Alive

I would not have imagined my life like this a year ago today.

So very many things have happened in just one year.

I have learned that trusting my gut will sometimes lead me right into the hurt I needed to feel the very most.

I have learned that placing people on a pedestal can shatter your dreams and lead to disillusionment.

I have learned who really truly has my back when the lights go out.

I have learned that I can be the very kind of person I think I'm not.

I have learned that possessions mean nothing, and that those fixated on them can never understand that.

I have learned I don't wish for the artist life, but rather I hope to live simply and with joy.

I have learned that depression can sneak up on me and change how I see everything in a blink of the eye.

I have learned that my capacity for survival is unrivalled. 

I have learned that I would rather be "wrong" then look like an idiot fighting over being "right". 

I have learned that I genuinely want a partner to share my life with and enjoy the small things; but that I'm not willing to change who I am to have that.

I don't know any more what I want to be when I grow up.

I know I will always write, paint, take pictures...but that will be for the love of doing it, not the pursuit of wealth or fame or a name.

A year ago today, I ran into the world with bright eyes...leaving behind what I thought was oppressing me and stopping me from "living my dream". 

Today, I sit in awe of the road I have travelled. The hopes that shattered around me, the huge failures and the major beating my heart has taken...

And I am thankful.

I am filled with gratitude.

For I am still alive.

Bruised, battered, beaten and unsure...yes...all of these and more.

Yet I still have so much more love in me to give. I still have a fight to survive and get healthy. I still have hope that my companion will find me. I still have the desire to run through the woods, paddle down a stream, dig my toes in the sand and my fingers in soot....

I am still alive.

Ending an Era

I recently had the pleasure of sitting and listening to how someone loves what I do. 

"I love your photography..." It started.

I politely said thank you. 

"I have wanted you to do mine for a while, but you're too expensive."

I smiled politely, waiting for what I know comes next.

"I know a photographer who offered to do mine for forty bucks."

"Wow," I said, "that's a really great deal. You should go with that."

Ever since I have picked up a camera and called it mine, I come across this recurring theme. Walmart does portraits for $20. My buddy does pictures for free.

Or the opposite...I'm too cheap. I should charge more...funny that one usually comes from people that have zero intention of actually hiring me though!

I sat down and figured it out once, the hours, supplies, equipment, editing software...man...I've got me one expensive hobby. If I sold everything today, as is...I could likely pay for some food, or a months rent.

And why don't I?

Everyone knows a photographer. Everyone IS a photographer. 

Who am I to ask for $5 an hour?

So, this is an end to an era. I am moving forward and putting the "photographer phase" behind me. I'll keep it as my warm little hobby that makes me happy. I will no longer pretend that it was viable or something to live off of. It was a beautiful dream, where those who keep telling me "you can do it" are right. 

For those that insist I can do both, I assure you, I cannot. I'm the sort who needs to throw my all into something for it to work. 

I've decided feeding myself is a better option.

I am changing my Facebook page to ElizaBeth Art, which it rightfully should have been. 

I will refer portraits to the appropriate places, as is my duty as an honest artist. 

Thank you everyone who has and continues to support me in all my adventures !!

Namaste

No Mercy

Then she stood up, a stooping sweep from hunched to ascending.

Her head fitting under the crown that had hovered just out of reach.

Her shoulders broadening to match the curve of her fur-lined velvet cape.

Because, it had always been there. Not to rule over anyone or anything.

 No.

It had been there as a station birthed into her. The rightful place of her own esteem.

For she was never a beggar at the table of life,

She had simply lost her way.

She had forgotten that her fingers could shine in polished pleasure, and that would be enough to smile.

She had closed her eyes and stretched out her hand, pleading for a morsel of her own creativity.

Covered in tattered linen, she had fallen asleep and allowed need to consume her. 

And that was all there,

Hanging in shreds as she looked up. 

Because all she had ever needed to do was stand...up.

Own the respect she held.

Stand under the light of knowing she was worthy, and had no reason for the filth of shame.

So she did.

And her throat lost the dust that begging had collected there.

Her eye opened.

Her crown shining with a diamond only meant for her.

Her stomach untied, forgetting the taste of starvation.

Her painted toes dug in from the root.

Both in form and in spirit, the wind beneath her settled to lift her away, and possibly place her gently where she could live free.

Forgetting the Way

Maybe we forgot the way...

