NaPoWriMo: Pain and Sleep

Pain in the Foot

Love, Lucky Happiness, and Courage. You can see Courage and part of the luck in this picture.

Love, Lucky Happiness, and Courage. You can see Courage and part of the luck in this picture.

The best thing that ever happened to me was pain

I’m not a masochist if that’s what you think

(and even if I was, that’s personal preference not pain).

I worked many jobs that didn’t quite fit me.

Who needs happiness when I got bills, ya get me?

Then I learned about pain when I bare handed broke my foot

THUMP! VOMIT! “That can’t be good.”

Two days of crying while I hobbled around before I got to see

A doctor who looked at me and exclaimed, “HOW could you BE?!”

I’d collapsed my foot bones, broke them in two

By rubbing a cream on my foots that were as stressed as I was.

But that pain, that pain that, two years later remains

Is a constant reminder of how much I’ve gained.

I have time to create, to speak, to volunteer.

I have time to be, to love, to give, to cheer.

Pain has pushed me to places I’d never have learned

Pain has given me new ideas to churn.

But Pain, dear pain, has given me more of myself

Than anything I’ve done, nay, anything else.

It’s taught me courage, strength, endurance

It’s taught me to keep going even with hindrance

Pain is a wicked friend but it never lies to me

It allows me to push limits; to set up healthy boundaries

Pain is the best thing that ever happened to me

My only issue is when it won’t let me sleep.

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Breaking out of Prison*

*(Cell Phone)
If you don't know what this is, you're too young for me. :-)

If you don’t know what this is, you’re too young for me. 🙂

A few months ago, due to financial circumstances I had to give up having a cell phone. As my friends and contacts can attest, I was a full on addict. I couldn’t leave without my phone, I checked it at least twice every 10 minutes, and generally freaked out if I didn’t have my identity with me. And then, I had no choice but to abandon my preconceived notion of myself.

As I sit here today, I realize I don’t miss it. Not really. There’s only been one time that I really could have used one but I was in a hospital being monitored for heart issues anyway and my friend had one to notify my family if she needed to do so (thankfully she didn’t). Here are some things I learned about going “old school” with nothing but a home phone.

Control

I have more control over my life now than I did when I had a cell phone. I get to pick and choose easier by having only a home phone who has my number. It allows me to choose who I wish to spend my time with chatting on the phone. Unlike with a cell phone, I don’t feel obligated to answer my home phone because when I’m at home, that’s my time. If I want to spend time with people, I’ll go hang out with them. I am no longer strapped to everyone else’s beck and call. I decide what I want to do.

Money

I no longer have the overpriced expense of something that I didn’t really need. I figured out that I felt my cell phone was a measure of my worth in the modern world. I coveted nicer phones than I had because, well they were faster, bigger, whatever reason. I had a freak out because the phone I had got broken. If it weren’t for my friend, I’d have had no phone at all. But in retrospect, I needed to buy into the propaganda that I required one to fit in. I’m not one to do that. Money, although still not really a frequent thing in my pocket (YET!) is better spent on food, an occasional coffee out with friends, or other fun things instead of to a tether.

Ghost Calls

When I leave the house, I no longer have to worry about whether or not I received that phantom ring call. We’ve all had them. It’s the one that arrives precisely in the time it takes you to take your phone, check it, and put it back where you had it when it rings. Then the mad dash to answer it because the intuition that a call was coming in must mean DANGER! Well, usually, it was more mundane than that. It’s almost as if people are being trained like Pavlov’s dog to hear/feel the energy that keeps pouring into our bodies from those plastic gadgets.

Face Time (for real)

Yes, I’m aware there’s an app called that. Yes, I understand that it allows distant loved ones to chat with one another as if they’re right there in the same room. I get the practical side of that. However, I’ve found that if I’m really wanting to see a person…obvious here, go spend time with that person. I call up a friend and request an appointment. They agree or disagree. If they agree, I get to see them, hug them, smell them (which sounds creepier than it is), listen to their voice, watch their body language, visit with their spirit, etc. In short, I get to have communion with another human. I get to be a part of their life and they in mine. I value the time I have with people far more now than when I had a cell phone to distract me because I’m in the moment. I’m in the now. I’m not waiting for a call or text from someone. I’m with the friend or loved one I’m with. I mean WITH!

I made more minutes!

Every day, we’re all given twenty-four hours in which to accomplish everything we were born to do that day. When I was attached to my cell phone, I’d while away the hours and hours with some texting, some games, some messengers, some Facebooking, and many other past times. I am not saying those are bad, but they are massive time eaters for me. Once I no longer had those things to distract me, my creativity soared through the roof. I can pull off things I only imagined before I gave up my cell phone. I feel guilty if I don’t write, draw, paint, sketch, work material, or even visit with my tribe. Guilty because…well actually I don’t. I have time to do all the things I was born to do in this day. I can meet the world with my head looking up instead of down at a cell phone. I SEE people and have more time.

