Tag Archives: art
Altar Building (Video)
Pass it onward!
Watch for God (Video)
Pass it onward!
Liberation TW
What you see before you
are the skin and clothes of the living
and my dead.
A result of generations of love
or hate
or boredom on a Tuesday night
and a potluck of chromosomes
The gene pool of my ancestors
drying up in my shallow end
Distilled into hereditary faults
that I forgive them for because they resulted in me.
I observe through my mother’s eyes
They show me that inaction causes stagnation
That stagnation causes resentment
That resentment causes a paralyzing fear
THAT fear festered rudely in my cradle
visited by vacationing cockroaches from upstairs
Unlike my one-eyed father, blindness is not mine.
My eyes are opened
when my mother reads me lies from a book of fairy tales
because I know that imaginary monsters aren’t real
That the real monsters look like people
they tend not to hide under my bed
instead, they sneak into my bed
a candy-colored catastrophic cruelty
Thieving my innocence,
Shackling me in guilt and shame
reinforcing that there is nowhere to hide
No closet is deep enough,
no blanket is tightly wrapped enough
No pillow will help my breath
Swaddling complacency
Nurturing tar black secrets
Forbidden by death
To verbally vomit
My truth abandoned in cobwebs
Chronological milestones
Amalgamated rubble
Duct taped together
Glued with lies, rejection,
Abandonment, and
A visceral faith that I was the broken one.
denunciation was not implanted
on those who blighted me.
Conversely, desperately
I believed.
I once had the courage to tell a student teacher
When I was 9 years old that I didn’t want to be a girl
I didn’t want to feel the way I was feeling anymore
I wanted to have the power of being something else
Because even then I knew that what I was,
WHO I was
Wasn’t like the other kids.
I had no lighthouse to guide my loose sailing
I had no anchor to throw over the side
To halt the rocking, storm-battered ship
That I’d been given to captain with no skills.
That teacher gently corrected me
to crash on the rocks instead
There was no safe harbor in which to moor
But…
There was something inside of me
A luminosity that crusaded for freedom
A light so obscured to me
by external destruction that I was blind to it
But I could feel it, warm in the darkness.
Growing exponentially with each fear abated
With each discovery excavated from shame
With each box opened, musty and dusty
The contents returned to owners
Who gave me their rejected anger,
shame and guilt disintegrated with antique fragility
I piled them up in the middle of the room
And I burned every bit of that judgement.
The fire rampaged uncontrolled
Scorching anyone who stood too close
Its flames reached unprecedented heights
With a destruction as violent as my life
Every step a new fire ignited
Every truth a testament
Every act defiant
No obstacle an impediment.
My raised fist declared my power
My resurrection burst forth from within
I am no longer defined by what was taken from me
But by what I bring with me to this world
What I create, nurture, give and receive
Is a reflection of that glorious light
I was destined to be.
Pass it onward!
Victorian Conversation
All images are found on Pixabay. Thank you to the artists who created these images.
Pass it onward!
Always Dying
“For when is death not within ourselves? Living and dead are the same, and so are awake and asleep, young and old.”
Heracutus
My recent explorations of the world have given me a gift. It’s shown me that life is filled with experiences that we create, that happen, or that we observe “in the wild.” Filled to the brim with an emotional connection to how things work, how we process, and meet the situation it’s intoxicating, intimidating, and exhilarating.
In all the living that is to be done, death lurks. It’s always there with a potential to manifest unexpectedly. In a way, living fully, saying yes to new things, learning what knowledge can be found, following your arrow wherever it points are all death defying, or maybe a better term would be death defining.
At the end of my days, I want to be able to look back over my life and know that I lived a good life filled with human moments. I want to look at the mistakes that I’ve made and know that, at the time, I made the best possible decision with the information I had. I want to be able to tell stories of a life well lived. I want to be the best me possible.
Knowing that this could be my last day or even part of a day of my life motivates me to strive towards being immortal. Not in the sense that I will physically be alive, but that what I do in my life will be talked about by people; my friends, loved ones, and those in the wider community. I want to create a legacy of love, kindness, compassion, service, and be known for my sense of humor.
Death is going to happen. The age of death is an exclusive personal interpretation. But while I can, while I’m still breathing and have opportunities, I want to live as fully as humanly possible. When the inevitable happens, I want to know I’ve accomplished a good life. This tracks. So far, so good.
Notice your moments. Move forward with grace and mercy. Don’t give your power to what if’s and what was. This is it. Be love. Do peace. Create Joy.
May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved.
Pass it onward!
A hobby interest
I was chatting with my friend Professor Pudgytums about things we were doing in our lives. I was creating art, traveling, and working. He was working, traveling, and picking up new hobbies.