The way it feels to laugh from the belly.

How free we are when we swing or jump stone to stone beside a river.

Maybe we forgot about being silly or telling stories.

We lost our shower-singing voices.

We got too busy to notice the chipmunk or stare out across a purple-flowered field and sigh.

Maybe we lost our way,

The noise of news and gossip dulling our ears. So we didn't hear the sparrow tell us how pretty she is.

Maybe work consumed the appreciation we had for the weeping willow, and we forgot how to find her comforting roots.

 And maybe the couch became our resting place, no stream to skip rocks across.

It could be we simply became too tired to watch the sun set. Glimpses of her majesty just a reflection in the rear view mirror.

The creeping time swallows up the memories of long walks, and graffiti covers the bridges we sat under.

Maybe we just forgot the way to be.

We didn't see the boy and his swan or the laughter in the eyes of our pirates. We didn't sit all night with an 8 day free man. Because we didn't have the time...

Or did we?

Did we have all the time in the world? 

And maybe just forgot to breathe in. 

Maybe it's time to remember...and remember well who we are.

Deepening

I do not want to feel like I'm hurting you.

My head down, staring at the way the sun shines off my nail-polished big toe.

There is zero parts of me that is okay with these thoughts.

Since I have been hurt, so bad and so deep, that the scars stare back at me in my bathroom mirror through the tears that can't even be bothered to fall any more. 

But when I see you, I also see all the reasons I wish you would know how much I cannot hope. 

How safe in my skin behind my scars I feel. How even just the idea of bringing you into my world makes me want to scream: 

"No! Turn back! You won't like it here!!"

I love watching you, and hearing the vibrations of your voice, even when the words have no meaning to me. 

I want to tell you about the knife I keep hidden under my skin. The one I use to cut myself with over and over. I want to tell you how surprised I was when I found it there, for I had always assumed it was others doing the stabbing. But you see, it was always me. 

I'd tell you about the day I discovered that, and how all the faces I blamed just disappeared. All that remained was the shame of my revelation, and the peace from knowing I didn't have to use it any more.

More then that, I want to walk along a river, and hear the way our feet fall on the pebbles and rocks. I want to listen to the stars sing, and know you hear them too.

I wish you could see that there is nothing about me that can be contained any more. That the fears from my past have fallen away, leaving me bare and wide open on a windy day. And I'm okay with being alone in my bed, as long as I know I share the love I can't contain with those who need me the very most.

One of the things I would whisper to the mountain peaks, is "Do not tell me this is it, for I've only just come to see. Do not tell me I must write the final chapter, not yet, for I have only just begun to understand."

And you, I would tell you-

I don't have any answers, but I will listen to your questions.

I don't have any solutions, but I will stand along the sidelines cheering you on.

My feet are firmly planted in the garden from which I have grown, but if you look up, you will see me soaring above with a freedom I cannot allow anyone to stifle.

So, please do not feel as if I am hurting you. That is a thought I could not bear. 

As I stare down at my toes, I wish for a moment I knew the path to guide them on.

But as the thought passes through, I smile, and give thanks for the comforting bliss of not knowing.

Perfectly Being

I think when I began the journey to finding peace and joy in life, I thought there was going to be some kind of "sign" or heavenly orchestra that would let me know I had "made it."

I thought all my sadness would end and life would turn into this cake-walk of riches and husband and happy little home by the river. 

I had this image of dancing lightly with whatever remainder of years there were.

In the self-help books I read, it seemed so simple and achievable. These terribly broken people became rich and famous doing what they liked...so why couldn't I? All I had to do was put in the effort, and BAM...dreams do come true....right?!?!?!?!?

After wading through the last few years of ever increasing futility.

After reading, searching, finding the light and learning how to navigate it...

What do I have to show for it?

I'm single. Broke. People don't want to book their portraits with me. I have no idea if I will continue to slug it out alone or if I will admit that maybe it's time to try a different career. I could seriously become depressed.

Yet, I'm not.

With great peace and clarity, I realized that I didn't do all that work for nothing. I'm actually ok.

I'm alright with being single, because even though I would love to fall asleep with comfortable arms holding me-

I have learned that my own company is enough. That I deserve to be loved in a manner fitting me, not in a way that gives me company but leaves me feeling hollow and unwanted.

I'm okay with being broke, I know my needs will be met when the time comes. Having nothing only makes me appreciate what I do have that much more.

