Under the Willow

Under the willow to wait while I watch. Wondering whispers blow wind while in thought.

 

I am a true believer that all things have reason, all things are a lesson. Good or bad, even indifferent...they all have purpose. Most often it takes a lot of time and reflection to truly come to terms with what that lesson might be. 

The weeping willow has always signified deep reflection and contemplation for me. It is the tree I sit by to try and come to terms with perplexing situations, both in literal and figurative worlds.

I often think there is someone sitting there with me, but turn to find I am indeed alone. I have sketched pictures in the past of someone there, but they are just sketches, and this is real life.

This is probably better, since true acceptance comes when sitting in solitude, or so it seems.

There are times when the sun sets on a hope, and the sadness that comes with it can be overwhelming. Yet instead of hiding or climbing back into my box, I am falling from the limbs of my tree in faith. Faith that whatever comes next is what is supposed to. Faith that I will find the lessons well learned. Faith that this is all part of my journey and that I will land softly amongst the roots of my willow. 

I imagine that whatever comes after sitting by my tree is worthwhile. I imagine the whole thing is worthwhile, that even after solitude, I might look up and see a smiling face. I might run down the hillside to a waiting field to dance in. I might laugh and realize that those silent, sad moments only made what comes next so much more valuable. That the contrast is what gives true worth to each moment. 

I am sharing this hope with you, whoever you may be. I am sharing this deeply contemplative place, this eternally safe and precious place. This place to lay down the grief and burdens. It is yours to use or to dismiss as you see fit. 

All you need do is look up the hill from where you are, notice the large weeping willow. Walk to it and sit down, resting your weary body against her sturdy bark. Let the leaves of the willow weep for you, as they lay heavy on the bowing branches. If you must, climb up to the top. Take a deep breath, close your eyes and fall. 

Demise

Graceful demise, be you ever so near.

End what is questionable, end what is dear.

Place your soft pillow upon my weak face. Lean on it willingly, firmly and villianly. Hold on until I am gone from this place.

Graceful demise, watch as fear melts away. Burn up these walls and observe puffs of grey. 

Catch me on fire, trap my screams in your fist. Dry out my lips and so softly, compassionately, flaming and passionately, see through my eyes all I've missed.

Demise be my reason and take all the blame. 

Let me walk eagerly forward in vain.

Show me humanity, vanity gone. Tip me off mountains and drown me in fountains, extend me out half way and lock me in dungeons. 

Brave my side dragon slaying. Chain me to beds laying, sideways on top and with rusty padlocks, show me joy within misery. 

Pluck my eyes out and then sing with me voiceless. Move me in monuments only to homelessness. 

Take what's been given to hand it all back. Tie up a river and throw it in sack.

Tell me demise, when we're done.

I am not death-borne, not close to the razor. I am not listless, or with an eraser; trying to blot from me methods for living.

No, I'm forgiven and peaceful forgiving. 

Drifting from here and there, caring without a care. Challenging questions and fearfully blessing, what I just don't know, or can't seem to show.

Pinning my life to all hope, not on strife.

Yet knowingly, gracefully, peacefully, jaggedly, meeting demise like my wife. 

Married to mayhem and now in the act, of signing those papers to break that old pact. Knowing there's so much more better in fact, that demise to my fears I impact.

Graceful demise, now indeed hold my hand. Tell me your plan so I might once understand; how the jagged edge slices to cut out what's wrong, helping me balance and making me strong. 

Choose this long journey to shape me with flame. Strip off my weakness and take all the blame. For now I walk backwards, not knowing my way. Yet forwards to choices that remain the same.

All that I am take me here by this fall, shape in my image who I can't recall. 

Strike me with force and ignite me with wrath, that I tremble for mercy in this aftermath. 

Now that I'm willingly, humbly and chillingly, tussled and tousled and trampled and skillfully, laying the future with only your path.

This is for You

This is for you, you know who you are. The things that you do are important. Every movement, noticed or not, are stitched in the logs of infinity.

At this very moment, wherever you are, what you think is happening isn't. I've snatched you away, and our minds are locked in. 

Infinity isn't these words, or the time that stretches between them. As you write this, I read it. As I think it, you see it. We are reading and writing as one, right here, right now. 

Know this.

The thougts that you carry create what comes next. You already know how it's ending. Go back to the start, where the birds are flying. 

In this eternal loop, we are captured. No beginning, never ending. So irrelevant, this script. You say I say we say...pointless. 

I understand. You know. 

That's just the facts.

So think, it will be.

Say, it is so.

Do, and it's done.

This is awareness.

But you know that already...right?

Put down the thought, and words disappear, just as they are collected.

My Mr. Wilson

I would name you if I could, but I'd rather admire, all the things that you should be but aren't are. 

Like slime that emerges, and vomit that purges. A bug I would swat, but far too amusing. Oh irritant rant and rave, I've long tuned you out.

I realize you are still talking, can't you see I'm thinking instead? Clearly not. 

Is it bad that I'm wondering what it would be like to shove toothpicks in your eyes.... Hopefully I didn't say that out loud.

Be thankful I aced the self control section of higher learning. If I could kick myself I would. Instead the steady drone of your beehive voice is slowly causing an allergic reaction. I'm actually praying at this moment that you would get hit by a Mac truck...even if that means having it plow through this room to get you.

I don't hate, that's too much effort for you. Rather I sneer in your general direction. 

Sigh.

People are so exhausting at times. Like chainsaws on metal. Like hammers on tin. Like smoke that makes your eyes water. Like lemon juice on paper cuts.

Speaking of paper cuts.... 

