Category Archives: B.U.T.Ful
A sugar skull art box
I created this sugar skull art box using discards from a tobacco shop. Mirrored tiles and a framed piece of fairy art (not my own) add to the whimsy of this creation.
My nature
It is in my nature to return to nature
Nurturing my spiritual gifts
Reveling in loam and water
Allowing my soul to tendril
Deep into the rocky soil
Pulling the wisdom into my hands
Pushing out that which no longer serves
Light and dark are the same
Intuition singing a celestial choir
Feeling in my bones the pulsation
The undulation of the Universe
Welcoming the power that is mine
Acknowledging the sacrifices made
On my behalf before I was born
Into this life.
Into this body.
Into this time.
Love Showed Up
When I have been in darkest pain
Feeling I could not hope again
Love showed up.
When I felt lost and overwhelmed
Riding grief on a boat unhelmed
Love showed up.
When I’d thought my demon’s vanquished
But they roared to life, causing anguish
Love showed up.
It didn’t try to change my pain
But gently whispered, “Try again.”
Love showed up.
It didn’t try to change my trouble
It helped me to clean up the rubble
Love showed up.
It helped me navigate which way to travel
Clothing myself in threads unraveled
Love showed up.
Its compass pointed to my true north
Showing me how to sally forth
Love showed up.
It walked beside me on meandering paths
Teaching forgiveness for my past
Love showed up.
Chickadee
On my front deck, I’ve allowed spiders to live as they will. There are several webs that are cluttered with carcasses of bugs. The hunters don’t hunt me, I feel good about being a steward to their dinners, and I can sit outside undisturbed by flying insects. Everyone wins.
While enjoying my morning prayers and ritual of Kawphy drinking, I heard a thump and saw a flutter at my front window. My curiousity piqued, I stepped to the window to see what happened, as did my cat.
Caught in one of the webs was the tiniest of chickadees, suspended in peril. I stepped out onto my porch to see if it were actually stuck. It’s beak was open and it appeared to be having difficulties breathing. I pulled the wicker chair away from the wall. To my horror, the little avian fell to the porch, wings outspread.
I gently picked it up from the porch allowing it to rest on my fingers. I slowly and carefully pulled away the web that was holding its wings. I noticed there was some web on it’s beak, so ever so gently, I pulled that away as well.
There I stood on my porch, holding this precious little creature. I cooed to it, told it how beautiful it was, and explained that it was free to go when it was ready. Together we waited.
Its head turning, tilting, and observing with its curiousity as sure as mine. It pooped on my hand, but I didn’t move. I was busy cherishing this rare occurence, reveling in the beauty of the intimacy I was sharing. I felt excitement, reverence, and in tune with the natural world.
This suspended time lasted for about five minutes before the bird took liberation from its ordeal. I watched it take off with an elation that I can only equate to winning a prize. In a way, I suppose I did.
Meeting of the Wounds
Yesterday was a wild ride. I took my friend to the orthopedic doctor to get an appraisal done on her freshly broken ankle. During the course of our conversation she said something that struck me deeply.
“When you’re meeting someone, you’re meeting their wounds.”
Dude. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense.
She went on to say, “People who have had trauma, bring that forward with them in various manifestations. People who are givers typically didn’t have enough and they don’t want others to feel that way so they tend to overgive.” (not exact quote but that’s what she said in essence)
People who were neglected may be overly attentive. People who were abused may be overly protective. People who were torn down regularly may be a powerful motivator to uplift others. People who got lost may find their way to their own path and lead others on theirs.
I had never considered the wounds of others. My focus has been on meeting people as they are right now. Sometimes the encounters are pleasant, others not so much. If it’s not ideal, I tend to grant personal grace because I don’t know why they would do or act in such a manner.
Understanding that I’m meeting all of their wounds and successes really honed in on my understanding of others. But, moreso, it forced me to realize how my wounds interact with the world.
I’ve worked incredibly hard to become the person that I want to be for my own satisfaction. I’ve taken what’s happened to me throughout my many chapters, discarded what didn’t work for my vision of myself and embraced my joy. I’ve struggled to understand where my life choices have brought me. I’ve battled with the traumas that changed my life directions.
And still, when I see other people out in the wild, I did not recognize, cognitively, their wounds are just as exposed as mine are. I didn’t look past the present to understand that their past is as valid to them as mine is to me. That sounds juvenile and a bit Pollyanna, but I WANT to understand. I want to help where I can because my feelings of helplessness, abandonment, degradation, and abuse profoundly changed me.
Some may say that those things were horrors, to which I’d have to agree. But, they were also a catalyst that’s propelled me forward into a level of self discovery, self appreciation, and self love that I don’t know I’d recognize without the impact of of those events in my life.
An online friend of mine has been writing about their own self-discovery. They are picking away scabs, examining the wounds, and putting healing energy where it’s needed in their soul. As I see it, that’s the bravest thing a person can do. The courage that it takes to bite into your own skeleton filled closet, examine the contents of your guts, digest the lessons that have been sorely learned is an incredible journey and not without adventure.
“You’re meeting people’s wounds” not just the current version of them, but all of their life and experiences. I’ll love them anyway because that’s who I am because of and despite my own wounds.
Intimate Brain
Repeatedly she kissed my hand
hugged my arm close to her body
She apologized not with “I’m sorry,”
but repeatedly with “I love you.”
Her eyes met mine briefly
with the woman she once was
vanished in a blink which, again,
began her litany of obsession.
What I witnessed, what I felt, what I learned,
wasn’t enough to ease her anxiety
her frustration and anger
even if she doesn’t quite understand why.
“I love you. I love you. I love you.”
“I love you too, dear one.”
I truly do. I fell in love with my new friend
Brain intimate with momentary lucidity
She smiled sunshine towards me despite her clouds
I promised to carry her love with me
The Lake
The lazy green-brown water giggling silver in the breeze
Aglow with the pure enjoyment of the heated evening
Sunset birthing the cotton-candy dusk, reducing the trees
To royal purple mascots of the Blue Heron’s seating
A fish flashes rainbow-sided far from the shore
A nearly silent explosion of prismatic rain
Relishing mosquitoes and dragonflies galore
Survival the only and longest campaign
Soul Pool
Soul Pool
I have existed for eons before I was born
As a descendant of my womenfolk
Who have cradled me within their wombs
Nurturing my spirit they have always known
Just as I know them in my aging, dusty carcass
Animated by their tribal songs that lent me their breath
Extending their pneuma into my mortality
Anointing me with collective wisdom as my inheritance
Courage emblazoned like a scarlet letter;
ushered in with fiercest loyalty
Resilience bestowed as an endowment of hope
Strength of a champion intrinsically passed down
I am born again and again, basking in the immortality
Reveling in the joyful victories of lives well lived
Lamenting the horrors and pains that are birthed;
And rebirthed, and again
I am my mother’s eyes, my grandmother’s faith,
My great-grandmother’s charm,
my great-great-grandmother’s muscle memory
I am because of their willingness to grant me
This Soul Pool in which I float and swim
An Exception
We are taught all our lives that there are norms.
Ways to behave and how to perform
We’re punished if we color outside of the lines
cinching our spirits to fit the confines
removing authenticity, forcing conformity
but we’ve done a disservice in all its enormity
Take exception from those “laws”
Run around naked with all your flaws
Be who you are without any doubts
Experience the joy! Scream and shout!
You’re validly beautiful when you’re true to yourself
You weren’t made to be perfect, stored on a shelf.
You were meant to experience life at full throttle
To demonstrate to others, to be a role model
Life is too precious to indulge what society thinks
Be the exception to the world, not a lip-sync








