if your looking for a way to donate to an organization that will help
take a look.
Reoccurring Theme
I keep having this dream.
It seems I wake up and in some part of my day I remember it,
knowing that I had it some time during my evening slumber.
I am sitting on a bench in my back woods.
The world is white with snow, and it is still coming down in giant soft downy flakes of ice.
Thru this frozen landscape a black bear lumbers towards me appearing out of the swirling dance.
She walks right up to me, and I am not afraid. She stands on her back legs and looks deep into my eyes. Her eyes are filled with the galaxys,
and in that moment
there is a silent purport that passes between us.
I stand and follow her thru the white spell, into the heart of the winter tempest to a large tree.
At the base of the tree in between the deep and gnarled roots is a passage, and I follow her downward into her den.
She lays enveloped in the roots and earth, and I join her there, warm and safe in her protective embrace…
In memory of the gods of my youth
Mary Daly October 16th 1928-January 3 2010
James Kavanaugh September 17th 1928- December 31st 2009
Some few walk easy
by James Kavanaugh
There are some few who walk easy on the earth
passing from childhood to wisdom without the usual turbulence
To aware to be young
Too alive to be old
contemporary and companion of every life
beyond discrimination
or explanation
God’s gift to the world
to make the lonely laugh
the neglected come alive
to stir spirits and warm hearts
to enrich the discordant parts
Of all the rest of life
Such gentle ones make a lasting mark on every life they touch
without trying or preaching, judging or seeking
merely by their presence on earth
A shade tree by a favorite stream
The morning sun on a damp meadow
A green hill mirrored in a quiet lake
a sugar pine silver in the moonlight
Until the morning comes and they are gone to soon
leaving darkness and unspeakable sadness.
Only later in the sunlight do we remember
when a brook laughs with the same gentle eyes
or a frightened fawn leaps in sudden surprise
or a dog runs carelessly across a field
Remember
an excited face and loving heart
A death to soon and a life apart
Missing
a presence and a touch
and a smiling face so very much
Only grateful he could stay as long
Only grateful for the very special song
He sang to us as long as he could
grateful above all
that he walked easy on the earth.
A circle of Abundance
Thank you
Can you hear my smile? feel my out-pouring of gratitude?
Thank you…
with extra special thanksgiving to the generous souls who contributed, you are the bubbles of joy that bring laughter and light to my days!
A giant HUG to terri for her spreading the word! ( you are an Angel)
So with out further wait
The Garden Goddess from NiteBirds nest goes to Vonnie Kissner
The “Pig of Happiness” book From merry Me Goes to Loving Annie
Terri St. clouds ” honor yourself ” heart art collection goes to Mel
Kim Campbells 25 $ gift card goes to Kameramuse
The item from the wonderful Surface earth shop goes to ISLTV
The “make tea not war apron” and a 10 dollar donation in your name to the women for women charity goes to Linda over at Vultures peak muse.
The Begging bowl goes to Noah ( terri’s son)
My little ones hand made cup good for drinking, tooth brushes, art brushes or what ever strikes your fancy goes to AJ
The hand made oak scraper goes to Zura
The hand painted spiral scarf goes to Rosa
May your life be filled by what you love, may your days be over flowing with contentment , and may you have peace on your path, with in and with out.
(Please send me an email at 11sorrow@gmail.com and let me know where to have your gifts sent.)
Wishing all my brothers and sisters Peace
May your days be filled…
I’m off to dance in the kitchen with the kids…
~laughing~