I wonder if your voice is causing internal ear drum leakage. Interesting thought as my brain is clearly hemmoraging at this very moment. I feel dumber for hearing you, even though I'm not listening. It's like the very tone itself has the power to stupify. I believe I might even be losing the ability to spehl.

I talk this way and people think it's funny. It's tiring because it's true. I say these things out loud now and then, but these thoughts run through my mind. Stupid drivers, crap commercials, idiots that can't make coffee right, propaganda, politics, religious extremists, sermonizing servitude socialites in their comfy high-end social clubs. Save the whales, save the dolphins, save the itty bitty seals with their big brown eyes. Find the cure that's already been found. Throw gardeners in jail and enslave humanity, debt increase, sanity decrease, white issues, fat issues, black issues, gay issues, hetero-what ?issues. Over sexed, under sexed, sexist, rapists, penalty based debt. Genocide, herbicide, homicide, suicide, inside the brain. Herpaghonasyphlaids. Prostatots, prostitutes, windmills, sawmills, save the forest food drives. Good technology, bad technology, too much stupidity. Recycle this and shove that.... It's all just napalm. 

Why can't we just breathe? Turn off the lying media. Turn off the dis-ease. Turn off the kill our planet. Turn off the wicked bad mural going up in town. Turn off the too much sex. Turn of the fake love, fake friends, fake smiles. Turn it all off and be gone with ya. And you, with all your opinions...shut it. How about I shove this cell phone down your throat til you're crapping out text messages. 

There is no right solution without awareness. There is no money solution, race solution, do-this-and-you'll-find-salvation. There is no government willing to do what it takes to give people back their right to be. No conversation will resolve the issues. 

Put down your script and walk off the stage. 

Unshackle yourself. Unshackle your children. 

Drop the rule book. 

Stop drama.

Live your own being.

Spread your own truth.

Connect with what is real.

Be community without judgement.

Heal naturally. 

Create constantly.

Be one, be many. 

And please, please, all these crazy attempts to sound like you know what you're talking about, live before you preach. Love before you judge. Pave your street with good enough and make your bed with been there. While you're out there, busy creating your reality, maybe your opinions will turn into making a change. 

Follow the bouncy red ball

We are all chasing something. A dream, a goal, a decision, a person, a feeling or emotion... No matter who you are, or where you are in your life, you are chasing that bouncy red ball.

How often do you pause, and consider what you are missing while you are chasing? How many people do you blow off or miss when you're busy getting what you don't have? How many things do you pass by while trying to achieve? What moments are lost, opportunities wasted? 

In reflecting on the things people say or do, I am often struck by the significant little things that they don't. Probably because I am most guilty of this. I have a hard time speaking my truth. It's a blockage in the throat chakra thing. So the more aware of it I become, the more I realize it happens all the time all around me.

So often, you are looking for attention from someone, while someone is looking for attention from you.

You are looking for a solution, when the answer is right under your nose.

You are sad or lonely, when your life is brimming with people who want nothing more then your company.

You are hurt about being ignored while you are ignoring someone at that very moment.

All because you are chasing that ball with blinders and determination, telling yourself that the BALL is the most important thing! 

Is it?

In watching my dogs chase a ball, I recognize a truth. No matter how many times I throw that ball, they are never satisfied. They are never content to end this game. They will repeat it until exhausted. With blind determination, over and over. They forget about birds and squirrels. Their entire focus becomes that stupid bouncing ball, and they will trample and fight to be the one who has it in their mouth. 

This is us. Chasing a dream to lose a life. Chasing a someone or something and missing so much. Until we fall exhausted, wondering why the ball isn't bouncing any more. Mean while, someone is laughing their butt off at our shenanigans.

I'm not saying to not....no.

Chase your ball for sure!

But maybe I, you, we, should consider the bigger picture. Maybe we should realize now and then that there is a whole world beyond our balls.... :)

Shallow Deep Enough

I remember when my son was little, taking him to the beach almost daily. Often it was too cold to swim, but he would find a rock and dangle over the edge of it head first.

One day, while doing this fun little trick, he looked up at me and said "deep water". I grinned and said "no David, that water is shallow." He scrunched his nose and repeated "shallow?"

"Yes buddy, it's shallow."

After a moment of toddler pondering, he looked at me in that wise way that only little people do, and said "shallow deep enough".

Years later, soaking in a hot bath after a painfully miserable day...it struck me. Shallow deep enough.

I am very sad. My fears of breaking apart and losing control are happening. My masks are peeling off, and in a bared state, I wonder if it is safer to turn back. As restrictive as my box has been, it has been security. No one can hurt me, not the real me any way, when I am behind layers of protection. But being out, living my authentic self has presented me with this broken, shattered, lost feeling. 

Yes, good things have happened. I am thankful for them and would not trade a second for the world. But the terrible has no buffer, and I feel that in my raw state I bleed on others. I am sorry for this, I feel shame and guilt. 

But is shallow deep enough?

Yea, I'm in the water. My feet are definitely wet. But is it enough? How much deeper am I willing to go to become what I am meant to be?

Am I dangling over a rock, staring at the water? Am I toe-in and turning back? Or am I truly willing to run into the crashing waves, taking a battering like a champ?

I don't think shallow deep enough. I'm not even sure if fully submerged will cut it. While I'm licking my wounds, I am reminded and told that no matter how alone I feel, I am never truly alone.

Sometimes a message comes out of the blue that stops you from making a big mistake. Sometimes a friend says it's okay, when really you don't feel it is. 

This is that figure, standing by the shore line making sure you don't drown.

Is shallow deep enough? For today, yes. I've had my fill of water metaphors....

But tomorrow, I will get up and try again. 

Some woman

So many things in this world make us bleed. I think so many things are confusing and empty and hollow. I often say "I would cry if I had a heart." The terrible truth is...I really would. I am envious of those who can. But all my crying happens inside. The best I can hope for is a slow bleed.