What began as a horror, has ironically, become a luxury. I am happier, more productive, I noticed the manacles of my identity haven’t been lost, but instead enhanced by not being forced to live in a little black box with a pretty case that I was never destined to live in at all. It’s been satisfying to me across the board. If you do decide to go old school and have a relatively good internet service provider, try the MagicJack Go. When you see how much it costs ($100 bucks for five years of service, I shit you not), you’ll see what I mean. Take control, my friend. Happiness is right in front of you.

Terms of Bereavement

That side of my bed is cold as death.

It fills me with such emptiness.

The lingering scent of absence

haunting the corners as if

they had a right to be there anymore.

I stare at the dreams we once

shared together

as they drift like chipped paint

on a breathless breeze from my ceiling.

I lose the fragmented pieces

as they get swept up each Monday

on chore day.

I recognize the longing for the echoed laughter,

the heat of your kiss,

the flesh of our creation sweating drops of love

onto my flesh on a Sunday afternoon.

I remember that night I stayed up

soaking your t-shirt with rejection

that you soothed with caresses of forgiveness.

I roll away from death

even as I reach my hand to grasp the pillow

that no longer smells like you

even though I’ve not changed the fabric case.

I’d hoped that it would imprison the thoughts

that made “we” an

unbreakable, indivisible, apocalyptic force

to be reckoned with in our unity.

I pull the blanket your mother made for you

(on our fourth Christmas wed)

over my head

tasting the salt of my regret

that I didn’t know that was the last.

That side of my bed is coffin cold.

It fills me with such emptiness.

NaPoWriMo: Finger Licking Good

PUERTO RICAN RED RICE

1 Tbs oil
1 pkg Smokey Links, sliced
1 lg onion, chopped
1 green pepper, chopped
1 6oz can tomato paste
1/2 lg jar salad olives
1 teas garlic powder
1 1/2 teas dry oregano
1Tbs cumin
1# (2 cups) rice

Heat the oil and the sausages medium sliced,

Onions, olives, and peppers add as they’re diced

Not yet for the paste, but add in the rice

Cook until it’s brown stirring it twice.

Add the rest of the ingredients, mixing well

Three fingers of water over, allow yourself to smell

The aromas as they blend

Cook until the liquid is absorbed and the rice is ten-

Der.

This makes me think of Demi, the lady from where this comes

She used to live upstairs from me on Caufield where I’ve from.

She taught my mom to make this, and it’s still a fave of mine

I think of her when I make this dish, each and every time.

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NaPoWriMo: Coffee or Tea

Ode to Kawphy

Kawphy Thyme is my Bapa's brain child. It is a truly magical experience when done properly.

Kawphy Thyme is my Bapa’s brain child. It is a truly magical experience when done properly.

The dawn blooms silver-pink, barely lighting my path

I climb the high hillside, filling my lungs with thinning air

With burlap in hand, I carefully select the dark red ripest

They drip from the fruited tree like tiny whiny grapes

I don’t cherish the fruit as much as I covet the seeds

The dawn heats water per the dictator’s striking hand

I am in Kenya, Ethiopia, Costa Rica, Sumatra, Timor, New Guinea.

I am roasting in the sun. I am cool beneath the shade.

I am the Sabbats and Esbats wrapped in the Holy Grail

I am the earth which collects my offspring

I am the water that nourishes my roots

I am the air which determines my wealth of ideas

I am the fire on which my ovaries are brought to life.

I am the spirit wrapped in each element,

Indulged with a noisy slurping morning prayer,

“Ah, nectar of the Gods.”

I am Kawphy, not the coffee you seek.

I am the commune of commiseration

I am the lifeblood of the creators

I am the dreamless sleep of the catatonic believers

I am the dream of the hillside, delivered for a tithe of glazed donuts.

I am to be honored as family, birthed to live among emotions.

I am the power to move the world from my small hillside tree.

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Born to be ME!

I just read this article: RIGHT HERE. In fact, I’ve read several in the past week that were lists of this or that empowerment, strength, courage, etc. With each new one I read, I find myself thinking either I’m naive, or I am this, or I am becoming this already, or even I’ve surpassed this.

Now, I know I’m far from perfect because I know what goes on in my head and am sometimes quite surprised about what comes out of my mouth, but my curiosity lies in my blind spots. Am I seeing myself clearly? Am I measuring my self-value and self-worth accurately and if so, against what scale am I placing the measuring stick? Am I comparing myself to others? Am I looking at my previous bodies of work and realizing how far I’ve come?

