Category Archives: Love

Ancient Tomes

dustybooksThere is a mummified shroud

unraveling in our spirits
that are delivered with gusts

of gauzy breaths
revealing chapter, verse,

the context and content
of our lives lived
by the turning of our pages
to reveal
the chapters of our hearts
to one another
in labored, birthing, unity.

extend humanity outward
like a library of reciprocal knowledge
donate your gifts to fill your coffers
 
Teach from the trenches

Learn from the quarry
Bloom from the crap
Shine from the darkness

Believe from the silence

Joy from despair

Triumph from resistance

Freedom from oppression

Meaning from Understanding

Wino Confessions

After a bottle of wine I like to confess things to my husband.

I like to tell him of how I felt when I first laid eyes on his face;

how my heart raced, how my eyes teared up, how I forgot to breathe.

I like to tell him how I didn’t want to believe that he existed

because then it would mean I live surreal.

Even now, I feel shy putting this down from my fingertips.

The same fingertips that have traced every inch of his body.

The same fingertips that he’s kissed when I burn them on dinner.

The same fingertips that smooth out his blankets when I make the bed.

The same fingertips that boop his nose to see if it still works. (It does.)

I like to tell him how I’d follow or lead or walk beside him anywhere.

I like to tell him that he’s the funniest man I know,

that he leaves me breathless with laughter and breathless with love.

I like to tell him with great earnestness that he brought me to life

even though I thought I already was, but not in this way. Not in this time.

I would still be me without him, but not the same me I am now.

I’m a better human with him nearby. I’m able to freely explore the world.

After a bottle of wine, I like to confess to my husband; my always, truly.

The old sweater

A sweater should be warm and generous to snuggle safely into when it's chilly.

A sweater should be warm and generous to snuggle safely into when it’s chilly.

 

I loved that sweater.

I adored the warmth and the way it smelled like motherhood.

I loved the softness that it offered, the tenderness of triumphant love

I embraced the patterns, the textures, the shifting colors, the lengthening tide

It was my favorite that I brought out whenever I needed to put on my very best outfit

But I snagged it on a dream that stuck out         from the wall just a little too far, too far.

It kept getting caught every time I’d pass         through that doorway into the other room.

I kept meaning to fix that spot on the wall         but there never seemed to be enough time.

The picture of us at Christmas,

(I was wearing that sweater) hangs askew

with chipped glass over my face

That should be non-glaring, but the faces,

the fake happy faces, glare

back at me ungenerously.

I couldn’t see it then.

The sweater was covering my eyes with promises

of generational family traditions.

I wore the sweater f

a

ith

ful

ly

and wondered why

it kept getting smaller.

Why didn’t it fit any more?

As I look back,

I see the many tangles,

knots,

frays,

and trail offs

of disconnect-

-ed

yards

of

yarn.

I mourn for my favorite sweater.

I loved that sweater.

Everything Will Be Okay

“You are more than a human being, you are a human becoming.” – Ann Harris

I’m not quite certain what’s occurring in my life right now, but there is a major shift happening that I can feel. It’s seeping out of me like a sweaty wall of moisture. My eyes keep staining my cheeks with tears only I don’t feel sad. I don’t feel happy. I don’t feel angry. But yet I’m filled with the emotions that I’m walking through allowing them to be what they are. The shift is occurring. I’m just not sure yet of which direction the Universe is rearranging my path to walk, but I know I have to keep going.

August 17th, 2014 (Church service notes)

I’ve been a bit sad lately because a lot of things have been falling away from me. However, when I arrived this morning and was greeted by the attendees, I felt such a wave of love and peace fill me that I started to leak. I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t sad. I was neutral in emotion, but my spirit kept leaking. A tender heart brought tissues to me so I wouldn’t have to use my skirt (we really should put tissues near the hymnals for leaky days), hugs from all my beautiful friends filled me further.

As the service progressed we were asked to close our eyes and lend a bit of spirit to someone making a difficult decision. We were asked to reach our spirits and shine a bit of light into a dark time. I closed my eyes, pushing out my spirit that I visualize like a white fluffy under-a-Christmas-tree skirt. Without warning, I could see.

Flowing out from me like an iridescent white misty cloud, I could see my spirit doing just what was asked of it to do. As each person lent their bit, I could see the colors dancing up like popcorn. Some with sky high flooding spikes of lovely exuberance, others with earthy warmth and compassion appeared in a menagerie that overflowed my spirit again. Not happy, not sad, neutral in emotion but satisfying.

Then the unfortunate story of a horrific attack and the response with love and compassion felt so real, my tears were like blood that wept for the suffering, but healed into tears of courage. It was, again, something I felt, acknowledged, and observed. It felt like picking up an item from a shelf, examining it carefully, feeling the weight of it in my hands and heart before replacing it where it belonged.

After the service, I was approached with the kindest words I needed to hear today. A beautiful, heartfelt thank you from a human woman that made me leak again. I felt, in response to her thoughtfulness, that my grateful heart understood why I am here on this earth. The love and acceptance from her at that moment reminded me that I will be okay. Just like another warm soul who sought me out to tell me that same thing. She said, “You will get through this and you will be okay.” Completely unsolicited and yet, so absolutely necessary for me to hear. I felt comfort. I felt at home. I felt like I belonged which, for someone like me, a rather rare occurrence is.

During the course of the conversation with yet another friend, I realized that life goes on and things happen. Some things we can control, others we can watch, and others are so far out there they seem like the Twilight Zone, but despite the situation, with a bit of hope and a lot of determination, we will get through it. We will be okay.