It's easy for me to laugh. To joke. To make light of a situation and find the layers of humour in it. Sarcasm, criticism, cheeky snappy come backs...I own these things. Word plays, puns, quotes, advice...nail them.

Yet vulnerability, softness, tears.... This is not okay for me. For others, yes. Me? I would rather eat glass.

I don't attend funerals because that many grieving people in one place is like a pointed gun at my head.

When a friend is sad, I try to make them laugh as quick as possible.
I understand anger, and relate easily to it.

When I want to hug someone I don't often do it, mostly because touching someone in pain is like transferring their agony to me. I despise it. Foolishly, I have allowed this to happen, and I must admit that linking with certain people is a stupid thing to do.

I am not insensitive, quite the opposite. I am painfully, brutally, rediculously sensitive. My dad gifted me with the genetic trait of absorbing others' feelings. It exists whether you believe it or not. Some call it being empathic, others call it a curse or the mark of the devil. Some even think it's made up bullshit. Whatever you think, let me inform you it's a very real thing, and it's a painful secret that I rarely share. It is not talking to ghosts, reading the future or minds. What it is, is the absorption of the energetic emotional fields secreted by those around me. Close contact, especially touch is the quickest way to create a link, but with some people, just being in their presence is enough. This doesn't mean I "know stuff", it just means I can feel what you are feeling. If your words are the opposite, I am aware of your disharmony.

When I was a baby, my aunt carried me in a sack by her side. Being touched or held was hard for me. I cried a lot.

My mum brought me to a guru when I was young, who taught me to build a wall around myself.
 I learned to ignore feelings that were foreign to me. I learned to dress in layers and keep a distance between myself and those who emote heavy feelings. I discovered the art of separating what people say from the stark contrast of their emotional vibrations. I like being with people whose words match their feel, or who don't talk much at all.

I have been trying to learn how to break down that wall I built, without leaving myself open to the pain of others. I feel so deeply and grieve so long lasting. I just don't know how to control it properly. I am afraid of it. I am afraid to be mocked for it. Mostly I am afraid of putting it on others.
There is no one to hold me when I cry or tell me it's okay to have a bad day. Instead I get told I'm silly or crazy or need a B12 shot. I get walked out on or ignored. Strangely, when I actually do break down on a rare occasion, those who care don't know how to handle me. Their discomfort makes me feel even worse, so I go away from them as fast as I can.

This is my reality. One I have created in one way or the other.

These things are slowly ending for me. In the last few months I have stretched out to expose my belly and found it horrific. I want to recoil and say oh hell no to all of this. Then I hear Victoria in my head, reminding me that this is so worth it. I will not turn back, I will not back down. These bumps are worth it, these bruises deserved.

I would like to think that:

One day I will no longer be afraid. One day I will be able to share or express my softer side, because it really is there. Even if I never find myself comfortable enough to cry, I will at least not be afraid of it. Somewhere, buried or sleeping, there is a woman waiting to come out. I'm pretty sure I'm gonna like her, even if she bleeds now and then.

Simple Things

Some of the simplest things in life leave the greatest impact.
Some of the things that we think should last forever, end.
Some of the most overlooked blessings are the ones that mean the most.

Today my Aunt asked me where I come up with my ideas. I smiled, and tried in my feeble way to explain how it is a force that comes from outside of me.
It is a word that someone says that sticks.
It is the way a light hits something.
It is an idea that climbs into my head and eats away at every thought until I can barely function.

Often once I actually begin, it evolves into something much bigger then I started with. Sometimes it becomes a complete entity on it's own.
But it always begins the same way, with a vision that blinds me in that exact moment, flashing images in front of my eyes.

When I was young, I actually thought they were movies or TV shows. As I got older, I tried to ignore them or dismiss them.
Sometime in my twenties, I finally began allowing them to become.

The first set I did was on suicide. Not so much the act of, but the feelings and desire surrounding the choice of.

This collection of images quickly turned me off of exposing my work. Whether they were any good or not wasn't the issue. The issue was that they were too dark and in poor taste. So I went under ground again.

What followed was a long silence. I dabbled here and there with general photography, portraits, animals, perty flowers and such. I steered away from exposing any of my own thoughts or art.

My next stab at it came years later.
With a bit of play time with friends, and my kids adding their creative flair, my vision ended in a video and a collection of images.

It's origin was from my current obsession with cemeteries, and the idea of a struggle between the living and the past.
This resulted in an outraged struggle with my ex-husband over the dark use of my children. Him having no idea that they actually loved the dress up and play time, and realized that it wasn't real. Besides the fact that I created a tame version of the video for them to see, and to this day they have never seen the "adult version".... all besides the point I suppose.
These events, once again drove me under ground, where I hid out from the terrible things I create.

Finally, last year, I was moved again to create. The idea was based on relationships ending. It was about closure, and the emotional vs. physical endings we go through.
I followed this one through to it's completion, adapting my vision as I went along. The end result was not exactly how I had seen it, but I let it be.
I will probably never be able to watch Effortless Indifference without a tiny internal cringe...yet at the same time, I am happy that I followed through with it. I won't change it now, for it reminds me that I can improve.

Now we are current. My most recent projects have been both challenging and fulfilling.
I completed "I Can't Make You Love Me", which was a flash of inspiration from someone I love dearly as well as a bizarre walk that caught my mind off guard.

I have collected all the images I need to finish what I consider my greatest awakening.
"In My Mind" is one hundred percent bigger than me. It started as an adventure with a very loved friend of mine. Peering down a silo, I was struck with the image of the yin yang. Climbing around the building, snapping pictures as I went, I caught sight of a figure peering through a window.
Then in the field, it struck me.