It's fine that people are taking their time booking with me. I know that those who need me will find me when the timing is right.

I am open to a different career, if an opportunity presents itself that feels right.

There is no depression, because when I am blue, I recognize the sadness and let it go. It has a right to be, so I'm no longer struggling against it.

So all the work I have put in IS paying off. Perhaps not in the way I wanted it to, or dreamed it would be. But I'm not dead yet either.

Other benefits have come along the way.

Such as I feel free, and beautiful. 

At 37, I can look at a photograph of myself or in the mirror and smile. I see my worth. I can openly love others without taking their issues on as my own. I am not weighed down with regret or guilt.

It was all worthwhile, even today-

That doesn't mean I'm all filled with roses and kitten fur. Not at all.

I am dark and stinky. I have anger that boils to the edges and rages in the dark. But I don't live there any more. Instead I look at these and say, "hey, that's not who I am, so you can be done now." I am not ashamed of it, because it is just another part of life. 

I feel jealousy and doubt. But I refuse to let it control me or change what I know to be true. This means I won't deny or confirm the words these emotions whisper. 

I realized that no enlightenment trumpet is going to sound. The dreams of reaching a goal and riding out the rest of life is never going to happen.

I also realized I'm okay with that. The little epiphanies and shameful truths will continue to speckle my days with laughter and tears.

I don't think it's about being perfect.

I think it's about perfectly being...and that means accepting every tiny bit of up and down along the way.

Flow

There is nothing quite like sitting in the sun by a waterfall. It soothes away the rough edges and warms the soul. Like placing a smile upon the blanket that wraps the heart.

I don't enjoy battling my body. Yet I find the struggle real, forgetting to just let it wash away.

I don't enjoy feeling blue. Yet it takes me to dark places so that I can find a way to let them flow freely.

Now and then, it must be important to just sit. It must be real, with the wind and back spray brushing my hair and speckling my glasses. The warmth from the outside oozing in to relax my furrowed brow. 

Now and then I remember. Life isn't really that difficult, it just seems so while I'm beating my head against the rocks. 

And maybe there is no tomorrow...

But today, 

Well today I'll find that everything is just the way it ought to be.

Any Way

You came in to my life.
One day a stranger, the next day my friend.
Some days it was like we had always been this way, two souls in one space.
Other days I was reminded of how little I actually knew of you.
Before long, you became a habit.
Constant banter of a back and forth to be continued.
Now and then your actions stung.
You said things I didn't understand, but I loved you any way.
When we drew apart, or a silence fell between us, I loved you any way.
When you did things I thought were strange, or I could not agree with, I loved you any way.
Your smile lit up my world, and in no time we were once again connected.
Nothing forgotten, but I loved you any way.
You let me down, disappointed me.
I loved you any way.
You hurt my feelings, betrayed me.
I loved you any way.
Sometimes a touch of jealousy would creep in.
You having fun, while I was not there.
I felt you could easily replace me.
Still, I loved you any way.
I said things to you I could not take back.
Things meant to be hurtful, from a place I did not want to let out.
I needed your forgiveness.
I loved you any way.
Time goes by.
When I glance back at where we have been;
So much, and yet so little in the span of a life.
Days slip by and your words resonate.
Our time together is absorbed in to the fabric of my being.
I love you any way.

Attention

"My, my. Look whose all over Facebook with there selfys. Looking for a little attention??? I wouldnt have taken U for quite the showoff. I guess U don't know a person until U follow there feed." ((Winky face, shock face, sick face emojis))

Yea, I guess you really don't.

Inspirational Quote for the day:

With ten fingers to choose from, I've only got two I'd pick for you.

Ladies, gents, my peeps and theirs...

This blog goes out to each and every one of you snapping 50 selfies to get one...

Post them.

Tag them. Litter them all over the place like confetti on a windy day.

We are not seeking attention.

We are not showing off or flaunting.

We are not fat or ugly or wrinkly or scarred.

We are using social media to be. Be us. Be free. Be acknowledged on this planet in this space. 

We won't be here forever. Actually, only a flash in the pan. 

And you, who sneer at us.

Do it too. 

Stop scrolling through our stuff so you can remark about our narcissistic rituals. Get up, snap a selfie and hashtag the hell out of it. Got a zit today? Download an editing app and get working.

Life is way too short to not.