He has done fencing, trapeze, racquetball, and a variety of other interesting activities. His latest interest is book binding. He was interested enough to share some of what he was learning.
I sent him two books I have in storage and requested he practice on them. He didn’t feel confident enough to agree, but I sent them just in case.
Then I thought about it. I have an entire library of books primarily on death and dying. I have others, but I want to learn more about a topic I’m interested in like him.
To hold a book, yes I also have a Kindle, is to feel the heft of the words, the thoughts, the desires, the emotions, and entire imagination pinned down in time by someone who didn’t give up. It’s almost holy in a way.
Wait. I have two books that I sent to someone else. Why the farts couldn’t I do that for myself? What do I need to know to do this? I asked the oracle (YouTube).
It’s involved and takes skills that are a challenge. Is it something that I can figure out and learn? I think so.
The writing for one of the books is complete and the art is being created. The second book is complete and ready to go other than formatting. Yes, I’m really going to try it. I have a sneaking suspicion I’m going to love it.
May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved!
Pass it onward!
Dress for the World
The skirt swayed as she sashayed.
The exceptionally white sneakers whispered by.
The heavily colored scarf blistered the neutral blazer.
The jacket’s sleeves tattled the height of the man.
The pants creases were crisp as the autumn air.
The plaid shirt the only color besides his eyes.
The thigh high fishnets slendered her legs beneath her shorts.
The heavy black boots complimented the fashion statement.
The only pajama pants were on tourists with America emblazoned.
They were fish out of water in a sea of dressing for the world.
Pass it onward!
Day Fourty-Seven, Walk About
My last day in Portugal, in Europe, in Lisbon. What to do? Well, since I don’t do well with tourist transportation, I decided on a walk about. There were a couple sites nearby where I’m staying that I wanted to check out. With my FINALLY dry favorite Blowfish shoes on my feet, shorts and a t-shirt (It was really that warm out), I headed out. I’m going to mention that I took all the medication I was prescribed for the pain so I was okay to observe the world around me.
I walked the riverside until I reached the pedestrian crossover. I shared a picture yesterday of what I had to cross. It was not busy. I climbed up the ramp and crossed over. The walkover exits nearby the coach museum I shared with you. I walked to the left.
I poked my head into a few shops, bought a bucket hat since I can’t wear my transition lenses for very long, grabbed some coins, and took my time.
That bridge is incredibly high up and looks similar to the Golden Gate Bridge, but this particular version has a bonus feature of a train that runs on the lower level.
I walked through the Jardim Afonso de Albuquerque. At the four corners of the large park, there are four unique statues of women. In the center of the park is a tall spire with a statue on the top. I giggled because a seagull took a rest on the head of the statue,
I strolled the tourist strip ducking out into a park at the end of the first strip.
I visited the Pavilhao Sala Thai which is located inside the Jardim Vasco da Gama. It was pretty, but I was rather underimpressed. I thought it would be bigger.
A prayer for peace and I wandered towards the fountain in the middle of the Praca do Imperio Garden. I’d seen it at night from the Padrao dos Descobrimentos (Explorer’s monument). It lights up in different colors as the water spouts shoot into the night.
I made my way over to the Centro Cultural Belem. Art fascinates me. I didn’t take any pictures because I wanted to not be a tourist. I wanted to be in the moment, taking it all in. I was not disappointed.
I strolled over to the Museu de Marinha but didn’t go in. The outside park had ship anchors displayed. They were massive. Taller and thicker than I am. At the back of the museum courtyard was a Planetario de Marinha but there weren’t any shows available to see. I went dancing down the Praca do Imperio road.
I passed by the Mosteiro dos Jeronimos. The exterior was much different than the churches I saw in France. There was ornamentation, but not overly so. The building is a World Heritage listed Gothic monastary.
One of the Presidential Guard. I’m sorry I didn’t get a closer picture but he and his fellow guard stood at attention while I watched them from afar.
I returned to the boat. I’m heading up to take a shower and change into my travel clothes. I’ll pack up my things and have them ready to exit the boat tomorrow morning. I’m already fussing with myself about what to leave behind so I can bring my goodies back home. Small living is difficult to do.
Other than nausea and a bit of a headache, I’m doing okay. I took a short nap when I got back, so I’m relatively rested. Tomorrow I get to sleep in my own bed. I get to see my pup and my kitty. I get to see my son. I get to see familiar sights. I get to see friends (picking me up from the airport). Life is good.
OH! I wrote a letter to the man who races his boat. I thanked him for the invitation to sail. I expressed my regret of not being able to fulfill that invitation. I used Google Translate to write it. I hope I didn’t say anything completely wrong.
May peace find you wherever you are or go. You are loved.
Mare Martell 