To the first image, and back to the beginning...while you are busy not looking, inspiration creeps in.
Sometimes the simplest things are the most amazing. That time you might have been too busy, but chose to not be instead...that could mean the very world to someone.
So to answer the question of where my ideas come from, everywhere. Nowhere. Maybe you.
Thank you.

Surrender

Some days I wish I didn't have hang ups and scars. I wish that I could relate to others as I perceive others relate to each other.
Often I find myself outside, looking in. I wonder why it is that I feel such overwhelming guilt, seclusion and isolation amidst a crowd. I find the conversations around me so distant, like listening through a long tube.

Then I am reminded this is all an illusion. This is a dream, and I can change how I am dreaming by shifting my focus.

Coming to terms with accepting this journey, and all it has to offer is easy one day; a struggle the next. For the truth is, my scars are my own. My battle with these things only carry on as long as I am fighting.

I can surrender.

I am blessed with a series of unfortunate events. Events that in the moment, were heart wrenching, frustrating and confusing... and yet... and yet.... they all brought me to right here, right now.
In some strange way, it does not lessen the impact of those other events, not one bit. It doesn't make it okay or relieve the struggle with understanding the why's. But what it does is complete the picture and bring everything full circle. It closes the loop and makes this moment, this millisecond, perfect in every way.

I will probably stumble across this sort of thing again. I will wish to be purged of my issues. I wish I could just be done, now! Poof, make it happen captain. As my stories end, and I sew up the loose edges and accept what I cannot change, I will continue to have these incredible, humbling events that remind me that even if it doesn't happen how I wished it would...it happens the way it should.

I can break my arms reaching, or just let go.
I can break my heart wanting, or just be thankful.
I can choose this moment, each moment, and then a moment right now, to breathe deeply and behold the blessings I am given without even having to ask.

To accept that scars and all, I am still worthy of all of this, even unexpected. No's can lead to yesses that I never saw coming. That maybe it's not my hang-ups that caused it, but instead it was awareness moving things in space and time to where it was meant to be.

It can be hard to remember these things. It has been a hard journey with no community to relate to and so few willing to travel with me. Yet I have hope. I believe that when the time comes, perhaps when I am healed, I will find a world I fit in to. Until then, I choose to continue, thankful for every glimpse of hope I come across. In as much as I write for release, I also write to remind myself.

Remember-scars and all, I'm fine.
Remember-I'm allowed to be me, it's okay.
Remember-sometimes things happen in confusion to shine light on the unseen.

And-also-as well...smile, it only gets better. :)

It's Our Right

I'm sitting on a hillside, watching a life go up in flames. I am crying inside for this devastation. Not because I thought what he did was right, no. But because I knew the reason he was doing it was with pure intention.

Sometimes people do all the right things for all the wrong reasons.

Sometimes people do all the wrong things for all the right reasons.

This is a fact of life.

I am a believer of karma. The constant ebb and flow of why we do what we do.

A begger stealing bread for his family is honoured.

A rich man stealing what is rightfully his is cursed.

Laws are created to control the masses.

Some we need. Others are nothing more than a way for the rich to stay rich. 

I am against the marjuana laws.

Not because I'm some big pot head.

Not because I want or wish to grow it.

But because for a government to destroy families, throw people in jail and manipulate the flow of revenue...all over a plant that happens to grow that way....ludacris. 

We have a right to grow plants. This is our freedom as human beings.

We have a right to heal ourselves with the natural benefits of THC and trichanomes.

So which is worse?

Police ripping into a home late at night to tear a family apart and prove how "right" they are? Or a person with MS choosing to naturally ease their pain instead of using pharmaceutical narcotics to poison their blood stream?

I cry for those too afraid to try a natural way.

I ache for those too ignorant to realize that their government wishes to kill them for profit.

I long for the day that nature and wisdom will prevail in parliament.

I weep for all those behind bars for nothing more then daring to touch a plant.

As I sit on this hillside, waiting for the scales to tip, I wonder what right these uniforms have to do what they do. To follow the letter of the law, and feel justified. 

I forgive you your job. I accept your ignorance. And I pray may he have mercy on your soul.

When the first becomes last and the last becomes first....

I am not an Artist?

This blog is specifically for all of us who fight with the internal struggle of "being" against all odds.

Artist or not, it is a statement of validity.

I have a right to be.

I have been told quite a few times over the years that what I do isn't art.

In the past, this has crippled me. Hurt me. Terrorized me. Stopped me. I allowed this statement to become a reason or a fear that gave me excuses to hide under. It was my "not good enough" or my "it isn't real any way".

I have chosen photography and photo manipulation as my medium to express the artist within.

Yes, I take pictures.

Yes, the people I take pictures of are already beautiful. 

Yes, there are thousands who do what I do ten times better.

And yes, I completely respect what they do without question, and you will not hear me putting down someone else's art or photography. 

That does not minimize what I do or who I am. 

Will I ever "succeed"? I already have. 

Every time I get the shot that is how I saw it in my minds eye, success.

Every time I have sketched an image over and over and can make it come to life, success.

Every time someone else sees what I see, success.

Every time someone asks me to share my vision of them, success.

I don't need your approval to KNOW the hours I spend creating. Not with paint, charcoal or clay. But ideas and images that tumble one over the other, consuming my every thought. Words that literally fall from the sky, that if I don't write, I can't focus.

You don't have to like it.

You don't even have to understand it.

Maybe you have art in you, and it scares you to express it. Maybe you are limited in your thoughts and ambitions. I have been, and I'm not afraid any more to admit it. The truth is, I know that every one has a camera. I know that photo shop is easily learned. I know that nothing I do is truly original or solely unique. 