Life is way too awesome to waste with being all bitter and grumpy.

Smile.

Snap,snap.

Post.

Tag yourself 10 times and share to Instagram.

Ice Cold

I disappeared, for a little while. Straying off the path of fortitude.

I cried, daily.

I tried, hourly.

I cared and cared, so much that my chest was caving in with every breath.

I wondered, was that me?

Is this who I have become?

This weepy, weak, sensitive bundle of womanhood. Smiling and saying "I'm fine" to anyone who asked. Being "real" in this made-up fantasy where ladies do this or that.

I strung pearls and sang hymns, koom-by-ahh-Ing the shit out of my open heart.

But that sucked.

Being a lady and doing lady stuff is not fun for me. Koodo's to my women-folk who can pull off being a lady! Don't know how you do it. I actually really dig belching, it feels good and is way better then swallowing it and waiting with my knees crossed for privacy to fart.

I did it because I thought that's what I actually wanted.

I did it because I've wondered to myself if I have it in me, and what it might be like.

I did it because I thought "he" (whoever he is or was) wanted that, and maybe, just maybe, I could snag a happily ever after in woman-land.

Then, what happened, was I threw that in the f**k-it bucket. 

I realized that's not who I am.

I'm sensitive, but not soft.

I'm loving, but not gooey.

I don't care about make-up or dresses. I could care less about romance novels and moon-lit serenades.

I don't want to be swept off my feet.

What I want is me.

Laughing, wearing yoga pants that make them stop in their tracks and go "damn"!

Being the one to say "aw muffin" and "suck it up buttercup". The one that has an annual cry-fest whether I need it or not. The one that people can say anything to, and I accept it because it isn't about me, and I get that. The one who is loyal like a dog and vicious like a sprung cougar.

The ice queen.

The bloody unicorn.

The water-logged siren with sharp teeth, mermaid tail, and the propensity to devour.

No sparkles and lipstick. Just ripped jeans and hoodies. No tears and I-love-you's. Just stone cold stares and the matter of fact I-do-you-know's.

And "him" (whoever he may be), isn't going to be some knight in shining armour soaring in to save the day on his noble steed. 

Nah.

He's going to be that guy who knows that pulling my hair and grabbing my neck makes me purr. 

He will know that what's under my hoodie is worth coming home to. He will know that my softness emerges just enough to love unconditionally, but I will shut that down the instant I feel threatened.

And that will be enough.

Until then, I'm going to get used to being alright with the fact that I'm not a lady, but I'm a power-house woman.

I'll wear a dress now and then, but not to make anyone else happy or to prove a point. I'll stop stringing pearls and admit surgical steel and silver make me happy. I might not live in an ice castle and run around singing about letting stuff go...but I will indeed embrace the comfortable chill of my icy exterior. 

Because maybe it's not from "being broken"...maybe it's just my own kind of magic.

Her & Him

So there's this song, you can't seem to listen to it without hearing her in your memory.

You even glance over now and then to see if she's sitting there beside you, laughing in the sun.

He had this way about him that you can't seem to forget. The way he looked at you. The way his voice changed when he said your name.

That smell on the breeze carries her to you. Maybe only a glimpse of her hair, a highlight in the crowd.

And that thing he used to say, it makes your skin crawl to hear it slither out of someone else's lips. But you can't help but smile, since you can close your eyes and see his jawline as he spoke in profile.

Now and then, your heart stops when she skips across your thoughts. 

Now and then, your throat tightens when he walks across your thoughts.

You race after her a moment, chasing the way it felt to stand beside her.

You curl up around yourself for a moment, missing the feeling of his hand in yours.

Then you place her aside. 

Then you put him away.

Forever is a long time to live hollow.

 

Calla Lily

I was me for a moment, tears streaming and chest caving.

The me that held out her hands and asked what she did wrong.

The me that couldn't compare to all the lovely daffodils.

The me that is easy to lie to and easy to dismiss as waste.

I let that me sit there, I embraced her.

She was so angry. Strangled cries that escape from agonized breath. The kind I don't like listening to. The kind that shred my heart.

She was so lost and confused.

Why again?

I didn't know what to tell her.

I tried to protect her, but she wanted so bad to be seen. She had to try.

Though I shake my head sadly, wishing she had just listened; I also hold her tightly. 

I tuck that me into bed. I tell her a story.