I spent three months this past winter, holed up and sleeping. I called it my hibernation, but I was trying to come to terms with the loss of my identity as a mother to a boy I love deeply but whom I couldn’t protect any longer. I hid in my own thoughts, avoided contact with people unless they darkened my doorstep. I went through daily motions without passion or conviction. I spent a lot of time contemplating my own identity.

Before the boy came to live with me, I was wild, scattered, driven to succeed at nothing and everything at the same time. I lacked focus, direction, but most of all, I was missing a sense of responsibility as an anchor. I was adrift without anchor.

After he came to live with me, I gladly gave up so much of who I was that I turned into a fierce Mother Bear who defended her cub so viciously that nobody could harm him. He opened my eyes to just how much sacrifice a mother makes for her offspring. It was during this time that I realized the damage I’d caused my own mother. THIS happened.

But then, like a thief in the night, he vanished without even a goodbye. I realized, as I visited an old friend tonight, how much that still hurt, but I discovered something far more valuable.

As I was telling the story of his childish and shady betrayal, I let it go. I looked at the last six weeks of my life and realized that his leaving gave me yet another gift. It allowed me to reevaluate who I wanted to be now that I’m “grown up” (I still can’t say that with a straight face.)

I said, in my daily conversations with my ceiling, “I am a writer.” And poems, stories, articles, and slogans came gushing out of me as if in a torrent of violent overflow. Lyrics fell from my fingertips as if a different entity had taken up my pen for me. Words dripped from my pencil which allowed me to assemble my work into a Kindle BOOK. I felt astonishment, but considered it a stroke of lucky happiness, finally.

I pondered to myself out loud, talking to the ceiling, but not really. “I am an artist.” BANG! ZAP! BOOM! (Really, that was the kids playing basketball outside!) I was informed of an art gallery requesting pieces for a set up based on Identity. I submitted a couple of pieces and I was on display a few Saturday’s later. When I say that, know that one of the pieces I was showing was a nude of myself. I really mean *I* was on display! I got asked to do a solo show on June 20th in Knoxville, TN AND to give two workshops. Then I got asked to donate for a great cause pride event called Art OUT, so I’m doing that too. I was quite pleased with the success of my declaration. I find myself throwing hours and hours into writing and art.

Harm None

Harm None; Watercolor/Mixed Media 8X10 $30 FOR SALE!

I spoke to my ceiling again (Yes, I know. Maybe my ceiling is magic, right? Only it happens when I’m not home too.) I said, “I really dig music. I should make some.” My friend, Professor Pudgytums in New York, sent me a pair of headphones (REALLY NICE ONES, THANK YOU!) and said, “Do it.” I made MUSIC. I’m working on a new song with the super talented Laura Davis. She calls me up and asks, “Hey, do you want to make music tomorrow?” Sure, why not. Every chance I get, I’m willing to go create.

This whole time, I’m thinking to myself. Are you sure? Are you really doing this? Are you having fun? Are you following your dreams? Are you living your passion? Are you accepting the…Let’s just say, I’m asking myself a lot of self-check questions in a day to see if I’m meeting my own personal standards and level of expected integrity for the day. Did I put in every bit of effort I could to make this world a bit better? A bit more beautiful? Okay then, carry on.

But with all the questions, I didn’t know if I had fallen off the cliff of self-identity, if I were pushed, or if I willingly had spread my wings to fly. I felt uncertainty and self-doubt start to creep in. I hate those more than I hate questions. Instead, my pastor, unbeknownst to him my questions and struggles, posted THIS LINK on his Facebook page.

“The smartest, most interesting, most dynamic, most impactful people … lived to figure it out. At some point in their lives, they realized that carefully crafted plans … often don’t hold up… Sometimes, the only way to discover who you are or what life you should lead is to do less planning and more living — to burst the double bubble of comfort and convention and just do stuff, even if you don’t know precisely where it’s going to lead, because you don’t know precisely where it’s going to lead.

This might sound risky — and you know what? It is. It’s really risky. But the greater risk is to choose false certainty over genuine ambiguity. The greater risk is to fear failure more than mediocrity. The greater risk is to pursue a path only because it’s the first path you decided to pursue.”Daniel H Pink

Quite frankly, I’m a bit scared to talk to my ceiling again because I’m beginning to think there is a power greater than me making sure I have the best life possible. In the meantime, I’ll just keep making art, writing, drawing, dancing, laughing, and drinking copious amounts of Kawphy because that’s what writer/artist/lyricists do and I am happy doing what makes my spirit sing with wild abandon.

NaPoWriMo: Flying Out of this World

The Owl and the Jamie Lopez

I was walking through the Otherwhere, picking dreams to put in my pocket

Like a deer in the headlights I stopped frozen in my tracks for there you were.

I’d seen others before in this place I travel to, but never as intensely as that moment.