You don't need to tell me this, it is a fact that already exists! There is nothing new under the sun. 

Whatever it is you do to express who you are-be it music, writing, painting, dancing, or even just being... You are a creator, an artist. 

Your palette is life itself. The lives you touch are forever shaped by the choices you make, moulding them into your image. Your canvas is the world, each movement, leaving brush strokes of inspiration. Your mind is a constant camera, recording and documenting through a perception solely your own. Your voice is your song and your body a dancers. How you speak and what you move creates your music and determines your dance.

Instead of trying to stop the artists around you, why not begin living your own art within? 

Instead of trying to prove your form is more vital or valid, why not admit that it isn't, but it's your own?

And here's a biggie.... Why not simply admit that you don't understand that it's okay to be? And in being, it's okay to let others be as well?

If I ever reach a point of financial or worldly success, I will remember you with fondness. For truly, I am thankful for your disdain and ignorance. 

Partly because YOU helped me find my voice, and partly because you are someone I won't ever need to share that with.

The Settling

I have entered into this dark, contemplative place. Not one of depression or anxiety, but a storm of sadness. A calm acceptance that comes after realization.
The settling.

@@
I remember one summer, running in a field. I could hear the long grass whispering and sighing as I ran my fingers through the chest-high blades.
As the winds picked up, and the sky darkened; I flopped face down there amongst the bending stalks.
Eye-level, a ground hog paused to stare at me. I smiled at him and he blinked, before turning into the safety of his hole.
The air around chilled and the chatter of grass as it swirled around my head calmed me.
I took a deep breath of clean, water-ready air.

As the first few large rain drops fell, I rolled over on my back, staring straight up at the sky. Split in half, light slowly being devoured by the massive dark clouds moving in.
Pelting water bursts struck my face and chest, exploding with shards of moisture. With the force of a pellet gun, they drilled me over and over, here and there. The sting was exhilarating.
Curling my knees up under my chin, I let the rain batter the back of my hair and run a chilled river down my back.

As the rain calmed, I heard a voice being caught in the wind. Muffled and chopped through the field, my mothers' calling me home. I will go, in just a moment.
Lifting my head to peer up through the grass, I felt the softness of the earth beneath me absorbing the moisture. I felt the water run across my eyes and down my cheeks. So peaceful in perfection.

For me, this is how sadness is. The skies do all the work as I look straight up. Acceptance washes over me, wave after wave until I am ready to let go. Thankfulness whispers through the grass blades and cold winds chill me.
When I am ready to stand, and go home, I will look up and see the rainbow that stretches out before me. Light bending through the clouds, rain calming to a patter.
I will shiver, shudders that tear through my body with no control. Relief follows the chills, as the sun will peak out again.

Then, as quickly as it comes, it is gone.
When I look back on this, it is all just a faded memory. The sadness out there in the field forgotten and sinking deep in the soil. The ground hog will pop his head out again, and I will greet him with a smile.
As carried by wind, so carried away.

The settling is a process of surrender. A belief or statement that accepts I am not as big as this storm, but I am in it, not of it.
It is the voice that calls out, come home. It is the rainbow that says "I promise".
It is the chills that will pass, and become replaced with warmth and comfort.
Settling is the allowing of all these things to strike, and sting, and then to roll off my back.
It is the choice to know that the sun will come out, and this too will pass.

Movements not in Time

If you're breathing in, then I'm breathing too.

 If you need to move, then I'm moving through.

You have no need to recognize, it's all up in the air.

If you reach for me, then I'm already there.

Like pieces on a chess board, we move through space and time.

All we are is dangling in this pointless paradigm.

So if you find I'm staring, know I'm staring straight at you.

For we are all so many but we're few.

If you think you're dying, then I'm already ahead.

If you find you're crying, then I'm filled up here with dread.

You have no need to speak, what's been said has turned to ice.

If you find yourself alone, that's all from rolling dice.

I'm not here waiting.

Just contemplating.

Movements not in time.

If you're thinking.

Lost and sinking.

Movements not in time.

When rhymes fall short, and words repeat; it's time to come out of the heat. So endings have beginnings and goodbyes are far and few.

If you're breathing in, then I'm breathing too.

In Illusion

I am melting bit by bit.

Each droplet of water that falls, eroding me, shoulder down.

Now water cascades from the eyes nose mouth, chewing through each layer of tissue. Exposing me.

From behind the expanding holes in my body and face, a chasm as inky black as a cave is revealed. 

Arms slowly tumbling like mud off a rock face, starting at the fingers. Piece by piece, swallowed up as the rain pours down. 

A waterfall forms at my centre, peeling layers of flesh and sinew, tissue and organ. Tumbling one on top of the other, I fall outward. 

As my head caves into my torso, crumbling under the force, I sigh.

Forever is a long time to live hollow.

As the rain washes me away, bits and parts sinking into the fresh green grass. Swallowed up by the blades and dirt.

Here I am, gone in the flesh. I nestle deeply into the earthy blanket and embrace eternity. 

Oh blogging.

To blog or not to blog, that is the question. Whether it's worth it to bare ones' soul with the knowledge that some self centred idiot will assume it's about them, or to remain in the silent shadows of certainty..... LOL as if. 

So worth it :P

I have always written, back in my childhood I wrote before I could even form words. My mum kept some of these and told me I would "read" them to her. Just pieces of paper with scribbles and loops, all forming a "story". 

In my head, I have written a thousand novels in the air. 

My self-help genre is a generalized bust, simply because my sarcasm and self-deprecation is nauseating at best. 

My romance genre is pretty tacky, with intimacy lacking any depth and the heroine ending up alone is some bush, pining for the moron who preferred the busty blonde. Blah.