I choose to tell her a fairytale, it soothes her. 

"You don't need to be lovely." I whisper in her silent sobs. "You don't need to be chosen, not one bit."

She looks at me in the windows reflection. Eyes half shut and heavy. 

"Why?" That me asks.

"Silly Rabbit, there is no comparison. 

Some choose roses.

Some choose daffodils.

But the one who chooses the simple Calla Lily recognizes the subtle scent and elegance without a need for show.

You, my dear, are a Calla Lily."

Rush to Judgement

Judgement.

We know what that is. No one enjoys being judged, yet we all judge others. It's part of the human condition that we understand and recognize.

What is it?

That is the question that begins when we decide to practise non-judgement. The long road of becoming non-judgemental is full of roadblocks. It requires much introspection and reevaluation. 

Judgement takes so many forms and seems different depending on how you look at it.

Some will say that ALL judgement is a self-judgement. Some will say we NEED judgement for discernment purposes. I have even been told that "anyone who claims to be non-judgemental is full of shit."

My most recent understanding on this topic is two-fold.

1. Judgement is a way for us to stay safe.

Why?

It is a great big world with a crap-load of people. If I can find fault in someone, that is one less person I need to love.

Judgement is a justifiable reason to withhold compassion, acceptance and love.

By seeing and comparing faults in another, I am able to see a reason to distance myself from them.

From walking around a "creepy homeless person", to severing ties with someone who has wronged us.

Judgement is our greatest weapon and also our strongest shield.

2. Forgiveness is judgement.

I have been a huge fan and promoter of forgiveness. There is no denying the healing benefits of letting go the hurts we feel someone caused us. 

However, the act or need of forgiveness by default assumes that forgiveness is required.

Forgiveness determines that what "they" did was "wrong".

The need to forgive is a justifiable reason to withhold love.

We are doing so many things to stay safe. We have so many reasons to protect our precious selves.

However, we did not control our birth. We cannot control our death.

We came. We are here. We will go.

All of our judgements will fall away into the sea of wasted energy.

I would like to think my time better used. I would like to say that I was not afraid to experience this human condition.

"What is the nature of love, where love appears to be not?"-Emmanuel

Cracked Windshield

"How can I ever trust my instincts again when it was my instincts that fell in love with someone who could hurt me so bad?"

Good question.

I fumble and stumble and fall. Sometimes completely paralyzed with a fear that I have no names for. 

I have learned to move around love.

I have learned to put it in a fancy box and give it away without expecting it in return....actually....perhaps not even that.

More an expectation that it won't be returned.

I don't know how it is I was happy with myself, my life, my home and my family and friends, while dying a little more each day inside.

Like watching a tiny crack spread across a windshield over time. I got used to looking around it, not seeing it completely. I knew it was there, and once in a while I thought I should really change that windshield....but why? 

There are so many reasons to not change a situation. It's familiar, and even though it might be uncomfortable at times, the fact that I knew what it was made it easier to handle then considering changing it. I could use so many excuses. It made my kids happy, or so I thought. It could always get better somehow. After a little while, I even had myself convinced that I didn't need to fix it at all...I mean...what was there to fix? My life was good in so many ways, full of family and friends that cracks didn't even seem to matter at all.

Yet the hurts just kept rolling in. Little things seem awfully big when they pile up. Ignoring them, pushing them aside and even excusing them is like putting duct tape over that cracked windshield. Eventually, I couldn't see a damn thing.

Yet it was my intuition, my gut, my instincts and my .... Fear?

Ah.

Yea fear. 

Sometimes fear has a funny way of looking like comfort. It takes on the shape of familiar and bonds to the idea of paralysis. 

I wonder sometimes if intuition and instinct aren't actually there to keep us from getting hurt. Instead, perhaps it is there to guide us to the knife that fits just right. The hurts that will illuminate within us where we need to grow, what needs to change and how we need to travel. It packs our bags on the journey to awakening. 

The fear is what stops us, so maybe our guts need to scream a little louder.

How do I trust my instincts?

By letting go of my fear.

How do I listen to my intuition?

By letting go of my fear.

I realized today that all the things that stop me and silence me and tie me up in little knots are the very things that are not a true part of who I am.

They are the doubts and the fears.

They are the cracks in my windshield.