You smiled, your blue eye flashing a secret code of knowledge to my spirit

I tilted my head perplexed because I’d never tried to talk to the people I found

I usually just witnessed their activities but didn’t interrupt their travels.

But you, you blinked again, your golden eye flashing beneath sunset pink hair.

You gestured gently to pick up what you were trying to share. I couldn’t

You frowned, your sapphire hair obscuring your lemony eyes. Your heart smiled

THEN

You pulled the stitching around the edges of your heart and allowed me to dive

It was mystical and cosmic as you showed me your walking place. I wept, you smiled.

You took my hand and helped me over the threshold, panting with wildness

I could see the owl. The golden dance of blacks, oranges, browns, and wisdom

Refreshed, invigorated with passion. This time I smiled my rainbow smile at you.

Your aqua hair flashed silver fins of water splashing brightly as you disappeared

That moment was exactly when I knew, I could enter different paths. You showed me.

With permission from myself and the others I meet, I can go anywhere I need.

Only in the Otherwhere can I hear the Divine voice of creativity that calls my name intimately.

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NaPoWriMo: Fifteen TRIGGER WARNING

TRIGGER WARNING: You had no idea

By this time, I was already being taught horrible things; I was six in this picture.

By this time, I was already being taught horrible things; I was six in this picture.

I don’t think you could possibly have meant

For me to return from where I rose my ascent

I was broken, abused, nearly destroyed

All because my father didn’t want to take away my “new toy.”

I held secrets so dark that nobody could love me

Not that way, not no way, not even the slightest possibility.

At fifteen I had not recognized the horrors I’d seen

At fifteen I hadn’t even realized it was safe to breathe

Although the constant abuse had stopped a decade earlier

It didn’t take much to re-abuse me, just be a little squirrelier.

I ran around raw as if chained to a razor blade

The slightest momentum and I’d dive back into my shade

The fears that accosted me, drove me wild with anguish

It took me a quarter century, those demons to finally vanquish.

No, I don’t think you would have, if you’d known what it means

To return to the age of fragility, loss of innocence, the unclean.

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TRIGGER WARNING: Spousal abuse is no joke

The First Husband

April is Domestic Violence and Sexual Assault Awareness month (among others). I am a survivor of Domestic Violence.

April is Domestic Violence and Sexual Assault Awareness month (among others).
I am a survivor of Domestic Violence.

I felt the wash of rage strike through my stomach when I saw you there

With a ONETWO punch of viciousness, I cringed as if it were a physical blow

Violence flashed before my blackened eyes that have long since healed

I remembered in crystal clear detail the fire you created

That burned my possessions forcing me to be your possession

That charred my childhood into echoes of musical damnations

Removing the blessings my mother gave to me

On sunny afternoons in the plant room of my childhood home

And you, with lighter fluid in hand, me begging forgiveness

You tossing key upon key into the blaze despite my please, thank you.

There you were, glaring your judgement on my friend

Turning your nastiness towards someone I love

Every bit of forgiveness I thought I could give was erased

“I think you’re just being vulgar for the sake of vulgarity.”

Fuck you! You’d still have the wife you pledged to protect

If you wouldn’t have pulled her gun on her, or slapped her,

Or pushed her, or punched her, or threatened her, or raped her

Or abused her, or took her love and threw it like your smelly shoes, away.

You no longer are allowed access to me, you son of a bitch.

You are denied access to love from me or my tribe.

You are rebuked and are denied absolution from my heart because of your actions.

Lie all you want to the people in your life now, but we both know what happened.

We both know you are not the “Christian” you claim to be.

We both know what you’ve done.

The door is closed, return to your own hell.

NaPoWriMo: Estranged and Cut Off

Songs of Nation’s Pride

I truly believed at my mother’s knee

That when I sang, “My Country Tis of Thee”

The words I sang were truer than true

That if I bled for honor, it would be red, white, and blue.

But I’ve awakened to find a land divided

Bathed in disparity, desecration of what was once united.

I was taught at my Navy Veteran Daddy’s knee

That the Star Spangled Banner was to be honored deeply

That if I sang with truth in my heart

I’d stand united with my countrymen, never to part.

I believed in the land of the free, home of the brave

But I’ve awakened to find a land of the fee, home of the slaves.

I understood from my Grandparent’s legends

That America the Beautiful open armed beckoned

The words describing purple mountains and amber waves

Breathing life into the fruited plains of graves

But I’ve awakened to find a dying fracked rocky tops

Blackened drought plains laying desolate of crops

Where my family is from in Michigan The Rapids, la Grande

Makes me, all joking aside, a Yankee Doodle Dandy

Where the emblem of, the land I loved

Was supposed to be where there’s never a boast or brag

But I’ve awakened and I’ve found this only applies to non-fags

If you’re slightly brown skinned or poor, they turn you away

Ain’t nobody got time for that, they’ll remove you from society’s gray.

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