Adventures usually take a turn at the cheese-grater to the knee-cap torture. I get so lost in details that I forget what the point of the story was.

My dramas are sweeping epics that never really have a good starting and can't seem to end. They are brimming with mysterious people who come and go with no real reason. 

My horrors are not that horrific, they generally get lost in my sense of humor and become a tragedy of major proportion. "Big Scawy Beasteses" end up being nothing more then a spider on a lamp casting a shadow.

Irony of all this is I have never actually sat and written anything more then my musings, or poems, or pros. 

But readers of my mind can turn the pages from the twinkly edges of my eye and get the punch line from my laugh. Tongue in cheek, sneaky sneaky.  

Those who think I'm writing about them, smile...at least you can imagine you are in my mind. Perhaps you are. 

Could be the very moment my words connect with your eyes, we are one. 

Why not? 

Anything is possible......

A Reason

I found a reason.

It's no good reason.

But it's my reason, to carry on.

I'm going back to where I don't belong.

To see the things I left out in the sun.

I don't know how to find, the force I once called mine, but I'm going back to where I don't belong.

When the tides are high.

Where the sea gulls fly.

Cause what brought me back is nothing I can have.

I found a reason.

It's no good reason.

But it's my reason, to leave again.

I was facing back and now I know I'm wrong. All the things I left have sailed and moved along. And I find that it's okay, but I just can't stay this way, so I'd rather go to where I don't belong.

Where forever stays.

I will find my way.

Cause what brought me back is nothing I can have. 

I hold my head up, and stare right straight up. Forever gave up, and that's just fine. 

No purpose undone. It's all just been done, and I am but one, and that's just fine. 

So I found my reason.

It's no good reason.

But it's my reason, to live again.

In The Shadows

There are many things I am unwilling to talk about. Mostly because I don't know how to.

I took beatings...I have been raped. 

But the acts didn't bother me much. I guess I'm a strange character in this, because underneath the truth of these things, I believed they were justified. I knew beyond all reason I some how asked for them. This is a truth, not some weak female saying "oh gosh I deserved it". No, there were lines, I saw them. I stepped on and over them to drive the bus to that point. I picked the fight to end the silence. I stood in the way of stopping it. These are things I did with intent, knowing where it would go. 

All the feminists of the world will tell you it's his fault because he put his hands on you...but really? There is no line I would not cross, or barrier I would not break to end the pain of silence. So equal roles were played.

I was in a "healing domestic violence" group for women. Eventually I dropped out, after spending a lot of time not talking. My heart hurt for these women, for they were true victims. But I didn't fit, I didn't belong. How do I tell them I LIKED it? I would take a back hand to the face any day over the crippling, horrific silence. 

Do they know how I stood between the couch and the tv, hovering right in front screaming "talk to me...talk to me you bastard"?

Do they know that when it finally came, I felt relief?

It was me standing in front of the door screaming "why don't you want me? Why can't you love me?" Until I was pushed. It was me pushing until he pushed back.
I was alone where I should not have been. I was out there swinging when I should not have been. I tempted fate and swallowed the broken glass of my creation. I was a fighter, an unfair, dirty fighter.

Sympathy only reminds me of what I did to get what I got. I don't bother much with that, I gave as good as I got.

I have this desire to be wanted. Not for me to chase, or pursue, or coerce. However, I have never been a girly girl, I suppose "pretty" to some, but not the kind of girl that gets noticed or keeps him coming back for more. So my skin has developed layers and layers of callous. I'm tough as nails, that comes across as coldness to some, secure to others. But underneath it is this absolute crippling fear of being left. I would rather leave then be left. I would rather be alone then trust that my partner will stay. I would rather remain noncommittal, then admit I need that security. I adopt freedom as a crutch that eases the anxiety of not being loveable enough. I call this "staying power". Because I have been unchosen, or left so many times, I believe I don't have staying power. So it's easier for me to just not.

I actually don't mind rejection. I have no fear of this. What scares me is not knowing why. I always desire a reason, a picture to resolve the questions. This comes from my belief that there is a purpose for everything. So when I am rejected, the reason makes it okay. If there is no reason, this is terrible for me. Being cheated on was never about the other person, it was the agony of not being good enough or desirable enough that choked me.

I began living a life outside the protection of a family very young. I lived hard and fast. I moved 15 times between the ages of 14 and 20. I have seen girls homes, chased mushrooms across the B.C. Interior. Partied on beaches, had babies. I lived in a polygamist life style. Was taken in by a bush man. Worked in logging bars and wandered barefoot down a highway for hours. I have found and lost and found again. I have watched death happen and seen it in all it's forms. I have witnessed and taken part in the ritual of birth.

I have met terrible situations and kept them silent.
I have loved so deeply that the ache still pains me when I think about it.

I have been abused and have abused others. I have taken and given. I have karma.

At the beginning of this year I sat down with my mountain of pictures and began scrap booking. Places I have been. Faces I have known. All laid out side by side, page after page. Some I lovingly sorted and gave them a story. Some I slapped on a page and quickly carried on. 

This was the beginning of ending those stories. 

The harmonica that sits rusting is a secret that unlocks the knowledge of what I am capable of if forced. But that was a different time, and a different story.

I can't tell you why I like naked bodies. There is no desire attached to it, but the form of humans is exquisite to me. 

I can't tell you why I am so very happy for the successes of others, or why I can love them so completely without putting restrictions on them.

I can't tell you why I can't talk about what is important to me, or why I can see the feelings of others like a painting. Why it's more important that someone else be okay then myself. 

I can't admit my own needs without getting all weird or working up the nerve. But I accept other people needs without a second thought. 