It's Complex

I'm standing on the edge of a lush forest. The smell of evergreen and rotting leaf, pleasant and warm, combining with the fresh breeze off of water. To my left is a pinking sky with air-brushed cloud. To my right the edge of a cliff cuts away to the yawning lake of ice blue. 

I press my bare toes into the satiny moss that covers the stone beneath me.

In this gloriously calm setting I stare into my dream. 

The dream in which all of these years makes sense. The dream in which a thousand tiny glass tears have formed a brand new heart. The dream that says

"It's okay, you got this baby-doll", and that is so much truth it is funny and not sad.

Those of you who have been travelling this journey with me, I am opening up about one of my deepest and darkest places.

"It is better to give than to receive" nailed it...

However, I would reword that to be: "it is easier to give than to receive." ...because it is for me.

In some sort of warped, martyristic way... I have been the giver of. Giver of what? 

Whatever.

Giver of me.

Giver of things.

Half-hearted, whole-hearted...no matter. Smack a bow on that shit and call it my gift to anyone, no one, you....

So stinking happy for everyone else. 

I'll give you a smile, a hug, my love, my adoration and support. Take it dammit...

The eternal spot of "whatever you need to make you feel better."

The dumbest part is it's genuine.

I actually super care unconditionally and wither when I feel like I've let someone down or hurt them.

But to recieve that....

I have serious doubts and apprehension. I assume there is a catch, an agenda. I can explain it away like flicking a bug off my shirt.

I assume I have no valid importance in your life beyond what I can provide you. 

Strangely enough, it's not even an inferiority thing. It's completely logical on every level. I have proof to quantify this opinion and years of baggage to back it up. 

When I let that go...

Well, I've come to this place.

Where I don't know whether to laugh or to cry because it's all just...so...pathetic.

Like...seriously?

"Give me a break," I say to self..."get real. You, my dear, have a wicked bad layered inferiority complex. Stop denying it and deal."

So, I'm dealing. The cards have been stacking up, and I look at the hearts and spades. Nodding to myself, I admit that mentally I am quite aware of my worth. It's all there.

No purpose but to be, for being is enough.

Yet diamonds are sharp, laying compressed beneath the stone of proof and delivery. 

I can trust....trust that I won't last. Trust that you will eventually betray me. Trust that the calls will stop or someone out there is better for you. Trust that when I need you the very most, that is when you won't show up. 

And I know I will be happy for you, because well, that's just how I am.

Or am I?

Probably not...but I will be eventually, that's a guarantee.

I return to my dream...this dream a visualization of its all gonna be okay sugar-booger. Wipe those salty tears and plop your butt down. Stop wondering who or how or making excuses, and simply accept that you are enough, valid, and worthwhile. Everything is gonna be okay.

It's okay to give, I probably always will. 

But the way in which that manifests is changing, day by day, card by card. 

All those things I know to be true, well, they dangle on a dream that is taking over what is...even tho they will never change what was.

This has been, by far, the hardest and most doubted blog I have shared...in that way, I know another dragon has been slain. Thank you...

Namaste

Scar Tissue

"Don't pick scabs, it'll leave a scar."
I remember being told this so many times as a child. But they itch, and so I would scratch. Human nature I suppose. I recall the day I put my tooth through my lip, Gramma shaking her head; "girl," she said to my mum, "that child is going to have a scar." She was right. At this very moment I trace the protruding line with my tongue and chuckle.
My first baby left no stretch marks, the second only a couple lines running vertically down the sides of my belly. Sort of flattering in the right light. Numbers three and four literally destroyed any hopes of ever being comfortably viewed in a bikini. There is nothing I would rather do than never allow my horrifically torn up abdomen to ever be seen ever in ever. It makes me cringe. Not to mention the horror show of my left leg.
These are superficial. Scars I can see, look at, observe.
Some scars are much, much deeper.

The words or actions that can't be taken back, and no matter how much forgiving and letting go happens, they are there.
My sister Jessica, stopped wearing shorts. All summer long she would only be seen in long skirts and jeans. Why? Because of an off-hand remark made in jest about her knees.
I held on to a scarf, brought to me from England. Why? Because the memory of being left on my birthday by someone who went to a place that I've always dreamed of going and I thought should have cared, was a scar I enjoyed revisiting.
I once saw a microwave explode, I'm still terrified of them.