I’m at the halfway point in between services and I’m still feeling rather neutral in emotion. Sad a bit. Happy a bit. Not numb because I can still enjoy what is happening around me, not detached because I’m still engaged in my conversations, just…neutral.

As I started this article which, truthfully is part rehashed, I know that the same shift that directed me to attend this church in the first place is shifting me again. I’m being guided with a firm “hand.” I don’t feel fear or confusion, just uncertainty. I’ll heed the warnings and the omens I’m shown because my intuition has never once misguided me. I don’t need to understand the whole picture when my eyes are clouded with the mundane. I just need to put one foot in front of the other and believe that when I reach the next rest area (man do I need to go!) it will be as I’ve been told, okay.

Trusting yourself is not always easy, but it’s the best way I’ve learned to continue the path to being a human becoming. What a glorious phrase that is. Let’s just breathe and trust that we’re following the right path. If we feel afraid, that’s okay. If we feel sad, that’s okay too. Just do something. Breathe. Live. Act.

Open to me

OCEAN

Open up your sea to me so that I can sink my toes into your shores

Let me be wrapped up in your undertow,

Drowning while begging for more.

Open up your sky to me so that I can dream your galaxies with you

Let me become the very air we are

So that I may breathe you too

Open up your infinity to me so that I can swim in the pool of us

Let me drape on lounging couches stories

Of pearled adventures of our trust

Open up your earth to me so that I might return to dust again

Let me crumble from the quakes you give

That I’ll return world without end.

Invisible Divinity

curtains

“Even with all my loud, I can feel invisible. When that happens, my first immediate thought is, “OH NO! Everyone hates me. There must be something wrong with me.” Then I remember, I’m my biggest fan and sometimes I’m an audience of one. And when I still feel insecure, I give myself a round of applause like the lone clapper in a movie and for some reason, the angels agree and begin to clap along and I remember I’m loved, worthy, cherished, and beautiful. Coincidentally, just like you.”

It is no secret that I’m bawdy, opinionated, loud, and if I were born in the 1800’s I probably would have worked in, if not run, a house of ill-repute simply because wild people are fun people most of the time. But I also know from personal experience that loud people, funny people, brave people are usually born through the anvil and hammer; Cleansed in the fires of abuse and neglect.

It is my understanding that we are all Divine creations. Every one of us. Every aspect of God is in every face, breath, and life everywhere. When there are abuses suffered a soul that cause so much damage that it strips the Divinity down to the gnawed bone, there are still bones. There is still a skeleton on which to reattach the courage. The femur can meet once again with the pelvis with the first steps towards healing which can be as easy or as complex as the sufferer requires.

Before I’d reached a point of realization, I was still loud and bawdy but I was also incredibly self-destructive. I tried my darndest to erase the gifts I was born to use. I fought against destiny to the point of estranging myself from all of those I loved because I wasn’t loveable. At least, I didn’t act like it nor did I feel worthy of that love. But, as with everything meant to be okay, I woke up and understood after many years.

I’m not saying that I sat bolt upright in bed exclaiming myself healed. I had to finish off the sinew of shame, bite through the tendons of guilt, and shred the reluctance towards abundance. There had to be nothing left, rock bottom some call it, before I could try on new muscles with ancient memories. It’s how I got so comfortable in my God-sized skin, I grew into myself.

Each step on my path to self-discovery has been another step closer to embracing the love and light I was born to share with the world. Your gift may be as a financial whiz, or a teacher of basketball, or as a nature enthusiast, all or none or more. Whatever your gift is, it’s there waiting for you to pursue it full force with the passion it deserves. Don’t be afraid. It will be okay. You’ll be fine. Grow the necessary muscles to rebirth the parts of yourself that you remember as your favorite parts because those, old friend, are righteous. Expect there to be growing pains as the comfort levels stretch to accommodate your full beauty. It can get quite uncomfortable, but with each new muscle firmly established, the power you can offer is astounding. Those places are where your soul calls you. Heed them.

The cool part about being a manifestation of the Divinity, realizing it, rebuilding yourself, is that you get to choose what you keep and what you discard. If you don’t like it, you can reject it, save it for later, or implement it immediately. If it doesn’t work out, then that’s not the right fit. That’s okay. A guest speaker at my church said, roughly, that we’re so afraid of imperfection that we have other people around just in case WE make a mistake. He was right. We’re supposed to be without flaws if we’re Divine creations, right? We’re supposed to be perfect, right? The only thing we’re supposed to be perfect at being is who we were born to be using the gifts we’ve been given. Everything you need is right now.

So what does that have to do with feeling invisible even when I’m loud to the outside world? That’s when I normally forget that, looking back from the mirror, I AM that divinity. I owe myself a round of applause for remembering I’m loved, just like you owe yourself the gentle reminder. When I fall into the doubtfuls and the I-can’t-do-this traps, I remember to bow and try again. You, like me, can achieve what you need to do. Your Divinity, my dear friend, is precisely who I look forward to meeting so that I can join in the applause with you.

I really dig

I really dig that when I open up my blog reader

I find people-y readers lurking about, liking this or that.

I really dig that when I peer back through the shop window

the readers grunt, groan, lust, hug, love and hate like I do.

I really dig that when I peer through the looking glass

I don’t find my readers slumped sleeping in side-chairs.

I really dig that they poke fingers to keys while:

drinking coffee

popping pills

drinking bourbon

honoring artists

dancing with desires for origami people on paper they will print.

I really dig that the people I don’t know by face

stare back at me as we travel, passing on our reader’s train.

I really dig when we arrive at the same destination of personal truth.

Because that’s when the shit gets real.