I can't explain why I'm okay with people "bothering" me, any time, any place, any reason...but I can't handle "bothering" others.
I can't tell you why I can feel certain people even when they are not around, or why when all I want in the world is to reach out to them...I chew on it and stall until I either give up or give in.
I can't tell you about my reserved joy, my inability to burst at the seams without a drink or two in me.
I can't tell you why the thing I love the very most in the whole world is seeing that flash of recognition and joy in someone's eye when they realize how truly fabulous they are...even if only for a second.
I can't explain why you matter, so very very much to me, but I won't chase you.

These are parts of myself I can't talk about freely, I can't verbalize, or feel safe discussing, without thinking I'm foolish.

I'm not worried if you know me or not. I'm not concerned with if you see me or not. Because really, in my world you will always matter.

I have discovered my own worth, through the trials and travels of unworthiness. 

I have finally felt the scales tipping, and realized it's not selfish to take care of me.

I have found the strength to put into words what scares me the most, to face some of these fears and push back.

I have forgiven myself for the weakness I have harboured.

I am settling into the knowledge that I've only just begun living.

I don't fight any more, and if I'm pushed, I fight fair. The spirit of my disharmony died many years ago. I listen to the tales told of abuse and rape with an open heart, realizing this is not my truth. I was not a victim, and that's okay. 

No Man Left Behind

Much of our culture is defined by the sub-cultures that are created. The motto “No man left behind” is well known, and can be seen on many levels laced throughout our daily lives. Schools have adopted this, groups, kinship programs, etc.

Yet, this is not carried into most religions or family groupings. It is definitely not adopted by friends in most cases. Generally, you will discover that friendship is easily discarded like a bad habit. Who once were a unit, are now at odds. Who once was relied on is now a vague memory of “stuff you did together”

So what is friendship?

To me, there are distinct separations between the levels of friends. I consider them tiers. There are those you know, those you know and like, those you can tolerate, those you choose to hang with and then friends, then family. Friends and family fall into the “love” category. I love my friends, those I choose to call friends. I love my family, those I choose to call family.

Any who fall into the last two categories are closest to my heart, and as such, I adopt the “no man left behind” motto. Each and every person, unique and one unto themselves, occupy a place designed distinctly for them in my heart and life. There is no comparison and no compromises. There is literally NOTHING a person can do, say, not do, not say to remove themselves from this place. However, they can choose at any time to discard me. That is their choice and I refuse to accept any less.

In the past, it has been very difficult for me to verbalize this. I have always known that I am this way. My cousin calls it imprinting, and I like this term. That is exactly what it is for me. Once a person imprints on me, they become a part of who I am. Our unity in the universal oneness is recognized by my soul and I accept that as a gift or blessing. So as I discover ways to verbalize, it is easier for me to say what has always been true.

So what is love?

This is awkward, or uncomfortable for some. It’s hard to understand what this means. All of a sudden, there is this intangible feeling of questions and discomfort. Do I expect something? Does that require an effort or ownership? Is it creepy? I don’t recognize this as normal…so is it weird? Will it change? Can I trust it? Does it mean sex, or stalker, or something even worse?

I can’t make that go away for my loved ones, because the truth is, I have always been this way and felt this way. The only difference is that I have discovered my OWN worth, and am able to verbalize what IS. I am not afraid any more to be cast aside, because you have already blessed me with your presence. I ask nothing more from you.

I am not afraid to speak and be ignored or scorned or contradicted, because that is your story and your journey, not mine.

I am not afraid of being alone, for I have found my company enough. I know I am okay. I know that I deserve the full value of being, and you cannot give that or take it away from me.

If your fears block who I am from your life, that is only your loss, for I am no longer lost to myself. If your understanding limits your faith in me, that is your loss, for I am no longer limited. If your journey takes you far from me, the journey we have already been on is enough.

All I have ever asked of, or wanted from a loved one is honesty. That has not changed, however it has evolved to the point where I understand that some cannot give that. That’s okay. It’s okay for me to love you even if you cannot or will not be honest with me. So now, I ask nothing. Not even honesty any more. I am just thankful for your imprint.

No man left behind means I will love you, eternally, safely and without expectation. The door way to my heart is open to you, for you are already residing therein. If I have done wrong, then it is your job to let me know. If you return to me in order to scar me, you will find nothing but love receiving you. I am not yours to tarnish, soil or demean…although you are free to try.

No man left behind means I will not abandon you, but you are free to exit any time you wish. I may not understand, or want you to go, but that is okay. I see your path as valid and vital to who you are, and if that path veers off into the setting sun, the tears I shed will only be my purging of your physical presence.

No man left behind means if I ask anything of you, I will always accept “no” as an answer. You have a voice, just as I do. You have a will, just as I do. You are no greater than or less than.

I will love you forever, without question or judgement or expectation. So if you have the courage to understand that and the faith to accept it, then you will never be left behind.

That You Are

 There is nothing you cannot overcome. 

Any dream is worth having and any goal is achievable. 

You are stronger than you realize.

You are greater than your fears.

You are worth more than all the riches the world can offer.

You are loved beyond the boarders of your imagination.

Nothing you have ever done, not done, said, not said, or even thought, can remove your worth and value.

Who you are is greater than any deed or misdeed.

You are crafted and designed to be loved and cherished.

Your purpose is to BE, in whatever manner your being manifests.

That you breathe is enough.

That you live is exactly as it should be.

That you are is that you are.

No person has the right or power to remove this from you, for this is your existence, and all others are travellers passing through your space and time. 

Return to them their right to be.

Remove from them the ability to change your right to be.

Journey well, for you are blessed and worthy.

Where are you?