Some scars build up over time. The ones that cover places in the heart. Where I was abandoned or not quite good enough. Where I rolled over and cried alone with someone there beside me. Where being forgotten or overlooked became a habit I got used to. I don't want people looking at these scars. I don't want them to be seen or understood or known. When I laugh instead of answer, say "never mind" instead of "I'm hurting"; I don't want anyone to realize it is because I'd rather not expose the pain that wasn't caused by them.

So here I am. Arrived in this way to say:
I am broken, and I don't mind.
I have scars on my skin and hurts that I am only beginning to understand.
I am also the heart between the I and the U.
I have been selfish in my pursuit of locating me, I will not apologize for that. I have been busy itching at the places I had no name for. Though my wings are slowly sprouting, the happiness located is so much more freeing.
I realized it's okay to admit to being scared. I am not fearful or worried. Neither of those find me here.
However, I am indeed scared.
I wonder if I will make rent.
I wonder if wandering from room to room forgetting what I was looking for, only to realize it's someone to take care of...and there is no one...is normal.
I'm scared that this is only a respite before another storm.
I'm scared that these scars might never go away.
And...
I'm also very much at peace.

Once I have exposed my scars, as they are, and found them to be okay...then maybe I can move past them. Perhaps over time I can learn to love those soft, tissue-covered areas that make me who I am. They might not be pretty, but they are part of something pretty awesome.

My wish, in sharing this, is that you may see that it's okay as well.
Be yourself, with your bumps and scars and jagged edges.
Laugh a little too loudly. Show off your cellulite, scars, jiggles and wiggles.
Know that it's alright to fall flat on your face or cringe away from something that hurts a little too much. In the end, it's all just a part of who we are. It ain't no thang... scars happen.

Moving Day

Today, I will move in to my new apartment. It signifies the beginning of a chapter, one in which I am living and loving on my own terms. One in which I am blooming within the garden of the will in which I rely. One without servitude or force, without limitations my own imagination concocted.

My own space. My own life.

I would like to take a moment of gratitude in writing...for I live much of my life in gratitude, however the word is a powerful thing.

I am thankful for the many many people who have helped me.

In support, listening, advising, pointing the way, shining a light in both the positives and negatives.

I am thankful for the hands, the direction posts, the lessons and the circumstances that have brought me to this place.

I have zero regret, or guilt, or bad feelings. Only blessings and love.

The desire to change what was binding led not to a "change" so to speak...but the unbundling and revealing of understanding. An acceptance for what is, and the release of all the masks I clung to.

I am here. 

For this, there is no one in my life who I am not fully in love with and in gratitude for.

Although I choose to embark on this journey "alone", I am not in a state of "alone-ness". Rather, I am at all times surrounded by a community of support and respect and love. Freely coming and going with the in and out breath. 

Thank you- for if you are at this moment reading, then you also are a part of my oneness. 

Lately, I have been asked quite frequently if I am afraid.

I have attempted to explain. Now I will express...

There is no fear in what I am doing.

There is freedom. 

There is peace and acceptance.

Where I notice concern, I breathe into this moment a release to know.

I do not need to "know" what is three steps ahead.

I only need to know now...and now, I am here. I am fine. All my needs are met and I am well.

There is no fear here.

Only gratitude and love.

As I move into a space I may call my own, it is with peace, thankfulness and open acceptance that this is where I am to be. 

All is well.

Listening

I listen a lot.

People will say they don't know much about me, but the funny thing is I'd answer if they asked. 

Loved ones know that. 

Others...well they just don't.

One of the main things I listen to is nothing at all.

When I'm walking, I listen to the trees.

When I'm in a crowd, I listen to the tone and the mood.

When someone is talking, I listen to their face....

Sounds funny, I know, but a face will tell you much more then words ever could.

What I really listen closely to tho, is actions.

Actions are deafening.

Actions are the very thing that probes beyond the words, the feel and the ideas. 

Actions give you a blow by blow on what's really going on.

Since I started practising yoga a couple years ago, I began to be very mindful of my own. 

At first, I still felt very out of control. I would try so hard to have my actions match my intent, match my words and so on. But it felt like I was trapped by this world.

In the last few months, I found a new strength. I hope it sticks around.

The strength lies in the ability to follow my gut instincts and act accordingly. It matches my thoughts and intent and ability to act, by accepting that each and every moment of each and every day are choices that I control. Not every situation is my choice, but what I do with it and how I react to it is.

Back to listening....