I went searching for you. Chin forward head held high. I knew it was a fruitless mission, yet I could not stop myself. Every part of my being wanted to find you.

Under rocks and up trees, I wandered until my feet bled. Across streams and through thorn patches. Not with desperation, but with determination. I called for you until my voice cracked and then faded to nothing. Still I pushed on, calling you with my heart song.

Where are you?

There was a time when you were here. I know this, I feel this truth pumping through my spirit. Snaking memories catch glimpses of weathered forever. Like a blink, they are gone. Was it a dream of another life, or was it something real. When I can't remember, I choose to believe it was real. I am searching for you.

Where are you?

 

On my knees for I am weary, I continue to climb this mountain. I try to think of a reason to stop and find none. So on I go, searching the stars and all the sky that surrounds them. The moon crescents while I stare. I am gouged by earth and beaten by weather. Time has her way with me, and hunger clouds my mind. Have I found you yet?

Where are you?

At the peak of this cliff, so much jagged rock to look down upon. I can't tell if there is water below, for I have come so very far. The wind howls around me. I find I am battered, bruised and scabbed. My clothes lie in rags around my dwindling figure. I have battled long to get where I stand.

Where are you?

From a distance, I hear my name being called. I try to focus my aching eyes. Could it be I have finally found what I have searched for?

Unsure, I take a tiny step forward. Muscles screaming, knees folding.

Another step, and then another. Pushing my weathered body just that little further. I am sure this has all been worthwhile.

Where are you?

As I slip and fall off the cliff, I sigh.

I have found something. Sweet release. Like tendrils of smoke caught by the sun, my burdens fall away as I plummet face up, head down. I spread my arms wide, feeling the edges of my sufferage disappear. A new feeling spreads itself  over me, pushing it's way from my soul out. I radiate joy and peace, and it flows around me and swirls from the top of my crown to the soles of my feet.

I let you go.
I am not searching for you any more.
Instead, I am flying.

 

Snapshot

I stood stalk still, as still as my pounding heart would allow.
Charges of adrenaline snapping throughout my body and blood rushing past my ears.
You are here? You came?
I stare at you, dumbstruck.
"I know, I look different without my hat." A smile tickles the curve of your lip.
My arms move like underwater. Slow motion. I reach for you in disbelief.
You came. You are here.

I cannot see my face, but your concern reflects, and I suddenly become aware of my shock.
"Are you okay?" You ask.
I can't speak right now, so I allow you to fold me deeply into your arms. I bury my stunned expression into the softness of your neck, where your jaw meets your ear.
"You're here" I whisper.

I can feel your heart thumping against my chest and you hold me tightly. I know now that you are better at hiding than me.
"Did you think I wasn't coming back?" You speak low, to the side of my face and nibble my ear lobe.

This is the moment. I am awestruck. You came back for me because it wasn't enough. I know this.
My knees cannot hold me. Your hand finds the small of my back and I am supported by the length of your body. I fall into you.

All that surrounds us fades to nothing.
All I see is you.
All I breathe is you.
All I am is yours.
Right now.
I can't let go.
Time suspends for us.
I feel your warmth mingling with my own.
You are firm where I am melting.
You are soft where I am meeting you.
Your scent fills to the edges of my whole being and I breathe you in like liquid, nourishing my every need.
"If you have to leave me, take me with you." I say.
You chuckle. The vibration causes the kinetic attraction of our bodies to burrow deeper.
"I'm here now." You lift me closer, wrapping me even closer.
"I know," I kiss your neck, "you came!"

You draw away from me to look at me. Moving your hands to cup my face, you kiss my nose and then my forehead.
"I'd be a crazy person to not."

We are separated now. Nothing but your hands on my face and mine on your chest.
"Say you don't." I ask you. "Say you don't and mean it."
I explore every curve of your face and lock it in memory.
I know you are doing the same.
You say nothing, studying me.
Eyes only looking and seeing each other, you say nothing.

We meet once again, lips first, until I am once again firmly in your arms.
There in our embrace, I know.
"You can't, " I whisper, "you can't say you don't."

There is no goodbye in our unfolding.
There is no picture to hold.
This is my snapshot of a perfect place in time.
All is well.

Silence

Strange things happen in the silence.
Love is found and lost and found again without a sound.
Muffled within the walls of a heart that's rhythm is as steady as it is haunting.
Strings as hollow as they are long, follow the trail leading to nowhere.
This is not a metaphor for life; rather a truth no one wishes to notice.

Silence is not forgotten within the din of daily racket.
Not forgotten; just ignored.

Look up: there is a ceiling.
Whether by plaster and paint, wood and lathe or clouds and stars: What you see only ends.
With your ears you touch infinite silence.
Noise within that fades to nothingness.
Trapped within this, you are found and lost and found again without a sound.
Muffled within the walls of a heart that's rhythm is as steady as it is haunting.

Chills that lurk just outside the answers to your question why.
A mockery to the cluttered chatter of all that could be.
Forever silent, guarded by the figure that stands watch over your awareness, finger suspended on your lips. 
Sealed from the outside looking in.

What now wraps you deeply in this lovers embrace?
What now metes out silence in this hesitant kiss?
Like first and the last, with goodbye drooping deeply off weary limbs.
Silence takes and gives and then takes again.

Strange things happen in the silence.
I am found and lost and found again without a sound.
Muffled within the walls of a heart that's rhythm is as steady as it is haunting.
A broad space finds stretching room, reaching out to the borders of my horizon.
Silence has no beginning as it does not end.
Neither circle nor square, shapes uneven, forever curving into one another.
I brush against a life, peer within and marvel at the exquisite beauty I can see.
With eyes snapped shut, I dive into the silence given.
This is not a metaphor for life; rather a truth no one wishes to notice.