People will tell you if they want to be in your life. People will tell you if they care for you, love you or have any interest in you beyond what they can use you for. 

All you have to do is listen.

...and I'm becoming an excellent listener.

How It Ends

"Some things you let go in order to live" -Florence

If I turned, and looked over my shoulder, I could tell you a thousand tales. Stories of failure and triumph, joy and pain, villains and beasts and fairies and victors. I would sing to you folk songs of broken hearts and mended bridges. 

They would be mirrors of what was. They would be true and they would be false. For every story is only a piece of illusion seen only through my eyes and spoken in a whisper from the feeling they created.

They aren't my stories any more. They aren't my burdens or my reason. They are only parts of a cobweb that angels shed when they shine through the cracks in the floor boards. 

So what does that leave? 

Nothing.

 

A shadow in the starry night of someone in the shape of a human sobbing over loss for one last time. 

A safe journey only begun.

The dance on a dusty trail with no one watching but a nosy chipmunk.

It all means nothing, stitched together with good intentions and long lost love forged by familiar fear.

How do I begin?

With one simple sentence.

"I am here."

And I am. I am here, right here, right now, and nowhere else.

If you asked me, "why did you stay so long" my answer would be; "because I love him."

If you asked me, "why are you leaving?" My answer would be; "because I love him."

If you understand that...then you understand everything.

You understand the story, the illusion, the reason and the purpose. You understand the past and the present, and you can see me, clearly. You see the masks, the pain, the choices, the uses and abuses. As my hand touches the door knob, I could look you in the eye and you would see the light of this universal love, the present as it unfolds.

You would hear the voice that rings in my head:

"I don't know why I don't just stand outside and scream, I am teaching myself how to be free.

I know it seems like forever.

I know it seems like an age.

But one day this will be over, I swear it's not so far away." -Florence

I am inviting my truth and grasping onto forever. I am letting all these precious things go, and watching them fall one by one. 

I'm not brave or afraid.

I'm not strong or weak.

I am just me, as I am, 

And I am here.

Zero to Bi-polar

...in 2 seconds flat.

I was happily painting, living in my own world of no thoughts. 

A text..."are you coming?"

I smile.

"Oh yea. I was going to go meet someone tonight." I remind myself and glance down at my work. Torn between staying in my space of no thought and entering the world of socializing.

With a sigh, I made the choice to leave what I was doing to dry, and slip out for a bit to have a drink and chat. 

Throwing on a clean sweater and socks, I laced up my boots and walked out the door. With my earbuds in, I walked into the darkness humming along with the song. 

Peaceful, happy, content with the world and my place in it.

A hug of greeting for all the smiling faces. Light chatter and my mind far off trying to decide what colour I would use in the next layer of my painting that was waiting for me.

The buzz of conversation, and I found myself being slowly pulled into this reality. The one where things happen and people have troubles. Yet I was still quite far away, hovering above any feeling. Dancing around the edges of disappointment by being let down by someone who said they would have time for me and interest in the stories that were unfolding.

Between laughter and conversation, I was met with some news. 

The floor dropped out. My chest caved in. Blood pounding in my ears and red spots flashing in front of my eyes. 

How could you?

How dare you?

Why?

If not in a crowd, I would have folded over and cried. But instead, rage brimmed up and all that serenity and calm detachment; all thoughts of my painting and accepting what is...gone. 

This is how we forget to love.

This is where the silence and connection to all humanity snaps shut with a bang.

This is zero to bi-polar.

While raging in a storm, I forget to not judge. I forget that I have wronged people. I become broken, weak, mean. My inner well of pent up years, where stories swirl and razor-edged betrayal lurks to tell me how useless I really am; comes dangerously close to exploding. 

I didn't walk away.

I didn't return to my painting, where peace and letting go laid waiting. 

So, once over. As my 10 subsides to a 2, I look around through tears I finally let fall. How silly, my humanity. 

I realize that this is how it looks.

Taking things personally. Judging quickly. Allowing the actions of another to effect my mood, my peace, my sense of well being.

I realize that the issues I am facing have to do with how I take certain events. How I deal with them. How I react.

I can apologize. 

But really, I take a few moments to send out love. I take a moment to be thankful, to be gentle with my bi-polar self. 

It's no ones fault for the choices I make, or how I react to the choices they make. It is just a part of life, and like everyone else on this planet, I'm learning to love my way through it.